She could feel it. The warm gentle kiss, the salty smell, the texture of millions of minuscule grains between her toes, the calming paced music. She was there, with him, feeling the sun slowly toasting her skin to a perfect tan, the sensation of cleansing that only a good sweat could provide. A cascade of emotions and memory transported her, as if instead of simply holding a rectangular piece of paper she had been magically displaced to a time when everything seemed simpler. Continue reading
I remember the first time I’ve gone to a circus. Only five or six, surrounded by all the sound and color and music of that magic land that achieved the magnificent impossibility that is being more surreal than the imagination of a little boy. I wasn’t up to it at first. It was probably a Sunday, and I wanted to stay home and have ice cream. We had already been at a park the day before and to a party that same week, all that social activity was interfering with my strict cartoon habits. My parents spent a good hour convincing me. They tried everything, explaining in detail how there would be trapeze artists, a bunch of clowns, magicians, an elephant doing tricks like a dog. They resorted to comparing everything with the colorfulness and noisiness of the cartoons I was starting to get up to date with. Nothing worked. Not even promising the most delicious ice cream I would ever have. Continue reading
I was there, right outside, seeing everything. I was waiting to meet my friend, the one I was hoping one day would be something more. I saw the man pulling the gun from his back, start firing, right when the train stopped. I’ve heard the six shots, six rhythmic and loud thumps even if muffled by the car doors still closed. I saw the people inside in despair, helpless, falling down one by one, some for fear, six of them dead. My friend. Continue reading
What most people were interested in knowing was the origin of the name, 102. It is a nice enough name for a restaurant, I guess, but there is sure a story behind it. Well, when it first opened, the restaurant was in a different location and, for lack of a better idea, they simply used the address as the name, hanging big boxed metal numbers and letters on the facade. But the Crescent part of the name, for some reason, never stuck to the wall. Even made from the same material as the numbers and hung in the same fashion, they kept falling. The 102 held its grip until they had to move, the same three metal characters used on the facade of the new address. Continue reading
While she packs, Samantha takes a look around her soon-to-be old room. Unlike most teenage girl’s rooms, the walls are not decorated with band posters and their cute-handsome lead singers. Instead, the neatly arranged space sports an abundance of artwork replicas, fantasy illustrations seeming to be taken from European comic books, and drawings. She likes to draw. Not that she is any good at it, but it doesn’t matter. She likes doodling, especially the feel of the pencil on paper. And, despite her lack of talent, she ended up creating a style of her own. Her oddly shaped acoustic guitar, present in everything she draws, is like her signature. Continue reading
At first, it was intended to stop crime, in particular white-collar schemes. Well, it succeeded, but it seems no one entertained the thought of the possible side effects such an apparatus could have on society. When they first introduced the machine, it was supposed to be the ultimate lie detector – or the first actual one, since polygraph tests had long been discredited. The point was to catch evildoers before they could perform their evildoing. It didn’t take long for politicians to fear the machine, and to society to demand all elected figures to pass under the scrutiny of it. Corruption was put on hold, and soon after any kind of crime had a hard time because of the amazing mechanism. From expensive and impractical to the common person, it quickly became widely available, once the technology allowed for cheap production and portability. Continue reading
I was alone at the restaurant’s bar, waiting for our table to be ready, waiting for everyone else. I always liked to get places early, be the one who waits. Usually, it doesn’t get me anxious. I sit somewhere, sip a drink, read a book. It gives me time to observe, to be quiet. Plus, I just hate being late. This time, I couldn’t drink, read, observe. I couldn’t certainly be quiet. I got here anxious. I was nervous pretty much throughout the day, even the night before. Hell, I began worrying once I set up that dinner.
It was the first time my soon to be wife would meet one of my best friends. Continue reading