Tlaloc

Galderic, el crist català.

Originally uploaded by Sergi Bernal

The gods’ breath brushing into my hair, sailing down my spine, cools my flesh. The oncoming of a storm. The serenity. What storms await for me ahead? What demons will I face?

I remember the flash of lightning that sparked before my eyes. Not older than twelve, I cringed behind the couch, searching for security. I wanted to show my strength against nature. I exclaimed, “I’m not afraid of you,” and the bolt struck a nearby tree. The cracking and splintering, a soft fire brewing from the alms.

And now, I just wait for the flood to take me home.

 

Don’t wait up

Semi-Nude

Originally uploaded by cariephoto

Afterward, she sat up and grabbed her stuff. There was no sense in stopping her; I had done so for so long and the effects of which have left me weak. I asked, weakly, my voice quivering at the sound, when she will be coming back. “Don’t wait up,” she said, pursing her lips. She pushed herself up from the bed and dressed, her eyes never making contact with mine. It was as if she feared that looking into them would shackle her to me for another few years. Every time she left, or attempted to, she looked me in eye and then was burdened by what she saw. “Seriously,” she said, now by the door, hand on the knob, turned in such an angle that allowed it to still be closed. “Don’t wait up for me. I don’t know when I’ll be back.” And I nodded in agreement. Neither of us would come back here.

 

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Short Stories, “creative” nonfiction, poetry, and all that is in between.