Image: Winged , by Luisa Fernández (pencil on paper, grayscale).
and granite stone terraces, meandering brambles to my right towards the lagoons. Neither God in sight. Horsefly buzzing biting my ear. Other bugs fly over my gangster hat. Yes, I wear a hat to Bogart and a pirate scarf tied around the neck. I armed with two revolvers, one in each arm and I have two wings Angel stuck to my back. My girl is very cute and strives to draw on the skin crap.
room an hour later, it gets to me a pungent smell of wood smoke. Comes from the shelters. I climb a little more. My ears whistle, yawn, the pressure is reset. I light a Camel and I am enjoying watching the smoke crawl, how it is dispersed into the air forming strange scrolls. I pass a couple of hippies. Hello. Everyone here does not even know you, is the education of the mountains. An ancient code that we should move to the jungle of skyscrapers.
Thus, as he does not want the thing, I reached the summit. In the distance, bells talkers, a cloud of horns docile moos blues. I rock out to the balcony. Several green puddles, like beads on a necklace of emeralds, spread in a row and a myriad of colored ants enter, leave, he dives. I am on edge to dwell on the holes in the sky, and is, to look down when I see a bump headlong. I take the binoculars. Well, not lame, I left them in the car. squinted trying to define it. Appears to move. It's a backpack, or that I think, but ... I see something at his side. I think it is ... is ... A child! My breathing quickens and my heart is a hammer. Seeking mobile. Well do not look, I also agree that I left in the car. I look around trying to find help, but do not get to see the colored ants. Cry for them and hands flailing. It's nerves. I can not hear me. I decide to go down. Go through my head the most terrible things while preparing rappelling equipment. I think the small will not survive the fall. I look at the cliff, and when I hear. Cries. Alive. I adjust my harness, I see the rope and slipped the system. I'm going down. Loose and brake to several meters. The air gets worse and something moved. They're just clothes waving in the wind. I keep falling. Now, the distance that separates me is minimal. Air redoubled his attack as if to warn me that the rock is yours and I an intruder trying to fly to his slipstream. My hat is the price, but that's because I'm listening to the poor creature. I walk. Loose the snap and run. Crying increases. The baby is face down and not moving, but calling his mother babbles. I think the column is broken. I doubt if touched. Crying becomes metallic, repetitive ... stupid ... so stupid like me, when I flip.
Copyright: Luisa Fernandez
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