Sunday Ochre

Ocres de domingo, a photo by ELZOCO on Flickr.

«The baby kicks»
«Let me feel ...»
«Do you feel it?»
«Yes, I feel it! His legs are strong!»
«He has taken from you ... although I hope he has dad's eyes»
«You mean your eyes ... the eyes of your family ...»
«The eyes of dad, your legs and maybe my brain ...»
«Are you calling me stupid?»
«No, no ... well but ...»
«But what?»
«I mean, I already know that on Sunday you'll bring him in this field to play ball and I'll have to look ...»
«Are you jealous?»
«Tell you what ... the next will be a girl»
«Done!»
«Is a promise?»
«You can bet»

Subway

Subte, a photo by Catársis fotográfica. on Flickr.

He found himself paralyzed in front of the doors of the train, there on the subway platform, as if undecided of the next move to take in life.
Those few seconds between arrival and departure of the convoy, seemed endless in his mind.
The light of the wagon struck his figure as a kaleidoscope of bright sacred light of the nave of a cathedral.
However, he did not observe the passengers over the sliding doors.
His mind froze in time, dazzled by the flash of artificial light.
Shortly after the train was gone when he took the staircase to the surface.

A rainbow

Untitled, a photo by Flowtopia on Flickr.

That morning, shortly after dawn, it was raining hard. Kate had woken in the room so familiar, surrounded by darkness, barely lit by the light coming through the blinds.
She stared at the ceiling, as if trying to fathom her innermost thoughts.
All she heard was the sound of the rain and thunder that had so much frightened as a child.
In those days she took refuge in the bed of her parents. Now she could not.
When later she left forever those walls she brought only the clothes she was wearing. She did not even notice the rainbow behind her.

Sonia&Marzia

Sonia&Marzia, a photo by MaMoFos on Flickr.

When Sonia left home, her twin Marzia locked herself in her room to cry without restraint. Twenty years always together, never divided, and now all ended for a trivial reason, because her father had not accepted the truth, had not accepted Sonia.

He should have, there were just the three of them. Now they were only two.
She did not see Sonia again for five long years.
Only letters, each from a different place. Letters of pure joy, exuding love and happiness.
Marzia found herself spending her empty days minding her father, closed in his silence, envying and even hating her sister, who had had the courage to reveal herself, to deal with their father's bigotry and live free, chasing her love.
The months slipped away like grains of an hourglass inexorably and marked the young face of Marzia as wounds of a war fought against loneliness that harbored in her heart broken.
Then that foggy day the car accident and death, as a liberation never hoped for, but secretly longed for. Not even having to deal with his father's legacy, who left only debts and degradation, seemed a punishment for those petty thoughts.
"Come back home, Sonia," she wrote, "this house is still yours."
But she received no answer, for long weeks.
Then one day she found Sonia at the door, her face ashen, sunken and swollen eyes. "Laura is dead," she could only say, before collapsing to the ground, there on the threshold, shaken by sobs uncontrollably, as if mourning had come out in one fell swoop.
Marzia did not know how to fill the void in Sonia's heart, but secretly she was happy because hers was now filled.
Now everything would be back to the origin, the two halves again together.
So she thought, deceiving herself.

Little Owl (Pudding) Explored!

Little Owl (Pudding) Explored!, a photo by THRASH600D on Flickr.

«Hey, why do you look at me?» asked the owl to Dave who winced thrilled.
«Then, I asked you why you look me» repeated the owl with magnetic eyes.
Dave was dumbfounded and could only reply «the owls do not speak ...»
«Here's another smart ... according to you why we should not communicate? We do normally or do you think we are born under a cabbage leaf?»
«But you speak!»
«Talk is to communicate, human ... and at any rate I'm not talking certainly in your language»
«Will you say that I understand you? I'm not Dr. Dolittle!»
«I assure you are not»

light breeze

light breeze, a photo by H2@Japan on Flickr.

Human beings are curious creatures. I watch them all the time, hectic, busy, unable to enjoy the unique moments that go and never return.

This morning my human has filled the bowls of food and water on the balcony and ran out of the house. She always leave the sliding window open, no longer afraid that I run away.

Why should I? She feeds me and when she is not particularly taken up by her human affairs she scratch me, which is nice!
So I eat and then jump out to hunt or enjoy the sun. Today there’s a nice breeze.

Ani

Ani, a photo by Amorrr Burakova on Flickr.

She went back to that beach where she had been a child and which now was so different from her memories. It was all too clean, perfect. No more joyful cries of children and thuds of balls hit. An eerie silence, broken only by the waves of the sea, hung on the wooden jetty.
Under the midday sun Ani went down to the pier and sat on the edge, legs dangling above the expanse of the sea.
She closed her eyes and while a gentle breeze went back to lick her face, she looked with the mind beyond the unseen horizon.

Fog

Fog, a photo by Oneshed on Flickr.

Kate groped in a fog so thick that seemed of being immersed in an ocean of milk. Her footsteps echoed in the milky nothing as the anguish gripped her heart like a pincer. She had lingered too that evening unwittingly while the mist enveloped the city taking away shape of everything.
She still had to walk a few hundred meters between her and the station and every step echoed in her a sense of dull anxiety.
Only when he finally found the lights of the station and boarded the train finally the terror of being lost forever in the milk left.

Bethpage Motel

Bethpage Motel, Bethpage, NY, a photo by Robby Virus on Flickr.

It is a night like any other at Bethpage Motel and it is almost full.
Out of room 101, moanings of Jenny the redhead who fucks her clients with erotic ferocity. The creaking of the bed base follows the cadence of her strokes as she wiggles the pelvis savagely on the organ of the lying man. She brings him to orgasm, she feels his semen fill the condom, then she takes off fast.
The flabby and hairy man provokes her disgust and repulsion, yet even this night she has earned a thousand dollars. Smoking a cigarette she dreams less filty rooms.

Fins

Fins, a photo by Rohan Reilly Photography on Flickr.

He crashed on the planet and the cockpit was shattered. They were the seat belts to save him from death, but not from traumas and bruises.
He dragged himself out of the twisted wreckage of his ship, his head aching and fractured ribs. His head pounded relentlessly, his vision almost misty.
The instrumentation was gone, he had no way to contact the base to ask for help. In a daze he recovered survival equipment and he began to trudge in the vast cold desolation.
The first day he knew that night never came on that land and the endless day was an eternal misty haze. The light barely filtered across the thick clouds.
Three days later he had crossed thirty miles of desolation, never encountering anything or anybody. There was nothing but the rough basalt beneath his feet.
Every night he logged the non existent developments to keep his mental sanity. Fever and headache tormented him and thirst was clutching his throat, but he knew he had to ration water.
On the fifth day he realized the folly of abandoning the crash site, the only one that would have been the reference of the rescue team.
On the seventh day his nostrils smelled salty air and in his mind clouded hope began to revive. Already he had lost all sense of rational and he did not realize the uselessness of the salt water in his salvation.
Finally he arrived on the shores of the gray sea, and he sank down on his knees. In front of him stood out the fins on the blurred background. Majestic rock formations that rose from the mist.
He knew that the sea water was poisonous and that his stock was running out.
He died in his sleep on the bank of alien sea.

Escalator

L'escalator..., a photo by LPiH on Flickr.

I met Lisa on escalators, would you believe it?
You know those movie scenes, two staircases run alongside each other in opposite directions, a man going down and a woman going up, two glances meet ... a spark bursts and magic begins!
No, my dear, nothing so cinematic ... I'm afraid it was more prosaic.
We were on the same escalator and we were going up. I had to hurry and I went up running on the steps in motion. One false step, my foot off and I nearly trample everyone behind me.
Luckily she steadied me ... and she never stopped doing it.

a speck

a speck, a photo by alexis mire on Flickr.

I ran at breakneck speed through the streets of Rome. The night had already fallen from a couple of hours and I trudge on ascending roads, anguished of losing the last bus.
The traffic cop made it simple: follow the road, he told me, you can not go wrong.
Yet I was lost, I climbed the streets with the unlikely and unknown morphology who had seen emperors and popes.
And so, without realizing it I found myself in the Vatican. Brightly lit, shining of austere beauty.
Now I knew where I was.
And there, among St. Peter's columns that shadow loomed.

guardian of the old heroes

guardian of the old heros [39], a photo by laura zalenga on Flickr.

Every day she came down from the highest domains to the valley from upholstered with golden heather. In her blue and black robes of a priestess, she watched the peaceful windblown desolation that had once have seen men give fierce battle to unspeakable horrors. This valley was their graves, and she was their solitary guardian.
But now, new heresies came from lower lands, climbing the bare ridges and golden. Denying rumors that the legend was true.
In her heart she wondered, and if I were the only keeper of the empty moorland?
She looked around and the thought made ​​her smile.

The Rustic Life

The Rustic Life........Lost and Found, a photo by pallab seth on Flickr.

He sought peace in the fishing village. Every day he went down to the river and watched the kids fishing with their traps. Not that he was interested in the fishes, or children, simply they were those stolen moments to distract him.
Then he thought of when he was the boy who was fishing with hook and line, on the banks of another river on the other side of the world. He was back to those happy moments, before marriage, before other happiest moments, before the loss and mourning.
Now existed only the river, the kids, the reflections on the water.