365 Fiction Bites

He strokes his guitar, pinches the right notes and sings. While he is letting his words out, his mouth appears to be gum free. Empty.

Between verses, however, he chews. He chews on his tongue.

They had been saving up for a rainy day. Friendly family movies, cozy story books, mouthwatering chocolatey recipes, uncomplicated board games, nice oversized sweaters, and even a warm extra large big-ass umbrella just in case they needed to go out. This last item was reserved for emergencies only.

When the perfect rainy Sunday afternoon finally showed up, they decided it was far too inviting to stay in. Deliberately forgetting the big-ass umbrella, they went out to try and catch the cold of the year.

Who wants hot cocoa with homemade marshmallows, Up on DVD and a snuggie when you can make out in the freezing autumn rain?

Indefinite means infinite. I want to be a happy fatso; metaphorically speaking, that is. I just want to go back to being empty. Thank you.

All the things there wasn't enough time for us to do, I want them out of my head. I can try, I can concentrate on the red flags, like the fact that I was never on your real list.

Focus on the better off part of all this being over. It is too late to undo the damage done. But it could be early enough to stop causing any more.

En un momento especialmente inspirado, era capaz de dar el concierto de su vida desde su banqueta. Ese tipo de actuaciones sentidas en las que se siente la necesidad de cerrar los ojos para soportar tales niveles de concentración y entrega. Semejante intensidad.

La espesura de su cabello y vello facial contribuía a aumentar su temperatura corporal hasta darle fiebre. En ese estado daba lo mejor de sí mismo. Fueras quien fueses, sintieses lo que sintieras antes de ese momento, sin duda era capaz de conmoverte. Te hacía olvidarte de todo aquello que hubiera pasado en tu vida hasta ese preciso instante. Renovaba almas con su voz. Realmente lo conseguía.

Soñaba, por las noches inconsciente tendida sobre su cama, con la existencia de una potencia intelectual emanante de su alma. Sólo si poseyera los designios necesarios, incluso si continuara careciendo de pensamientos y propósitos, podría -estaba segura- ser feliz. La voluntad, se consolaba, creía tenerla ya.

"¿Cómo he llegado a esto?", dice en voz alta, inyectándose hidrógeno líquido directamente al corazón, a la desesperada. Y se pregunta en qué momento se derrumbó y es que perdió completamente la cabeza. Se hace cruces. Retrocede e intenta recuperar la cordura. No es una tarea imposible, lo sabe. Pero teme no saber cómo seguir siendo la misma persona. El yo que siempre ha sido.

Llevarte, llevarte como un colgante, alrededor del cuello. Llevarte en la sangre, viajando por mis venas. Llevarte en la piel, adherida como un perfume duradero. Llevarte, llevarte sobre la piel. Llevarte puesta como una prenda íntima, ajustada. En mi cara, como una sonrisa. Llevarte.

She parks and gets out of the car with an already bitten apple. She takes another bite and casts it aside, less than half-eaten. I know right then and there she is the one.

She does not match the description the oracle gave me at all. I got that feeling, that pinch in the pit of my stomach, though, when I saw her throw a perfectly good apple without so much as a second thought. That's good enough for me. I don't want to listen to anything but my gut from now on.

Renounce. Right now and forever.

Either that, or resolve to play nice. Go for the long run and eventually fail. Enjoy the tortuous ride, better vitamin up for it. Ain't nobody gonna give you anything on this one, kid. You are truly and completely on your own. The worst bits, the ones you would like to talk out of you the most, those are the ones you gotta keep to yourself. No one would understand. How could they.

Voices will inevitably try to talk you off the rails. You won't always be able to shut them down. So learn your own truths and burn them into your conscience.

Make a choice and make it quick. Commit to it. Stick to it. Don't you turn your back on it, for you would be turning your back on yourself.

There is plenty of fish in the sea. But I keep to myself. I have never been a bust the windows of your car kind of girl. I am more of the I will bury this pain so deep in my soul it will eat me up inside out variety. What's a girl with a first time broken heart to do.

I step out of the bus, thinking I must look like I just stepped out of the short bus, whith that idiot grin on my face. Feeling smaller, all of a sudden.

Now that I'm back, and the shit seems to have finally hit the fan, I keep my shame to myself. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion, and so am I. But I already know what they'll say, and it's not like it's any of their business anyway. So I keep it to myself. I don't want to be conditioned. My friends know the rational me, but they don't know jack about my heart.

That can't be good, and I know it, that I don't want them to know what I give free passes for. I already know their phantom advice and I take it into account. But without the pressure of having them actually knowing what happened. I don't even want to know what happened.

And so I clear my mind. And try to let go of it, as if it never happened. But she won't. She keeps bringing it up. Bringing her up. It's just not a drop on the ocean anymore and I begin to see more clearly.

Still I see the not so few good things. Even the great ones. Somebody who respects you enough to tell you the truth, while you have the confidence to hear it, that is hard to find.

Yet again, there always was and always will be plenty of fish in the sea. Only some new fish is already knocking on my window.

I read somewhere recently that sometimes you lose the good things in life to make room for the great things. That is what I have been telling myself. Just as I have been trying to convince myself that, if I can find it in me not to care, to overlook it, to be OK with it, it will make it right. I am not disrespecting myself if I let this one slide.

There is glory in success, but it rides on the back of personal sacrifice.

Se pilla antes a un mentiroso que a un cojo. Pídele que cuente la historia del revés, empezando por el final y yendo hacia atrás. Si no consigue mantener la consistencia de la historia, o incluso le resulta más costoso que recordarla en orden cronológico natural, es que jamás pasó tal cosa.

Aunque, si lo consigues, quién te asegura que no fue sino una ensoñación.

Mansita, me gustas más. Pero por un rato, después vuelve a enseñarme los colmillos y a reirte con descaro. No quiero recordártelo, quiero que lo tengas tú presente. Que me debes, Mansita. Me debes una.

His world got narrower. I do blame her, even though I admit I never liked her one bit and knew nothing good could ever come of them getting together. Still, I did nothing. I couldn't bring myself to meddling in his life, break the love.

She should've taken better care of my boy. My poor baby boy. He was no saint, that is true. All the more reason: sinners need it all the more.

Miracles don't happen. Ask Jules, she knows. From the outside, it can very well seem she has had everything too easy, when in fact, she has had to work for everything she's got in her life. All her life. If you do ask her, she will tell you nothing comes easily. You gotta take chances to make chance happen.

Her path wasn't even clear, she was not always resolved. This she told me on a tired end-of-summer Saturday night. She will tell anyone who asks. "But sometimes you gotta suck it up and keep moving. With some sense, of course. Don't let the possibilities blind you completely from the stinking reality. Some disasters are staring at your face long before you want to realize that they are coming."

Where she always wants to get at is that you have to make do with what you're given. It's really up to you to decide whether it is worth this particular fight. Or not.

There is something that happens when you wake up next to a stranger. Unprotected by the invigorating effects of alcohol or the night's false sense of comradery, the carpe diem spell breaks and reality hits you over the head, leaving you wishing it had knocked you unconscious.

Grasping life has its consequences and you can never be quite sure of your rash decisions. Fateful or simply impromptu? Time -that motherfucking frenemy- will only tell, my dear stranger.

She resolved never to turn back on the ringer on her cell. When a truly important call came, she just knew. She could feel it through her jeans, the slightly different buzz coming right from her left pocket.

As a child I never quite got the appeal of rollercoasters. With their ups and downs and ridiculously nauseating speed. I just didn't see the point in paying too high a price only to be shaken up and left to throw up behind the next tent of the fair.

I think I kind of get it now. It sucks when you are down. It is even worse when you are coming down. But when you start to go up again... Man, oh, man. The rush, the involuntary smile, the second rush. And even when you get to the top, completely aware of what comes next, you can't help but keep grinning. You are on top of the world, right at that moment.