Short Story Collection # 8 —Apocalyptic Moons

Short Story # 8 — APOCALYPTIC MOONS (3300 words)

*All stories are protected under the © Seal of the Copyright Office of the United States. April 27, 2023 and May 01, 2023

Two children, the last survivors of the human race, search for a way out of a world in extinction. The task seems impossible when they are being chased by animals whose only source of food is human flesh.

APOCALYPTIC MOONS

God had never intervened since Adam and Eve, and Lucius and Katana were not expecting His help. God had probably left already. After all, there was nothing to supervise anymore.

For decades, scientists had predicted that humans would be the leading cause of their extinction. They also said that global warming would trigger other tragedies. Skeptical politicians ignored all warnings and did nothing to prevent the fast-approaching Armageddon.

The wrong decisions of inept world leaders increased madness and devastated Mother Nature. Nuclear wars were not destructive enough to exterminate humans.

We didn’t need alien invasions or galactic wars after all. But many agreed that Armageddon would have been much more beautiful with a space invasion. Or more exciting. Or more entertaining.

Sadly for humans, but gladly for other animal species, only humans were disappearing from Planet Earth.

The animal kingdom realized that humans were the culprits of such devastation. Therefore, they turned against humans. Humanity has consistently underestimated animals, but the equilibrium of nature invariably succeeds. Sometimes, certain species had to perish for others to survive.

All animals worldwide began to grow, and their brain capacity increased. Rats developed to double their size every hundred years. Human flesh became part of the animal diet. Animals had found a logical solution: Kill and feed. Get rid of the enemy by consuming it.

The total eradication of humans from the face of the Earth appeared impossible at first.

We knew that if unattended, an infestation of rats, cockroaches, and termites could devour a house in a few years. Humans not only left their homes alone but the entire world. They had complete knowledge of that possibility centuries before. Powerful nations blamed each other and started wars that accelerated their deserving fate.

Finally, they had reached their sad destiny. They fused the past with the present and canceled the future.

The results were catastrophic. Nearly eight billion people perished in those five centuries.

When the population began to decline, human life expectancy was a hundred and twenty years. Science eradicated many illnesses. People rarely consumed alcohol, tobacco, and fat anymore. That period was the peak of human excellence—body and mind at their best. Then, things rapidly deteriorated.

*****

Lucius Night and Katana were the last survivors. They were the last vestige of humankind. And there was no one left to cheer for their success. Adam and Eve didn’t have such an impossible task.

Lucius Night had a far superior mind than most scientists from the twentieth century. Katana Luna had a JCN chip implanted before she was born. They were human computers. They were taller and more robust than their human counterparts from five centuries before. But they were still vulnerable to the rest of the animal kingdom, where a rat was as large as a cat. The size increase could not be noticeable yearly, but the difference was huge in five hundred years.

Having a common enemy, animals had become allies in fighting against humans. The animal kingdom had significantly reduced killing each other; half of them had adopted a semi-vegetarian diet. The other half was consuming human flesh, which seemed to be addicting, judging from the amount they were ingesting. And the supply appeared to be unlimited.

Lucius and Katana didn’t know they were the only humans left. They had not seen other people for a long time. The last time Lucius saw his parents was soon after his mom had delivered Katana, and many months had passed since their parents had left the cave.

Lucius knew there was a slim chance he and his sister would survive. He had promised himself never to give up for Katana’s sake. The primary purpose of Lucius’ life was to protect his little sister.

It was hard to guess Lucius Night’s age due to the change in human life expectancy. Whatever his age, he was far more intelligent and strong than he appeared.

Every single day was going to be a struggle to remain alive.

Adam and Eve did their best, but they failed. From the story of the Tree of Knowledge, it all went down in a disastrous decline. But their decline had lasted thousands of years. If Lucius and Katana wished to avoid the complete eradication of human life, first and foremost, they had to implant one thing into the minds of future generations: They had to respect their home.

Humankind was one People. Planet Earth was their only home. They had to take care of it constantly, mainly by leaving it alone.

God had never intervened since Adam and Eve, and Lucius and Katana were not expecting His help.

God had probably left already. After all, there was nothing to supervise anymore.

If anything was specific in the Bible, it had to be Armageddon. The end-of-times scenario had been worse than anyone could ever have imagined. But, the planet’s landscape has dramatically improved since humans began to disappear. Earth’s heart was beating at a lower speed. Nature didn’t need men. The world had no use for humankind.

Big metropolises like New York, Tokyo, and Rio de Janeiro became beautiful jungles. Deserts began to shrink as soon as humans started to vanish. In the same way humans underestimated animals, they also underestimated Mother Nature’s healing powers. After the first signs of human extinction, all damage done by humans began to reverse. Nature was finally getting rid of a grave illness: humanoid overcrowding.

*****

---

Lucius and Katana had only two weapons to defend themselves. Katana Luna had the paralyzing waver, a handgun designed to send airwaves in all directions. It could paralyze all animals within a hundred feet radius, and the effect could last from two to six hours, depending on the animal’s size. It was a non-lethal weapon. Lucius had the invisible laser-blazer, an accurate ray-seeking weapon powerful enough to disintegrate a whale in a fraction of a second.

During the twelve-month gestational period, their parents implanted most of their knowledge. The parents prepared that knowledge, knowing that human extinction was approaching. They had specific training in survival skills. Their food source contained mainly pills rich in artificial nutrients and proteins, including water. Each tablet had a slow energy release that lasted a week, and they had a supply to last ten years.

Since there was nothing nice to talk about, Katana rarely spoke. Instead, she used signs and signals. She enjoyed stories about Mom and Dad, and Lucius was happy to share them. After all, he knew those stories would fade from his memory one day.

Sometimes, they would sit on the rocks at the cave entrance and watch the world go by. Sunsets were always sad.

Once a week, Lucius bathed Katana. He grabbed a bucket and a sponge and started washing her face with soft strokes as if she were his most precious treasure.

“Does it bother you?” asked Lucius, lightly touching the spot on Katana’s arm where the scar from her implant was still visible.

“Sometimes.” her answers were always laconic. “Tell me a story about Mom.”
Lucius began, “On hot days, after cooking dinner, she would lie down to rest on the cool cement and ask you to blow air on her sweaty face. You would blow until you fell asleep on her chest.”

Katana loved to hear a song that reminded her of her mom. Every time Lucius sang it, she closed her eyes, swayed her head, and tapped her right temple with her right hand.

“Katana Luna, Katana Luna, my sweet moon
Brighter than the sun
Stronger than a monsoon
Katana Luna, Katana Luna
I’d go insane without you.”

And every time Lucius finished singing, Katana would end up with a big smile and Lucius with tears in his eyes, for that was the song her mom used to sing to help her fall asleep.

The last two humans on Earth were sustained by love, just like the first two humans in the Bible.

*****

---

Their parents chose a cave on a mountain range less than a mile from the ocean for shelter. Lucius was glad the cave was always dark. That way, intruders would be blind in the dark, too—the hidden cave’s mouth between cracks in the rocky mountain could be their kingdom, but it was a dangerous place, too.

The animal invasion of the cities was a fantastic collaborative operation in which several animal species participated. With no apparent leader, the animals had to communicate telepathically or in another mysterious way.

Professional exterminators could only control house pests, but they had to create special weapons to eliminate the new aggressive and bigger kind. They were no longer exterminators but hunters. These animals emerged mostly after sundown, and they were predators like bats, wolves, coyotes, and others. But it was insanely dangerous, day and night.

The military forces began to help, but soon, they withdrew because they were causing more trouble than help. There were too many human casualties. Besides, the American people were well armed, but the enormous amount of attackers was overwhelming.

Due to the constant contact with such horrific carnage, people began to lose their sensitivity at the sight of human loss. Even when they devoured their children in front of their eyes, they had to continue the struggle to care for themselves. There was no time for crying.

Other tragedies began to occur. With toxic waste, new viruses appeared, causing pandemics of such virulence and infectiousness that further decimated the human population. They had to abandon their jobs to fight for their survival, and famine followed. It was unmerciful.

Communities evolved into isolated tribes, and people fled, searching for natural shelters. Mountain caves, forests, and tunnels. But there was no escape or solution; animals were bigger and more dangerous outside city limits. You could be eaten by a thousand ants or by a single bear.

Lucius and Katana witnessed a terrifying sight from the cave’s entrance one morning. A thick swarm of birds and other flying bugs was approaching the cave, along with thousands of terrestrial pests, mice, spiders, ants, cockroaches, and other unidentifiable creatures. Like a plague, they were devouring everything in their path.

Katana’s screams were muted by the swarm’s collective noise. With weapons in hand, they immediately counterattacked and got their guns out. Even with their powerful weapons, it took several seconds to control the impressive invasion.

The reach of their weapons created a contrasting line. Thousands of dead animals on the ground, and many more continuing their journey.

Later, while they recovered from the shock, Lucius said: “I remember when Dad killed our dog, Kepler, because the dog tried to eat you; that’s when all this thing started.”

“Why was the dog named Kepler?” Katana asked.

“That’s the name of the planet humans have been trying to colonize for centuries,” he answered.

*****

---

When Lucius ventured outside to hunt for food, he struggled with choosing what to do with Katana. He could take or leave her, but he always found that hard to decide. There was no safe place anywhere anymore.

He would often return with fish or birds, the only kind of animals that Lucius considered safe for human consumption. The problem was their size. They could eat you, too.

Dates and seasons had no meaning. Nothing mattered anymore, only survival. Child play had turned into ‘adult’ supervision.

It had been months since they last had fun. That time, it rained for hours, and they went out to dance and sing for a short time, ignoring the desolation around them for a while. The downside was they couldn’t drink the rain anymore. It tasted foul and impure.

At night, Lucius caressed Katana’s face while she slept beside him. He realized that his little sister could not hide her beauty despite her lack of hygiene.

One day, when Lucius returned from hunting, he found two paralyzed wolves in the cave. After he took them outside and shot them with the DD (disintegrating device) gun, he decided never to leave Katana alone again. If she had been asleep, there wouldn’t be any traces of her left. That night, Lucius was sure that if that had been the case, he would have killed himself.

Katana had chosen the paralyzing gun because she was against animal killings except for human consumption. An extreme stance, considering the current situation, Lucius thought these were not times for a pacifist, but he never said a thing.

Lucius found Katana crying at the far end of the cave.

“What’s the use, Lucius?” she said.

“We cannot lose hope, Katana. Mom and Dad would disapprove. Our parents did not bring us into this world so that we would give up so easily. We must never surrender,” Lucius answered, but he also looked defeated.

They embraced with warmth and affection. Orphans like them could only find comfort in each other.

*****

---

From the beginning, one of Katana’s dearest passions had been contemplating lunar eclipses. Only two things were important in her life. Lucius was number one. Lunar eclipses would be second, for sure. She would never miss those celestial events if it were up to her. She would sit for hours, ignoring all risks and hazards. She would remain captivated in delight, hypnotized by the phenomenon in complete oblivion.

In remarkable contrast, Lucius had to remain constantly alert during those moments, ready to defuse any possible dangers. Moments like that would have made God reconsider His hope for humankind. Any god in any Universe could not ignore brotherly love of such high purity.

Katana had experienced her first lunar eclipse in the peaceful darkness of the backyard while Mom sang her favorite lullaby and rocked her in her arms.

“Katana Luna, Katana Luna, my sweet moon
Brighter than the sun
Stronger than a monsoon
Katana Luna, Katana Luna,
I’d go insane without you.”

*****

---

One of Lucius’ worst days was when Katana was attacked by a cat twice her weight. She shot the cat while it was mid-flight, aiming in her direction, but she couldn’t prevent the cat from scratching her leg as it landed on her.

That day was the second time Lucius had seen her cry. The day he found the two paralyzed wolves inside the cave was the first.

Several nights later, Lucius had a dream with Dad, and Dad advised him to search for the “crystal wall” and be ready for departure. Dad also said, “All in time, all planets must align.” Dad always gave him some guidance in those dreams. Later, he would recount those dreams to his sister, and their happiness would last for days.

Lucius found the dream hard to interpret. Nevertheless, the following day, they would begin the search for that mysterious crystal wall.

The last few days, he had noticed a slight change in the sky. The clouds were not clear. They had a blurry, wavy, foggy look like they had entered a new realm.

Lucius had never doubted his dad’s advice. Still, he was uncertain about the “wall” or what to do if he found it. He felt excited but knew they would encounter high risks and unwanted danger. That day, Lucius took Katana along and began to search for the crystal wall.

Early morning, they climbed the mountain’s peak above the cave. Katana’s injured leg had not completely healed yet, but Lucius knew she was strong enough for the task. With weapons in hand, they began the trek. Climbing the mountain was difficult, but Lucius was glad they were well-rested and energetic. Katana was hiking a few feet ahead of Lucius. That way, Lucius thought, he could catch her if she slipped.

And she did slip when a menacing yellow spider crossed her path. The spider was half her size; it seemed that the arachnid could be able not just kill her but eat her. The hairy beast looked eye-to-eye with hypnotic eyes to Katana while gnashing its ten-inch mandibles. Swift and hostile, the spider stunned Katana and made her lose her balance. Lucius leaped between the two-foot-tall monster and, fearless and ferocious, shot the spider while catching Katana in his arms.

After that, Lucius decided to carry Katana on his shoulders. He thought it wouldn’t be a safer place than that. But he was wrong.

The next time they encountered danger, the sun signaled. Lucius saw a shadow on the ground coming in their direction, giving him a fraction of a second to anticipate an attack from above. He had his gun ready when Katana was snatched by a bird so large it appeared to come from prehistoric times. Lucius shot the bird precisely, forcing the animal to release Katana and catching her in the air again.

They kept going for weeks. They began to doubt the possibility of achieving their objective when they crashed into a wall a few yards past what appeared to be the end of the luscious vegetation and thick forest. They never thought the world could have an edge.

Beyond the glass wall, Lucius could see the sky all around him, even below his feet. It seemed so odd and enigmatic.

His inquisitive mind couldn’t find a logical explanation. He hit the glass with a rock as hard as he could but couldn’t even scratch it. He wondered whether the wall was enclosing the space outside or if they were in some cage. Seeing the enormous void of space in the exterior, he guessed the second part was right.

They began exploring what appeared to be a new world within the old one. It seemed like a dream. It was hard to describe the new world.

They noticed a few changes in the surroundings. The animals seemed smaller. Or were he and Katana growing bigger? Ultimately, they concluded that the animals were returning to their standard size. They also seemed less ferocious and began to appear in pairs. It was probably mating season, but it couldn’t be mating season for all species simultaneously.

When they ventured into the ocean, the water tasted less salty. Things were indeed changing. He recalled watching a pod of gigantic whales that caused a tsunami and pushed the seawater close to their cave, almost a mile away and a hundred feet above sea level. But that was a long time ago. The ocean now looked more like a lake. It was serene and peaceful and as beautiful as ever.

He carried Katana on his shoulders for three days along the glass wall. One night, something strange happened: the night seemed longer. Their internal clock malfunctioned because when they woke up, it was still dark. Katana and Lucius went back to sleep three times before the sun reappeared.

Then, something even stranger occurred: two moons appeared on the horizon. It was a beautiful moonrise—peculiar and freakish but extremely beautiful.

Unbeknownst to them, they had arrived at their destination: the New World, a world so big it would take seven days to go around its axis. A day on this planet was equal to seven days on Earth. The crystal walls surrounding Katana and Lucius’ world were, in fact, a spaceship created by their father. It also functioned as an ark, transporting animals to the new, vacant world.

“Look, Katana, look!” Lucius screamed in excitement. “Look, Katana, two moons! Can you imagine a lunar eclipse with two moons? This is the real beginning of Eternity. This world is our new home, Katana.”

The End

Edmundo Barraza

*All stories are protected under the © Seal of the Copyright Office of the United States. April 27, 2023 and May 01, 2023

Written in Lancaster, CA. Nov-28-2015
Posted on Blogger 9-30-2017
Posted on WordPress Jul-21-2019 Reposted 3-11-2023

Short Story Collection # 7 — An Accidental Dream

Short Story # 7 — AN ACCIDENTAL DREAM (1500 words)

All stories are protected under the © Seal of the Copyright Office of the United States. April 27, 2023 and May 01, 2023

Having a strange dream or nightmare, or under the effects of anesthetic drugs?

Tip number one:

Never read about Spanish conquerors before falling from your bike.

AN ACCIDENTAL DREAM

I wasn’t sure why I ended up in the hospital. I remember riding my bike down a steep, straight road, standing up on the main horizontal frame. Either that or I was doing my most daring trick: speeding straight as an arrow and ignoring a stop sign to cross the widest boulevard in town. I only performed that trick at night when there wasn’t any traffic. I had fun taking risks, but I wasn’t stupid.

My entire body hurts. According to the pain level I’m feeling, I would say an eighteen-wheeler ran me over. I can’t move. My body feels numb, including my brain. My body is in shock. My thoughts are not clear at all. I can’t remember my name, but that doesn’t worry me much. I’m alive and complete, I think.

I wonder how many people have died on this bed. I don’t have any experience with this, but I hope it’s not my turn yet. I can barely move but have enough energy to bend my head and see if I still have my four extremities. I just discovered another thing. A hospital is an excellent place to start believing in God because I want to make sure I end up in a peaceful place when I die.

The room is cool and clean, but it could be more comfortable.

I must have lost a million brain cells when I hit my head. I hope I still have some left. I don’t remember my age either. This is so absurd and confusing.

The nurse doesn’t realize I’m back from my comma or sleep. From her appearance, I think she’s Hispanic. She’s young and cute. She’s checking some plastic bags from a metal stand beside the bed. A person wearing a white robe opens the door. I guess he’s the doctor. He talks to the nurse and tries to convince her to kiss him. He now chases the nurse around the bed. Typical. However, they ignore the most important person in the room, the patient. I don’t want to watch a silly romance, so my mind decides to leave the room, and I fall asleep.

I found myself in another world. If this is the real world, I don’t like it either. Somebody is chasing me. It feels unreal like I’m part of a story in a book or like I’m in somebody’s dream—it could be my dream. My confusion increases.

After I fell from my bike, the asphalt road turned into a jungle. And someone who seems to be a Spanish conqueror is chasing me. He doesn’t seem to have good intentions. It appears that, for some reason, he’s trying to kill me. If he’s a Spanish conqueror, I might be an Aztec warrior. I decide to call him Cortez. And if he’s Cortez, I must be Moctezuma. And I like the idea. As soon as I decide to be Moctezuma, my fears disappear. He will not conquer me despite his cannons, soldiers, and guns. Because this is my empire, my jungle, and my dream.

Back at the hospital, the doctor, who has a red beard, wants to know my pain level from one to ten. I say nine because I prefer to be sedated and remain here than be chased by Cortez and his horses. Then, the doctor increases the painkiller dosage, which keeps me unconscious and sends me to dreamland. The liquid runs straight from the plastic bag to my weak and vulnerable brain and immediately gives me more hallucinating images.

As if somebody pressed a button, I transferred to la-la land and found Cortez behind my tail.

If I remember correctly, according to the Spanish conquerors, Moctezuma was killed and stoned by his people on a balcony in his palace. On the other hand, the indigenous accounts claim that Spanish soldiers killed Moctezuma, not Cortez. Now that I remembered that, I feel less worried, but just in case, I pick some coca leaves, place them in my mouth, and keep running to put more distance between Cortez and me. If I’m carrying the effects of the hallucinatory drugs from the hospital bed to my dream, I might also be able to bring the effects of the coca leaves from the jungle to my hospital room.

After a while, I only hear growling, howling, and other animal noises in the jungle. I think I lost Cortez. The chase was in my favor from the beginning. Cortez had no advantage riding his mighty horse in this thick vegetation. I don’t know why Cortez is so persistent in his desire to kill me. We already gave him most of our gold, which is useless to us. In exchange, they gave us cheap trinkets and mirrors, which were meaningless to us. But I wish I could keep this beautiful medallion hanging from my neck. It feels good bouncing on my chest. My heart and the medallion seem to converse while I try to escape from the villain in my dream.

I wonder if my demented mind is confusing reality with the dream. Is the jungle real and the hospital a dream? But it can’t be because if I’m Moctezuma, I can’t know about hospitals and drugs. Can one hallucinate about things that don’t exist? But can you imagine an Aztec warrior riding a bike? I need to discard these absurd thoughts. They’re too bizarre, even for a nightmare.

I think my mind is more alert than my body, even though my mind is working overtime and on drugs.

I must thank Grandma for giving me all those books about the Aztecs and conquistadors. While trying to refresh my memory of Cortez and Moctezuma, another character shows up: “La Malinche.”

I believe that by thinking about my dreams when I am not asleep, I’m feeding more material to my mind to continue dreaming. If I’m not wrong, La Malinche was an indigenous native who acted as an interpreter, advisor, and lover to Cortez. She was also known as Doña Marina.

The chase ended abruptly when I reached the end of the jungle at the shore of the lake. I wasn’t so afraid because I knew it wasn’t the place where I would die. But I wished nobody would change the history because Cortez died before Moctezuma.

Conquerors are never alone. Cortez had many men with him, and I was alone. But I knew that if the fight were between him and me, I would destroy him.
The Empire had prospered for centuries mainly because of the advice of the high priests and wise war strategists, whom the Spanish invaders killed as soon as they arrived. For a foreigner sailing from a strange land, Cortez displayed some master evil trickery.

He captured me and returned to Tenochtitlan, my palace, and my people. Along the way, I kept hearing voices from the hospital, mixing the dream with reality. I could hear the doctor and the nurse. At the same time, I was listening to Cortez leading me to my palace. Cortez was trying to persuade me to talk to my people and convince them to give up our arms to avoid more bloodshed. In the other scene, the doctor is on his knees, offering a ring to the nurse. She finally accepted a kiss from him.

It was hard to concentrate. I was fighting for my life on two fronts, without knowing which one was my real life. If I had a choice, I would have chosen to be left alone.

Jumping from one place to the other was out of this world. It was hard to distinguish between fiction and reality. If I was in pain, I could medicate myself and return to the jungle. If the drugs wore off, I could return for more. I didn’t have any idea how long I had been there. I had no notion of time or space.

I returned chained to my palace and my people. I felt ashamed because they captured me without a fight. La Malinche bowed to Cortez and ignored me. That made me feel miserable and abandoned. When Cortez pushed me to the central balcony of my palace, I knew the end was getting near.

I felt the sharp point of a knife on my left side. On my right side, La Malinche secretly slid a knife into my hand.

Cortez kept putting pressure on his knife. I remained static and unafraid. I knew I would never surrender to his demands. I would never, for any reason, betray my people. I’d rather die.

Dr. Cortez was lying on my bed and bleeding to death over my body. Our blood was getting mixed on the bed sheets.

Marina, the nurse, was in shock, crying inconsolably.

Before my last breath, I thought how good it was to be able to change history in my dreams.

The End

Edmundo Barraza

*All stories are protected under the © Seal of the Copyright Office of the United States. April 27, 2023 and May 01, 2023

Written in Lancaster, CA 01-14-2015

Posted on Blogger 09-29-17

Posted on WordPress 08-04-2019 Reposted 03-11-2023

Short Story Collection #6 — Spirit in the Sky

Short Story #6 — SPIRIT IN THE SKY (1200 words)

*All stories are protected under the © Seal of the Copyright Office of the United States. April 27, 2023 and May 01, 2023

Three young, united, and adventurous brothers try to top all their previous daring tricks, but this time, they could get separated for real after their latest risky move. Now, someone must choose between life and death.

SPIRIT IN THE SKY

If we were doing sixty, the train was probably doing fifty-five. The highway was parallel to the tracks, but we were gaining speed because we needed to reach the curve up ahead to cross to the other side before the long train arrived at the crossing. It seemed like we were going to beat it. We were getting closer. At that point, we had a better chance if I accelerated than if I tried to use the brakes or chicken out. I pushed the pedal, but the engine took a second to receive the gas. That second could be critical.

My brother Ralph always dared me to do that, and I was stupid enough to listen. On the other hand, Anthony was always eager to reach another adrenaline high. Their screams and cheers increased as if trying to neutralize the infernal engine noise. But nothing could eliminate the loud train whistle.

We were just three teens trying to have some fun. I was sixteen.

I was sleeping on the couch when someone knocked at the door. I didn’t want to get up, but whoever was at the door was annoyingly persistent. When I opened it, nobody was on the other side. I was pissed but happy simultaneously because I could go back to sleep. The moment I sat down, they knocked again. I hurried to the door this time, but again, nobody was there. Then, I stood alert, ready to jump and catch the funny guy interrupting my dreams. Even if it were one of my brothers, I would kick his sorry ass.

That’s when I noticed they were knocking on another door. The closet door in front of the couch, across the room. What the hell?

I wasn’t mad anymore. That was a great joke, after all. I bet it was my younger brother Anthony. Ralph wasn’t so inventive as to pull such an intelligent prank. But I still wanted to kick somebody’s ass.

I smiled when I opened the closet door, but nobody was there. What the hell? I heard someone knocking from the inside. How could they do that? Then I noticed a note taped to the shelf. It said, “You need to go to the cemetery. We’ll meet you there.” Ralph and Anthony signed it.

My brothers and I had always been close. We rarely spent an entire day apart.
At school, bullies were never welcome in our presence, and all the students knew it. We were always chasing bad kids. But now that I think about it, we were probably the bullies.

My brothers knew how much I loved cemeteries. When we were kids, I begged them to join me at the cemetery every year on the Day of the Dead, even though we didn’t have anyone to visit. The first time we smoked weed, we were there. I remember it was a foggy night, and just before midnight, Ralph said, “Shh, did you guys hear that?” We turned around, and a second later, we fled like mad ghosts, laughing hysterically.

When Grandma died, at the end of the funeral ceremony, Anthony secretly gave Ralph and me a thumbs-up sign. We knew what he meant. From then on, we had a valid excuse to go to the cemetery. We visited Grandma more often than when she was alive.

*****

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It was dark when I arrived at the cemetery. We always liked the mausoleum with the black marble surface. It had four thick Roman columns and a statue of a child angel. I went straight to that tomb, but they weren’t there. I kept looking for them until I found two mounds of fresh dirt belonging to two recent arrivals. My brothers were there, but they looked transparent and foggy.

That’s when I remembered what had happened. We had not made it to the other side of the railroad crossing.

The shock and pain had been so great my memory had blocked the accident.

“I miss you, brother,” Anthony told me right away. “We were supposed to be together all our lives. We said we’d never be apart. We even made a pact, remember? We said, ‘We’ll kill the first one who dies.’ But now, we can’t be with you anymore. Hey, but you can come with us. You have to, brother. We can’t leave without you.”

Ralph was sobbing softly. “We didn’t make it, bro. Well, you did, but not us. We don’t know what’s happening, but we’ll soon have to leave this place. I’m sure we’re not in limbo or purgatory.”

“What’s the solution? How can I join you? Do I have to commit . . . ?” I replied, but I had to stop before pronouncing that ominous word.

I knew my life would be miserable without them. I also knew that if I missed that chance, I would regret it for the rest of my life.

“We should dig another hole for you next to our graves. Then, you can lie down at the bottom while we fill it back,” said Anthony. Ralph got on his knees and started digging with both hands. Soon, finding no better solution, we were all on our knees digging in the soft dirt.

I wasn’t sure that was a bright idea, but I didn’t complain because I felt responsible for their deaths, and I knew I couldn’t continue living with so much guilt.

As we kept digging, Ralph started to tell a story.

“I had been waiting for that moment for a long time. I had that condom for at least three weeks. When my girlfriend finally said yes, I felt lucky. Most of my friends had done it months before I did. I was about to lose my virginity and had never been so nervous. She didn’t want me to see her naked, so we did it in the dark. When I was trying to put the condom on, I dropped it and couldn’t find it. I looked for it under the bed and all around. When I started panicking, I noticed I had it on one of my fingers.”

All three of us laughed until we cried, even though we had heard that story many times before.

Then, Anthony told a story I had never heard before.

“When I saw that heart pendant at the mall, I knew it was the perfect gift for Mom. The day before Mother’s Day, I pawned Dad’s wristwatch to buy Mom’s pendant. I remember I couldn’t sleep the following night, thinking about what to steal to buy Dad’s watch back.”

Just before I began my tale, the silhouette of a man appeared. He had a flashlight in one hand and a shovel in the other. He said, “What the hell are you doing? You grave robbers, sons of bitches!”

Not even a second passed when I felt the shovel hitting the side of my head. I fell on my back semiconscious, but I could see the gravedigger trying to beat my brothers, too. Swinging the shovel left and right in vain and saying, “What the hell?” Until he realized that my brothers were the spirits of the two young men he had recently buried. And he ran away faster than the train that killed my brothers.

The following day, three mounds of fresh dirt were beside each other.
But we weren’t there anymore.

The End

Edmundo Barraza

*All stories are protected under the © Seal of the Copyright Office of the United States. April 27, 2023 and May 01, 2023

Written in Visalia, CA. Nov-14-2012
Posted on Blogger Feb- 15-2017
Posted on WordPress Aug-26-2019 Reposted Mar-10-2023

Short Story Collection #5 — A Girl From Orosi

Short Story #5 — A GIRL FROM OROSI (3800 words)

*All stories are protected under the © Seal of the Copyright Office of the United States. April 23, 2023 and May 01, 2023

A seventeen-year-old small-town girl with big dreams and goals confronts an escaped rapist. The not-so-innocent young girl must outsmart the violent criminal in order to survive. She will also need to choose her own ending.

A GIRL FROM OROSI

GRACIELA

I was born seventeen years ago in the northern state of Durango, Mexico. My parents were farm workers. When I was seven years old, we moved to the United States. When we arrived, my parents continued working in the fields. We settled in Orosi, a tiny town in the middle of California. After I learned to speak English in elementary school, things got easier, and I adapted to my new country.

I love my parents more than anything in the world, and I’m very proud of them, but my goals are so much different than they could have ever dreamed. I’ve never shared my dreams with anyone, but I’m confident I can achieve them. If they materialize, I’ll be the happiest girl in the world.

I know the world is too big to live in this little town for the rest of my life.

The first part of my plan was to attend a better high school in a bigger town. I convinced my mom to let me go to Visalia, just twenty minutes away. The second part was never having a boyfriend—not yet, anyway. I don’t want to be attached to Orosi for too long, and I’m not in a hurry to ruin my life. But I’ll take one step at a time.

My chances of attending college are not high, but I know I’ll need a scholarship. I decided to join the track and field and soccer teams, which are good options for free tuition, and I have a strong athletic body.

Everything’s fine with my family and friends, but the lack of opportunities in the area makes my future bleak and narrow. I don’t hate my life. I just dislike my options. Even though Orosi High School is only a few blocks from where I live. I’m attending Redwood High School in Visalia instead. The bus to Visalia comes every hour.

People say I’m pretty. They also say I have nice legs, but I think they’re a bit muscular. A few boys keep chasing me, too, but I’m not interested.

Sometimes, dogs chase me, too, but I usually run faster than them. One of them almost bit my rear end, but just before the dog caught me, I turned around and yelled with all the force in my lungs. I scared him so much that he skidded ten feet while trying to pull back. It was funny.

I enjoy riding the bus. I love feeling the air in my hair while doing my homework. I organize my thoughts on the bus. I dream all my dreams and see my future riding the bus. Sometimes, I feel romantic and daydream I’m on a streetcar in San Francisco, where I meet my Romeo, and . . . oh well.

One of my dreams is to move to L.A. or, even better, to New York.

Yes, I have big dreams, that’s for sure.

HECTOR

I have to do it. I’m fifty feet above the ground. It looks scary, but I know I have to do it.

The judge gave me twelve years. I’d be thirty-five when I get my release. On top of that, they would deport me to Mexico after doing my time.

I’m contemplating the only way out, my only escape. It does look scary, but I have to do it.

Next to the building where I am, there’s a palm tree that is as tall as the building. I need to make a long jump. If I don’t grab that tree after I jump, an awful death awaits me, but if I stay and don’t jump, I could spend a long and sorrowful time behind these bars.

I was seven years old when my parents came illegally to this country. My dad found a job as a gardener, while my mom stayed home and cared for kids from the neighborhood.

At school, I was always in trouble. I was a bully in every grade. I was taller than the other kids; even the teachers feared me. When I was twelve, I started touching girls every chance I had. I lifted their skirts or grabbed their breasts.

Most of them didn’t complain. They were probably afraid I’d become more aggressive. By the time I turned thirteen, I was masturbating several times a day.

Around that time, I had constant thoughts about naked girls. Sex was always on my mind. At fourteen, I had sex for the first time with a sixteen-year-old girl. The older I got, the more sex I wanted.

When I was sixteen, I raped my eighteen-year-old cousin. She didn’t say a thing to anybody because, I guess, she enjoyed it too. I raped one of my aunts too. After that, I often had sex with her even though she was married.

Some of my victims didn’t get too upset about it. Others just disappeared from my sight. I knew something was wrong with me, but I kept doing it since I wasn’t getting in trouble. During that time, I wasn’t violent. Well, not yet, anyway.

If any of them were insistent enough, I would stop. But it was weird how some of them switched their attitude in the middle of it, from hating it to loving it. It might seem hard to believe, but some returned for more. If the first time they didn’t have an orgasm because I was too fast or too rough, they would get a second or a third chance.

People can say what they want, but I know some girls I raped enjoyed it too. I shouldn’t glorify rapists, but two of my victims mentioned that being raped had been one of their sexual fantasies.

When someone accused me for the first time, the judge cleared me of all charges for lack of evidence. The girl didn’t have any bruises, and there were no witnesses.

The first time I got in trouble was with a waitress in a Mexican restaurant. The place was deserted. While she was mopping the hallway floor, I forced her into the bathroom, locked the door, ignored her cries, and had sex several times until the cops arrived. That time, the judge gave me a six-month sentence, a restraining order, and three years probation. It was a month short before my 18th birthday.

After that, I behaved like a regular person and stayed out of trouble. I had almost finished the probation period when a young woman moved near my house. That woman caused temptations in me that I had never felt before. For several days, she was the inspiration for my sexual desires. Every time I jerked off, I was thinking about her. She was married and had a child.

After spying on her for a week, I figured out her entire routine. The time she left home, the time she returned, and the time her husband left for work. She was so hot. I had to do it.

She lived in an apartment building; behind her unit was a small patio with a six-foot fence. Across the driveway, two workers were fixing another apartment.

The worst mistake I made was not covering my face. But when I’m horny, my brain doesn’t function at all. I should have known that woman could easily identify me since we lived so close.

One morning, as soon as her husband left, I made my move.

The fence was easy to jump, and the sliding door in the back was unlocked. The young woman was sleeping topless, and the sheets were on the floor. She looked beautiful in her black panties. The baby slept in a crib across the room.

I’ve never been so excited. I had an immediate erection. I pulled down my pants in a second. The key to everything was to surprise her. I had to cover her mouth and remove her panties at the same time. But the moment I touched her, she woke up and kicked me in the chest extremely hard. I wasn’t ready for that reaction. Her screams were deafening, the kid started to cry, and I panicked. I wasn’t expecting such a commotion. Still in shock, I landed on my back when I got up and ran to the patio. I shut the door behind me. The workers saw me jumping over the fence but didn’t say anything.

What a pathetic pussy I turned out to be, running out like a coward. Later, in my prison cell, I re-enacted my failed attempt in my mind several times. I had never encountered such a fury before. I would have had to strangle her before I could rape her. And all for just five minutes of pleasure.

When I returned to my house that afternoon, the cops were waiting for me in an unmarked car. There was no need to resist or to claim innocence.

The judge sent me to a county jail before being transferred a few days later to state prison. My temporary jail was on the top floor of a four-story-high building.

From the roof of the building, I was contemplating my two choices: my freedom or my death. I knew I could never find a better chance to escape than that moment. It was getting dark, and the rest of the inmates had gone back to their cells. The guards had gone, too. They probably thought an escape from there would have been impossible.

Two palm trees were next to the building. I aimed for the skinny one.

I began to run from the far end of the basketball court. I picked up speed in the middle of it because I had to jump over a four-foot metal railing. While flying in the air, I thought I’d made a stupid decision. I was fifty feet above the ground when my heart stopped beating.

After my body hit the tree, I couldn’t breathe for a few seconds. I remained immobile for an instant.

I could see the freeway down below. I was holding onto the dark side of the tree. I caught my breath and started to climb down. I was okay except for a solid chest pain and a few scratches. As soon as I touched the ground, I removed my shirt. On the back, it read: “Property of The Tulare County Jail.” Well, I’m not your property anymore fuckers!

I walked away from the bright street lights and headed for the St. John’s River, where the homeless people gathered under the bridge. I could spend the night with them and get a change of clothes. They could offer me a drink I was sure I highly deserved for my daring ‘impossible’ escape.

GRACIELA

I enjoy watching the hustle and bustle of people going to work from the bus. I know most of them come from Mexico, and most of them work in the fields. With nothing to do in a small town, even the bus ride seems exciting. But what I enjoy the most is hiking in the Sequoia Mountains.

There’s a tree near Avenue 336. It is trimmed yearly to prevent the branches from contacting the electrical wires. Because the branches carry water, they can provoke an electrical outage if they touch the cables. The tree looked afraid of the wires and grew away from them. It was ugly and beautiful at the same time.

Out-of-town people always complain about the smells around the area, the cows, the manure, fertilizers, recycled irrigating water, and even the city dump. I always defend my city and deny it all. But I know they’re right.

At school, I get along with everybody. My favorite teacher is Miss Nunez, my Art class teacher. I consider her my friend. She’s patient and caring.

Life’s slow and peaceful. What I mean to say is a little boring. I landed in this little town; I had no choice, but I didn’t want to die here.

I have big plans for my future. I want to have at least two different careers: I want to be a writer and a doctor of medicine or something like that. I know it’s not that hard. I just know it.

To return home, I’d have to take two buses, one from school to the edge of town and another to Orosi on Road 63. After ten minutes at the bus stop, I went to get a soda from the liquor store across the street. On my way back, I watched the bus passing by with resignation. I hate to wait another hour for the next one.

I want to hitch a ride, but I’m not too fond of the idea because there are a lot of weirdos in town. One time, I got a lift from an older man. He seemed to be a decent family man, but when he offered me a hundred dollars in exchange for a ‘good time,’ I got out of his car at the first stop sign.

HECTOR

I plan to hit the road as soon as possible. I need to go to another state. Nevada is my first choice. Hitchhiking or taking the Greyhound bus in Visalia was out of the question. I need a car to go north to Fresno or south to Bakersfield. Visalia is going to be a hot spot for the next few days.

If they catch me, I’d be facing at least twenty years. That’s too long for an attempted rape. I don’t even want to think about it. All I know is that I’m too horny. Tomorrow I have to find some pussy, that’s for sure.

There are about a dozen people under the bridge. An old pickup truck is parked at the edge of the road. Finding the owner was my main priority. With a twenty-dollar bill in hand, I ask, ‘I need a ride to the liquor store to get some booze.’ A guy gets up and says, “I’ll take you, buddy, but you drive. I’m a little fucked up already.”

Around midnight, we made another trip to the liquor store. When we returned, I sat beside my new buddy and kept the keys. I just need to wait for them to fall asleep.

GRACIELA

Frustrated, I decide to ask for a ride. A young guy in a pickup truck pulls over immediately, and I ask him if he can take me to Orosi. He says, “Yeah, get in. I’m going that way.”

I knew I had made a big mistake when he put a screwdriver against my ribs and said, “We’re going for a ride, and you better enjoy it.”

Damn! It’s unbelievable how fast things can change when you make a bad decision.

If I leave here alive, I’d never make another stupid mistake like this. I’m scared to death, but I’m determined to survive whatever is coming my way. I also know that whatever his intentions are, I would do anything to avoid getting raped or killed.

As the truck gained speed, I saw my chances fading away.

There’s an old gas station at the corner of Avenue 328. After that, there’s only an empty road for the next ten miles. If we go past that gas station, my chances of escaping would be minimal.

I have to provoke an accident. I see no other way out of this. I could die, too, but I have to risk it. I’m in great danger anyway. So, I went for it with lightning speed.

First, I pushed the button to unlock his seat belt, grabbed his hand holding the screwdriver, and then turned the wheel toward the gas station.

The entire action must have taken all but three seconds.

When I open my eyes, the windshield is broken, and the driver’s seat is empty.

My astonishment increased when I saw him all twisted and mangled next to the gas pump. He can’t be alive. We crashed into another vehicle, but nobody else got hurt. I come out unscathed, unharmed, and very happy to be alive.

GRACIELA

Frustrated, I decide to ask for a ride. A young guy in a pickup truck pulls over immediately, and I ask him if he can take me to Orosi. He says, “Yeah, get in. I’m going that way.”

“There’s a lot of crime in the area. You shouldn’t be asking for rides. It’s not safe,” he says as I enter the vehicle.

“Yes, I know, but I don’t want to wait for the bus for another hour. It’s boring,” I replied.

He appears to be in his early twenties; his hair is tangled, messy, and dirty. He probably had just gotten out of work or out of bed.

“Well, we can have a little fun before I take you home,” he says.

“No, I need to pick up my little brother from school and do my homework,” I say, but he keeps driving.

“No, I said we’re going to have some fun. I’m not giving you any options,” the man says as he pulls a screwdriver and pushes it against my ribs.

I couldn’t see a stop sign or a stoplight anywhere near, so I could jump out of the vehicle as I did with the old man. We were about twelve miles from Orosi. And not a soul in sight.

“No, I want to get out. Please stop,” I say as we approach a dairy farm. It would have been useless to scream. Nobody was around. After he passed the farm, he made a right turn on a dirt road and stopped the truck behind several trees.
He pulls me out of the truck by the hair. As he holds the screwdriver in his right hand, he adds, “I said we’re going to have some fun,” then he pushes me to the ground, still pulling my hair. As I lay there, he climbs over me and says, “My name’s Hector. What’s yours, baby?”

I need to escape; the only way out is an ‘out-of-body experience.’ I might get hurt, but I don’t want to feel the pain. So, I transport my body to another area I love. I find myself hiking up along the stream in the Sequoia Mountains, admiring the beautiful centuries-old trees. Ouch! I just felt a stinging pain at the center of my body.

Now, I’m walking in the middle of the shallow river, looking to the point where the trees connect to the sky. All trees point to heaven, the place where I should be.

When I return, I check my intentionally abandoned body. I found it complete, and except for a bit of blood on my private parts and some pain, I was ‘unharmed.’

As I reached the main road, I began to think about Miss Nunez because I needed to ask her for a favor. I’ve heard about a pill you take the following day after having sex to avoid pregnancy. She’s my favorite teacher, but she’s my friend too. She might help me get it.

GRACIELA

Frustrated, I decide to ask for a ride. A young guy in a pickup truck pulls over immediately, and I ask him if he can take me to Orosi. He says, “Yeah, get in. I’m going that way.”

“Hi, how are you doing? My name’s Hector. What’s yours?” he asks.

“I’m doing fine. My name’s Graciela.” he looks a little dirty but seems decent.

“I’m from out of town, just passing by, but I can stay if you show me around. We can have a good time,” the man says.

I had a strange feeling about that. “No, thanks, but I have to go home now. If you stop at the next light, I’ll be fine,” I answered, trying to sound casual, but I was nervous.

“I don’t think so,” he replies. “I said we’re going to have a good time, and we will.” He was doing fifty miles an hour.

There’s a stoplight up ahead, and I hoped it would turn red by the time we got there so I could jump out. But the damn light remains green for an eternity. Then, all I see ahead of us is a lonely road. I know I’m in deep trouble. And I don’t deserve any of it.

“Okay, Graciela, today’s your lucky day. We’re going to have sex. You can enjoy, or you can suffer. It’s up to you. I would recommend you to enjoy it, but if you don’t, it makes no difference to me,” he says while slowly getting his hand between my legs.

My body began to tremble. I’m mad at myself. I wish it was tomorrow already so I could forget about today. How can I be so dumb? My fists were tight, and my knuckles were white. I felt helpless and vulnerable.

“You don’t look like a bad guy. Just pull over and let me out, please, I beg you,” I said while holding back my tears.

He turns on a dirt road and goes to a shed behind an abandoned house. Then, he drags me to the hut. He tells me to remove my clothes and threatens me with a screwdriver in his right hand.

I suddenly remembered about a rape case I heard in the news. The victim faked enjoying the whole episode, and when the rapist finished, he gave her his phone number so she could call him any time for more sex. But she called the cops instead, and they got him. I considered doing the same thing. But I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

I thought I would ignore him instead. I would remain immobile down there on the ground like a log. I wouldn’t show any emotions. I just didn’t want to get hurt or killed.

I was on my back, naked. The man was holding me between his legs. That’s not how I had envisioned losing my virginity. After he finished, he turned me around and did it again, then again and again. Then, he rolled me over like a sack of potatoes and said, “You bitch, say something. Scream, hit me, cry or do something, you stupid bitch!” He said, “You deserve to die.”

He lifts the screwdriver with both hands above his head, and in a blink of an eye and with tremendous force, he inserts the screwdriver into my chest.

I feel my soul escaping my body. I could see myself lying there with the screwdriver on my chest. I could only see the handle protruding from my chest. I think about Mom and Dad, my unfulfilled dreams, and my future. It was all cut off abruptly and without warning. It all belonged to the past now.

How could you do that, God? I only asked you for a small favor. “I don’t want to die in this miserable town,” It was a simple favor, easy for you to concede. Why did you allow this horrible ending?

GRACIELA

Frustrated, I decide to ask for a ride. Right away, a middle-aged man in a pickup truck pulls over. Oh shit, it’s my dad! I’m in real trouble now.

“Graciela, what are you doing asking for a ride? I can’t believe it. Don’t you know how dangerous that is?” he says in a very alarming voice.

“It’s not dangerous, Dad; it’s daytime, and there’s a lot of people around,” I reply, trying to minimize the gravity of the situation.

“No, Graciela, I’d die if something bad happened to you. You have to promise me you’ll never do it again.”

“Yes, Dad, I promise,” I respond sincerely. And as I get in the truck, I kiss him.

“I promise you, Dad,” I repeat, kissing him again.

The End

Edmundo Barraza

*All stories are protected under the © Seal of the Copyright Office of the United States. April 27, 2023 and May 01, 2023

Written in Visalia, CA. Nov-17-2010
Posted on Blogger Feb-25-2017
Posted on WordPress Nov-4-2019

Short Story Collection #4 — Brothers in Distress

Short Story #4 — BROTHERS IN DISTRESS (3700 words)

*All stories are protected under the © Seal of the Copyright Office of the United States. April 27, 2023 and May 01, 2023

Three brothers plan to carry out an abominable act against their own lives. Fortunately everything goes wrong and the result is perfect.

BROTHERS IN DISTRESS

The explosion was imminent. We were still determining who or what would set it off. The decision was mutual and final. Everybody would later say it was absurd, too. I expected it to be painless. I hated pain, physical or mental.

We’re three brothers separated by six years each. We all were born in September. My brother Ralph was thirty, I was twenty-four, and my little brother Anthony was eighteen. Our house was a gathering place for all the kids from the neighborhood. I don’t remember having had any serious fights with my brothers. We were always very close to each other.

My dad had worked half his life for Ford Motor Company and was proud of it. At one point, we had four Ford vehicles in our driveway: three cars and a pickup truck. Anthony broke the tradition the day he came home in a brand new Honda Accord. My dad didn’t pretend to hide his disappointment. He didn’t let Anthony park his car near the house. At first, my brother thought Dad was kidding.

My mom was a strict catholic, maybe on the verge of fanaticism. She wanted Ralph to be a priest, but that profession didn’t interest him. She continued her efforts with me when she realized her attempts with Ralph would be futile. She insisted so much I almost accepted. I’m glad I didn’t. In the end, she had success with Anthony.

I’ve always found it unbelievable how three brothers, raised by the same parents in the same house and environment, could have disparaging personalities, desires, and goals.

My brother Ralph had always been materialistic. He was ambitious and a little vain, too. Making money was his primary goal. He preferred the administrative side of all jobs. Being the boss was what he liked the most.

I have always loved sports. I have played baseball, soccer, and basketball. I considered the possibility of becoming a professional trainer or a doctor in sports medicine because the active lives of most professional athletes last only a few short years.

My brother Anthony (thanks to my mom) became a priest. He had a true vocation for it. He had many virtues and qualities required for the priesthood. He was patient and understanding. His personality was passive and sedated. Anthony was gay, but I’m not implying a connection between priesthood and being gay.

We would do anything to help and protect each other.

We knew Anthony had been gay since he was in middle school. My mom and dad knew about it, too. We all accepted his sexual preference. “Accept” was not the right word. It wasn’t a matter of acceptance or rejection. It was a matter of understanding. The subject never caused any problems. He was never bullied or bothered by anyone, maybe because he had two big brothers or because he was quiet and intelligent, and everybody enjoyed his company.

He never had the urge to come out of the closet. He never felt the need to disclose it or hide it from anybody. It was just a normal situation. No one was affected negatively by it.

We were born six years apart in the same month, September. Since Anthony was born, we celebrated our birthdays on the same day—a single party.

One day, Ralph invited us to celebrate our birthday at his house —just the three of us. We had enough tequila to last the whole week. Ralph explained that the mortgage on his fancy home was ‘upside down,’ meaning he owed more than the house’s worth. It had negative equity. He had several active loans on it.

His wife Lauren had recently left him. They had a seven-year-old daughter. Everything was fine until he began spending more time spending his money and not enough time making it. He loved expensive toys, cars, and boats. He used to take long vacations worldwide, sometimes without his family, until he was broke and alone.

I saw it coming a long time ago. I knew Ralph would have to file for bankruptcy and start all over. I didn’t understand why he had to be so greedy. Anthony always admired Ralph. He was his idol and his favorite person in the world.

After Ralph shared his economic situation with us, Anthony offered his help. “I could lend you ten thousand dollars, no, fifteen thousand dollars. I know I can get a loan for that much from my church,” he said.

Ralph kissed him on the cheek.

“I love you, Anthony. You’re my favorite brother,” Ralph said, then he turned to me and said, “You’re my favorite brother, too,” and he continued, “but I’m beyond normal help. Not even bankruptcy could save my ass.” He said this with a sad smile on his face. He took another sip of tequila, now drinking from the bottle.

“How bad is it?” I asked him.

“Bad,” he answered.

“Well, you can sell the house our parents left us, and you can also sell the shares my dad had with Ford. I’m sure Anthony wouldn’t mind,” I said. (Our parents had died in a dreadful car crash three years before.)

“I’m sorry, I already did all that. I don’t deserve to be your brother. I knew you wouldn’t mind because you’re not greedy like me. My problem is beyond solution. I’m facing heavy shit. I’ve been taking money from new clients to pay back old ones. And the bubble is about to burst. I’m talking about years of jail time. It’s not just because I’d lose my freedom. I’d be too ashamed to confront my friends and people who trusted me. I’d rather die. I’m glad we’re together today. Today is my farewell. I’m taking my life. No one can change my mind. It would be useless if you tried.”

Then, he opened a cabinet door where a handgun and a single bullet appeared on the bottom shelf.

He continued, “A few months ago, I bought a life insurance policy for two million dollars. Lauren is the beneficiary; the only problem now is that she can collect it only if my death is accidental, but if I kill myself, she gets zero.”

To my amazement, neither Anthony nor I were shocked to hear about his vile plans. I had the same strange feeling when I learned about the death of our parents—a vast emptiness inside my body. I felt like my soul wanted to disconnect from my body.

*****

---

On the day my dad celebrated twenty-five years of employment for the Ford Motor Co., they delivered a one-inch thick piece of beveled glass with the Ford logo. It belonged in a car dealer’s showroom. I thought it was a large dining tabletop, but it was a front door.

When they installed it, it looked fancy and expensive, and I bet it was. My dad said jokingly, “Remember, boys, in case of an emergency, like an earthquake, a fire, or something like that, we’ll remove the door and put it in a safe place. After that, we can look for your mother.” I also remember that he used to clean it ceremoniously with a special cloth and glass cleaner every night.

Well, it lasted only two weeks because one day, we were kicking the soccer ball, practicing penalty kicks, and using the garage door as our goalposts. Ralph was the goalie, and I kicked the soccer ball very hard, missed the garage door, and hit my dad’s pride instead.

That afternoon, we waited for my dad, sitting on the curve by the driveway. When he got home, we all stood up, and Anthony said with the saddest face I’ve seen my whole life, “Dad, I broke your door.” He said this while hugging him around his waist and sobbing quietly. He was probably eight years old.

Then Ralph said, “No, Dad, it was me. I’m sorry. I swear I’ll pay for it as soon as I start working.” By then, my dad was looking at me, knowing that I had broken it.

As we stood in front of the house looking at the ample space where the door was supposed to be, my dad said,

“Don’t worry, boys. It was just a door. Anybody can replace a door. I want nothing bad to happen to you because you are irreplaceable. You just showed me how much you care for each other, which makes me a happy father,” my dad proudly said. But we felt sad for him because we knew he wouldn’t last another twenty-five years of loyal work to get another door from Henry Ford.

Then, we brought a piece of plywood from the garage and covered the space temporarily.

But we couldn’t do anything to fill the space in my dad’s heart. “I’m so sorry, dad,” I said.

I was very proud to belong to my family. I felt we were indestructible. I knew I would do anything for any of them, anything.

*****

---

Ralph grabbed the gun in one hand and the bullet in the other, saying, “I have only one bullet. I need to make it look like an accident. Any suggestions?”

“Come on, Ralph! Please don’t joke about it. We can’t let you do that. There has to be another way out. We should put our minds to work and devise a more reasonable plan. There must be another solution.” Anthony said firmly.

“I thought about other solutions, like running away like a coward to another city, state, or country. Disappear anywhere and start all over, but I can’t do that. What I’ve done is punished with prison, and I know I wouldn’t last a week in jail. Even if I did, after many years of imprisonment, I wouldn’t be able to face my friends or clients. I’d be too ashamed to look into my daughter’s eyes. I know I’m right when I say I don’t deserve to be your brother. Please, don’t make it harder on me. My decision is final. I couldn’t do it without letting you know first.”

“Well, if you do it, I’d do it too. I swear I would. I’ve been thinking about it. I have strong motives. I’ll tell you what real suffering is,” Anthony said.

“I was deeply in love for the first time in my life, but in my case, it was wrong. I met a young boy; he was gay, too. Nothing shameful or illegal happened between us. We became good friends right away. He was seventeen years old. Some people say that priesthood is a refuge for repressed homosexuals and that we join the seminary to keep functioning in society and to hide our sexuality. My case is not like that at all. I love being a priest, and I’d be a priest even if I weren’t gay. I was never trying to hide anything. We fell in love and promised ourselves to wait until he turned eighteen. Celibacy and abstinence were tough choices for me. But for him, I could return to civilian life.” he paused, took a long sip of tequila, and continued.

“When he told his mom about us, he thought she would approve. Instead, she moved her family to another city and reported me to our diocese. He committed suicide two weeks ago. I couldn’t even go to his funeral. I felt like I betrayed God like my vocation wasn’t sincere anymore. I just wanted to die, too. My decision is final, too, and nobody can change it either, not even you two. What hurts me the most is that God will never absolve me because suicide is a transgression against the sanctity of life.”

The three of us were quietly sobbing. We each had a bottle of tequila, drinking and sharing our problems and individual pain. We couldn’t even have these suicidal thoughts if our parents were alive. But at that moment, we were just three grown-up orphans.

It never crossed my mind that any of my brothers could ever consider committing suicide.

If you were serious about it, you would keep it to yourself. That was something nobody would announce to the world. In any case, I was the only one with a legitimate excuse.

*****

---

I relived the entire episode many times. It was hard to understand life and the many tricks it plays on you. I knew how a simple decision could alter your future. I learned how a minor modification in your routine could vary (and bury) your future. How could fate, God, or whatever change your future instantly? For instance, let’s say my father had a toothache the day he was supposed to have met my mom, and he didn’t get out of the house that day because of the discomfort and pain. I wouldn’t have existed.

When I returned home from college for the long Labor Day weekend, my friend Mike from high school called me to join him to shoot some pool and, of course, to have a few beers. We called a few more friends and met at a bar about thirty miles from home.

I should have declined the invitation.

When we got out of the bar, we were wasted. Someone suggested buying more beer before the liquor stores closed. I was driving alone, while Mike and the other two friends were with him. On the freeway from the other car, one of the guys offered me a beer. We matched our speed, got our cars close together, and extended my arm to reach for the beer.

That’s the last thing I remember from the accident. How reckless and irrational you become with some alcohol in your blood. And I thought I was a mature person.

A week later, I regained consciousness and came out of a coma. Only to learn that my able body had turned into a useless piece of meat, confined to a wheelchair for the rest of my life. Mike and the other two guys died at the scene.

As I said, I should have declined the invitation.

I broke up with my beautiful girlfriend while still in the hospital after she offered to give me a blowjob.

For months, I had entertained the possibility of committing suicide. The first thought came up in the hospital. I knew then that I had to do it. I didn’t know what I was waiting for, probably for the right moment, although the right moment was ‘any time.’ I had no hope. I had no goals. Nothing I would achieve could bring happiness to my life. I was only half a man, destined to be an eternal failure.

Some people said I was lucky that I survived. Lucky?

My plans to become a professional soccer player, a coach, or a doctor vanished with a careless decision. No more sports, social life, regular job, or career. At least not at its full potential, as I would have wished. Oh, and I couldn’t have sex or kids of my own. What a miserable life!

*****

---

After Anthony exposed his motives for wishing to end his life, he looked at me, expecting me to burst out with my reasons to kill myself. After all, I was in a wheelchair. I was the only one with apparent reasons. One time, Ralph asked me if I had suicidal thoughts. Before I could answer, Anthony said that I shouldn’t consider it.

We all had reasons.

I’m sure we all felt like the day I broke my dad’s door. Three brothers eternally united. We just sealed a silent pact, a mutual consent to end our lives.

Life didn’t matter to us anymore. We were just three adult orphans with no close ties to anybody other than ourselves.

Neither one of us was optimistic about a bright future anymore. However, I needed clarification on Ralph and Anthony. After all, they were complete. I mean, they didn’t have any physical disabilities, but they were disappointed with their lives, and sometimes that could be worse than any disability.

Their dilemma seemed less drastic than mine. Their predicament appeared to be only temporary, and mine was permanent. There was no solution to my problem. Acceptance was my only option, but I was too bitter for that.
I felt tempted to convince them to retract. Instead, I just kept quiet.

A sudden thought came to my mind. If I had ended my life, I wouldn’t have regretted it. I’d be dead already. But if I didn’t, things could improve. Maybe I could postpone it one day at a time until the desire to kill myself went away. For a moment, I wished my brothers would reconsider it. I could go either way, but I joined the majority, and once again, I kept quiet.

“So, how are we gonna do this?” Anthony asked, trying to sound as casual as possible. “We could get drunk out of our minds and burn the place down. Or better yet, we could turn the range on, blow out the flames, and let the gas fill our lungs until we pass out from breathing the fumes, or someone can shoot the oven.”

“Our baby brother is always the one with the best ideas,” Ralph said, looking at me as he took another sip of tequila. “I was going to ask any of you to shoot me, but I know that’s impossible. You wouldn’t dare. Besides, I only have one bullet.”

“Well, if we do it with gas, we’ll need some masking tape to seal all doors and windows,” I said.

In a few seconds, Ralph showed up with two rolls.

“I know many people were commenting behind my back that Lauren was my trophy wife, and they were right. I bet she can find someone better than me before my body turns cold,” Ralph said as he sealed the front door. Anthony was handling the gas range while I taped the living room windows. We were always an excellent team: fast and efficient, happy to do our chores together, and talking nonstop.

It felt weird working so happily together while preparing for our deaths. It didn’t seem right. It must have been the effects of the alcohol, but I hadn’t felt happy in a long time. I wish we could do that every week.

We sat back again in the kitchen and kept drinking. We needed to pass out before we got sick from the gas smell. Anthony had turned off all pilot flames from the stove and opened all gas valves. The odor was powerful already. We were drunk, for sure. Anthony appeared to be more intoxicated than we were. I felt like throwing up. I got the lighter out of my pocket, raised my arm, and asked, “Who wants to do the honors?”

“Not yet, we’re not drunk enough, and besides, I don’t think there’s enough gas in the air,” Ralph said.

We were sitting down, facing the gas range. Ralph raised his bottle of tequila and invited us to do the same, and we all took a big gulp.

“We can still back out,” Anthony said, swaying his body involuntarily and adding, “No, no, let’s do it. I’ve always been curious about the other side. I’d be disappointed if God didn’t exist, but wait, if we kill ourselves, He won’t be receiving us with a welcoming party, but I guess it’s still all right. I also wanted to meet Satan.” my little brother was definitely drunk.

The gun was on the countertop, and the bullet stood with its beautiful shape next to it. We still hadn’t discussed who or what would set off the explosion or if we would die from the fumes. I thought I could fire a shot at the stove.

The feeling of vomiting invaded me again, and I turned my wheelchair around, doing a ‘wheelie,’ and hurried to the bathroom. I was good at maneuvering my wheelchair, even while drunk. I needed to throw up. From the hallway, I heard my brothers laughing behind me.

I barely made it to the bathroom. I got out of my wheelchair, hugged the toilet like you would a good old friend, and vomited.

When I regained consciousness, it took me a few seconds to realize I wasn’t dreaming.

The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was the toilet. I climbed back into the wheelchair and hurried back to the kitchen. My mouth was dry, and so was my brain. I didn’t know what to expect. I had no idea how long I had passed out. I hoped to find my brothers laughing, talking, and breathing. Instead, they were lying motionless on the floor. Oh God, they were dead!

While vomiting in the bathroom with the door shut, I fell asleep while they were dying. Fuck! They were dead, and I was alive!

Slowly, I turned my head and looked for the gun. I took it and placed the bullet inside. Then I put the gun against my temple. Feeling the ridges of the trigger with my index finger, I began to pull it. Then I saw Ralph coming back to life on the floor. He sat up, looked around the kitchen, and said,

“Oh shit, I know what happened. I forgot to pay the gas bill!”

The sun was up when Anthony woke up. We all agreed this ‘mass suicide’ wasn’t supposed to happen.

Things got better.

The government devised a bailout plan for crooked investment companies and saved Ralph’s ass. He could make some documents disappear, alter some numbers, and promise to be an honest investor for the rest of his life. We believed him.

Anthony moved to West Hollywood and found happiness in every single way.
I returned to school and later became a successful sportswriter.

We continued with our annual ritual. We still get together each September to celebrate our birthdays. And every year, Anthony would repeat the same comment:

“Hey Ralph, have you paid your gas bill this time?”

The End

*All stories are protected under the © Seal of the Copyright Office of the United States. April 27, 2023 and Mat 01, 2023

Edmundo Barraza

Written in Visalia, CA. Nov-24-2011

Posted on Blogger Mar-2-2017

Posted on WordPress Aug-8-2020 Reposted Mar-9-2023

Short Story Collection #3 — Foreign Violence

FOREIGN VIOLENCE

Short Story #3 — FOREIGN VIOLENCE (5300 words)

*All stories are protected under the © Seal of the Copyright Office of the United States. April 27, 2023 and May 01, 2023

An unfortunate accident forces Pablo to flee from Mexico to the United States, where he begins to adapt and love his new country. When his cousin Julian decides to emigrate and join him, things get more entertaining and complicated.

I’m an exile.

I fled from Mexico in a hurry. The reason was just a tragic, unexpected accident. I didn’t have time to pack anything. Straight from the accident, I ran away to the US. I couldn’t say goodbye to anyone, not even to my mom.

I was riding a crowded bus with my girlfriend. We were standing in the middle aisle when a man started groping my girl from behind. He was near the exit with his back closed to the door. When I saw him touching my girl, I pushed him so hard that the doors opened, and he fell out of the moving bus, and then a truck ran over his head when he hit the pavement. It was an awful sight, his brains scattered all over. I can still hear the cracking sound of his cranial bones.

My first reaction was to escape the scene, the town, and even the country.

I moved to the US without any chance to return to my family. It’s been a few years since then, but it feels like an eternity. Years later, I found out my girlfriend got married and had two kids. I bet she doesn’t even remember my face.

My name is Pablo. I live near Fresno in the Central Valley, Visalia, CA. I’m not legal in the country. I shouldn’t be spreading this information because they charge over two thousand dollars to help you cross the border.

I live on the second floor of a twelve-unit apartment building on Houston Street in a run-down neighborhood. I’ve been working at the Rescue Mission for the last three years. I drive a forklift, separate donated items, and put price tags on them. I used to live in LA, but rent and expenses were too high for my budget.

Recently, my cousin Julian called from Mexico to let me know he wanted to join me. He’s four years younger than me. I agreed, and next week, I’ll pick him up at a McDonald’s in San Isidro, on this side of the border. He’s twenty-four years old.

When my neighbor Mark heard I was going to Tijuana, he asked me for a favor, to get some weed from a friend in LA. Being a nice guy, I agreed.

I brought Pink Floyd, The Beatles, Bob Marley, and The Doors for the six-hour trip.

In a way, the bus incident pushed me to reach my goal of moving to LA. Having lost Mexico forever made it easy to adopt LA. Now, I love LA even more than Randy Newman does.

The freeway was an ocean of cars. You could see lots of beautiful girls everywhere. Magic Mountain to my right, Universal Studios, the Hollywood Hills, Griffith Park, the Observatory, the Zoo, and the cemetery on the hill. What a great trip. Even the San Onofre nuclear plant seemed friendly.

Julian has gained some weight and muscles since I last saw him. His skin was dark, not the burnt kind, but the tanned kind. He was close to six feet tall, and his eyebrows were heavy. He said he crossed on his first attempt. Did I mention he was lucky, too?

We still had to go through another checkpoint in San Clemente. I told him we needed to stop behind a warehouse or somewhere dark so I could hide him in the trunk.

The immigration checkpoint was closed, so I kept driving. I thought about playing a little joke on my cousin. I got off the freeway in a rest area and looked for a place where nobody could see us.

I parked the car and got out, I went to the rear and slammed the trunk, I yelled out loud in Spanish, ‘No señor oficial, no hay nadie en la cajuela se lo aseguro por favor déjeme pasar soy ciudadano americano.” (“No, officer, there’s nobody in the trunk. I assure you, please, let me go. I’m an American Citizen,”) When I opened the trunk, Julian looked terrified. He was shaking. His pants were wet.

“Eso no es nada gracioso.” Julian said, “That’s not even funny.”I kept laughing until my jaws hurt.

To get Mark’s weed, I had to drive through Topanga Canyon, from the valley to the ocean —a few miles of beautiful curves, mountains, deep green canyons, and precipices. The weather gets cooler as you get closer to the sea. The area was famous for its laid-back, hippie-style community and its marijuana crops.

Mark’s friend, Pete, was already a little high when we arrived. He met us with a friendly smile and two beers. He rolled a fat one while inquiring about our mutual friend.

I figured Pete would look like a Cheech and Chong type of guy, but I was wrong. He was a short white guy with eyeglasses and long hair. He was very friendly and funny.

He said Mark used to live there. Until one day, Mark burned the weed patch. He said Mark was so high he accidentally pushed the barbecue grill to the ground and started a fire.

That day, Pete was making a delivery in Van Nuys. When he came back, the firefighters had the fire under control. Pete thought they would call the cops, but they told him never to leave the barbecue grill unattended. He mentioned that one of them said, “Sorry about your loss.” Pete said they were high and in a good mood. That was the last time Pete saw Mark.

We were also high and in a good mood when he finished the story. I commented on his marijuana, ‘Powerful shit, man, powerful shit.’ Julian asked me, ‘qué quiere decir eso?’ (what does that mean?) and I told him in a mellow way, “caca poderosa hombre, caca poderosa” and we started to laugh.

When I told Pete the story about the fictitious Immigration officer, he laughed so hard he dropped the joint he was rolling.

After three more joints and three more beers, we took off.

It was getting dark, and I was high as a kite. My mouth was dry, and I couldn’t stop smiling. Julian was smiling, too, and that made me smile. I was happy.

But I couldn’t concentrate on the road. My eyes were squinting. I had my face close to the steering wheel like an old lady. Instead of watching the road ahead, I followed the line in the middle of the road with so many curves. I was concentrating on the double yellow line rather than on the traffic.

What a strange trip it’s been. I felt comfortably numb. I was driving on the long and winding road. I smoked two joints before I smoked two joints. Wait a minute, is that music coming from the radio or inside my brain?

Wow, I needed my normal brain back. I just wanted to get out of those curves. I was thirsty.

I wished we were in Visalia, at the Green Olive, with a beer in hand and my normal brain, but we were at the Top of Topanga, the highest point between the ocean and the valley.

I thought my fears would disappear once we reached the city streets, but I encountered a different fear—a million red lights.

Not all red lights were traffic lights. Confused, I wanted to use the breaks constantly.

Panicked and desperate, I pulled over at a liquor store to get snacks and a six-pack of sodas. After a while, I felt brave enough to continue, and I said to myself, “I’ll be fine once I get on the freeway.” Julian was talking to himself, too.

I felt much better when we reached the freeway, but a new problem emerged immediately. The car was not moving. The freeway was! We were floating in the car! The earth was circling fast. I kept the car in the center of the lane, watching the world come at us.

It was the weirdest feeling. I was hallucinating. Fuck! Potent shit, indeed. Julian couldn’t notice the kind of trip I was having.

After what seemed like an eternity, we reached the Frazier Park mountains, another fantastic area at the other end of the valley. We could see the San Joaquin Valley, two straight lanes of black asphalt as far as I could see.

The effects of “la caca poderosa” were fading away. My brain began to function again. Gaining control of my tiny shitty cerebellum was good.

For the first time since Topanga Canyon, I heard Julian’s voice saying, “. . . and that’s how they got my partner and put him in jail.”

“Oh, that’s very interesting,” I replied.

We still had time for a couple of beers. So we went to my favorite bar, the Green Olive.

We ordered two beers and sat at the end of the bar. I noticed a beautiful white girl. She had gray skintight gym pants adjusted to her fine-looking body. You could see the delicate curves of her ass. Anybody could tell she wasn’t wearing any panties.

After our third beer, Julian asked me how to say “me gusta como se te ve tú pantalón” in English (I like how you look in those pants), but instead of the correct translation, I told him, “You have a lovely camel toe.”

He practiced the sentence a few times, and after gulping the rest of his beer, he gathered all his courage and approached her.

I couldn’t hear Julian’s voice from the end of the bar, but I saw her slapping Julian on the face.

I was still laughing when he sat on his stool.

When I translated what he had just told her, he said, “pinche cabrón pendejo.” Then he returned to her and said, “Sorry, amiga.” I’m sure she knew Julian was just an innocent victim.

While smoking outside, in a dark corner, I saw some guys coming out of the bar, too. I recognized one of them from my apartment building. He lived right below my unit. We’ve seen each other, but we have never spoken.

I didn’t like him and was sure the feeling was mutual. He had a swastika tattooed on his neck. The other guy looked like his replica: baggy black pants, boots, and a white tank top—big muscular guys.

They were half drunk, and they stumbled a little. Before crossing the street, they pushed a black guy with a shopping cart into the path of an oncoming car without apparent reason. The car ran over him, and the driver never stopped.

My downstairs neighbor saw me before he ran away. They both stopped and stared at me for a couple of seconds. I knew I was in trouble.

I went inside to tell Julian we needed to leave right away. I didn’t tell him what I had just witnessed.

I was in deep shit. I was sure I’d be the next victim no matter what. Unless I got him first.

I drove around my apartment building twice to check for signs of danger. We went in until everything was safe and quiet.

His apartment was dark. I assumed he wasn’t back yet.

The first thing I did when we went inside my apartment was get a little jigsaw and make a small round hole on the wood floor under my couch and another hole in the ceiling of my downstairs neighbor.

“What are you doing?” asked Julian.

“I’ll tell you later. Let’s go to sleep. We need to find you a job tomorrow.” I replied.

In the morning, after I pushed the playback button in my brain, I got a blurry vision of past events. Julian was lying on the floor next to the couch where I slept.

I felt a cold sweat when I remembered about the supremacist piece of shit downstairs.

I looked through the little hole I had made the night before. The spot was about the size of a quarter. When I looked through it, a sudden shiver ran through my body.

My downstairs neighbor was inside the little hole. He was sitting on his couch. He was looking up in my direction. He had drywall dust on his hair. His eyes were squinting, full of curiosity.

My immediate reaction was to get the gun I kept under the sofa cushion. I put the barrel in the hole and pulled the trigger. When I looked back, my neighbor was motionless and had blood in his left eye.

My cousin woke up with a look of terror.

“Qué pasa, qué pasa?” (what’s going on?) he said.

I told him to look through the hole, and then I covered the hole with a sock. I told him what I had witnessed the night before in the bar and all about my neighbor.

“Good, it was either you or him,” he said in Spanish.

Julian was like one of those friends you can call at three in the morning to get you out of jail, take you to the hospital, or even at more critical times when you need help to kill your worst enemy. He would never question your motives. If you’re lucky, you will only get a friend like that in your entire life. At the same time, you wouldn’t like guys like him as your enemies.

When he was a teenager, a stray dog bit his ankle right above his shoe. He was bleeding and in pain, but he followed the dog and kept going for miles relentlessly until the dog couldn’t go on any longer. The dog was so exhausted he just gave up and accepted his fate with resignation. Then Julian knelt, grabbed the dog by his mouth, and forced it open until he broke his jaws.

The dog kept wandering around the neighborhood for days. Unable to control its mouth, the dog died of thirst and starvation in less than a week.

Half an hour after I shot my neighbor, someone knocked on the door. Two cops were investigating a shooting downstairs and asked if we heard or saw anything. I told them I heard a gunshot and saw a guy running from the building. I described the skinhead’s friend.

“Thank you, guys, you’re good citizens. Thanks for your cooperation and your valuable information,” they said.

After the cops left, I said, “I’m glad I killed that mother fucker.”

Julian liked the sound of my words because he kept repeating, “Maaddaa faackaa, maddaa faackaa.” I knew he’d be saying those words all day.

After we left the apartment, we stopped next door to give the weed to Mark. He asked us if we wanted some, and we declined.

Just thinking about it made me shiver.“Caca poderosa, hombre, caca poderosa.” Julian kept saying as we left.

*****

One day, after I came back from work, Julian gave me a big surprise.

He had a thick wad of hundred-dollar bills. He was fanning his face with them.

“Where did you get that money?” I anticipated an incredible story.

“Robé un Banco.” ‘I robbed a Bank,’ he said.

“What?” I replied.

“I went to this bank—I think it’s called Bank of the Sierra—and I gave a note to one of the tellers. But she couldn’t understand it because I wrote it in Spanish, so I called a Mexican-looking guy waiting in line to come and translate it. Then, she gave me all this money, almost seven thousand dollars. I gave the guy who helped me three hundred dollars and left,” he said in Spanish.

“What did the note say?” I asked him in complete disbelief, and he gave me a crumpled note.

The note said: “Este es un robo dáme todo tú dinero o exploto toda la dinamita que traigo bajo mi ropa.” [translation] “This is a robbery; give me all your money, or I’ll explode all the dynamite under my clothing.”

“You crazy mother fucker! We need to do something right away.” I said.

After a long lecture (possibly in vain), I made him wear sunglasses and a baseball cap and gave him another shirt. I burned the note, threw away the T-shirt, and took him to the barbershop.

When the barber finished, Julian looked in the mirror and said, “I like it, I like it.”

He was completely bald and unrecognizable but still handsome.

At work, I asked the trash collector driver if he could find a job for Julian.

“Yes, they need another driver,” he said.

“But my cousin doesn’t have a driver’s license,” I replied.

“No problem, neither do I,” he said.

“And he has no papers or a work permit,” I answered.

“No problem, neither do I,” he said.

Julian insisted I take half the money he ‘collected’ from the bank.

“I didn’t participate in the robbery. I wouldn’t have, even if you asked me.”

“While I’m living here, half of what I make is yours,” he said.

It was useless. He’d get mad if I refused.

While having breakfast at Denny’s, I was reading the paper and came across an article about a black homeless man hit by a car. ‘A hit and run,’ they claimed.

There was another article about the shooting in my building and the killing of my neighbor. Next to it was a picture of the ‘killer’ (his friend) and a picture of the detectives receiving a medal from the Mayor for their excellent investigation leading to his arrest.

Another article mentioned a bank robbery, including a blurry picture of Julian taken by the surveillance cameras. It said they arrested one of the robbers.

A lot of shit has happened since my cousin arrived.

Across from our table, a woman, probably in her early 40s, kept staring at us. She was attractive and elegant. After a while, she approached our table. I thought she was rude when she sat at our table without our permission.

Pointing her finger to Julian, she said.

“I know you! I know it’s you. Even without hair, I know it’s you.”

“Excuse me, lady, what are you talking about? I’m sure you’re mistaken,” I said, not knowing what she was talking about. “My friend doesn’t even speak English,” I continued.

“I knew I was right! I just knew it!” she said.

Then, with her index finger straight up against her mouth and nose in a softer voice and looking at me, she said, “Shhh, don’t worry, I’m not going to say anything to anybody, but this guy just robbed my bank last week.” she continued, “I’m the manager. Listen, I want to make a deal with you guys. I need you to rob the bank again, but this time, there’s 25,000.00 dollars involved.” She grabbed the newspaper, pointed to Julian’s picture, and said, “That’s him.”

“Okay, let’s say for a moment that you’re right,” I said, knowing there was no use denying it, “what’s your proposition?”

“Okay, here’s the deal. I have a gambling habit. I gamble with our customers’ money. I go to a casino in Lemoore all the time. I’m in deep shit now. Sooner or later, they’ll find out I’m swindling money from the bank. I keep returning to the casino, thinking I can win the money back, but I keep losing. I swear if I get even, I’ll quit for good,” she leaned closer to the table and continued.

“You both show up at the bank and use the same method, and no one gets hurt. I’ll make sure everything goes smoothly. I’ll make sure the teller has 25,000.00 dollars ready for you. You just come with your little note. But this time you must write it in English. I’ll report a higher amount, and we all win. My name’s Linda. I don’t even need to know your names.”

Her plan sounded safe, and I agreed. We exchanged numbers, and she said she’d get in touch. When I translated everything for Julian, he got excited and said. “I like it.”

Julian started working for a waste management company in Dinuba, collecting trash around a rural area. Julian had always had enormous self-esteem. He would often get any job he applied for, and he could even apply for a job as an astronaut.

Anything was better than passing notes to bank tellers saying he wanted to blow up their banks.

Linda called to give me some instructions.

“Okay, everything is ready for tomorrow at 5:55 P.M. Make sure you’re our last customer. I’ll be working on register number four, so don’t worry about anything. It’ll be fast and easy,” she added, “we’ll meet after the operation, and I’ll give you your part.”

We showed up as city workers. We wore brown boots, yellow helmets, yellow safety vests, and dark sunglasses.

We left the car half a block away from the bank. I was a little nervous, but I didn’t show it. There was no need to carry guns.

I heard it was easier to rob a bank than a 7-11 store. They were right. It was a piece of cake, in and out in two minutes. Linda was at the cash register. We just gave her the note, and she gave us a white canvas bag with a lock. It must have been the easiest bank robbery ever.

Boom, just like that, we were out of there. A second after I started the car, I heard an alarm.

The next day, we met with Linda and gave her the canvas bag, and she gave us twenty-five thousand dollars in cash. Sweet!

A few days later, I grabbed a hamburger from Carl’s Jr. on my lunch break and went to the Green Olive for a beer to celebrate my growing bank account.

I watched a patrol car pass by when I drove out of the driveway. The cop turned around and followed me. He put his lights on and pulled me over.

A tall, bald white guy with a menacing look came out of the patrol car.

“Driver’s license and registration, please,” he said.

He walked back to his car and checked my record.

I wasn’t worried. I knew I was clean.

“Are you drunk?”

“No,” I replied.

“Well, I just saw you coming out of that bar. I know you weren’t drinking milk. I will ask you again; are you drunk?

“I just told you I’m not drunk!” I replied.

Damn! I raised my voice a little, and that’s a no, no. I regretted it right away. And I interrupted him, too. I knew that was rule number one. ‘never interrupt a cop if you don’t want to end up in jail.’

“Step out of the car motherfucker. I think you’re drunk,” he was insanely pissed off.

“Officer, I just told you I’m not drunk. I only had one beer with my lunch.”

“Shut the fuck up motherfucker. You’re going to be drunk in fifteen minutes,” he said while handcuffing and pushing me to the back of his cruiser.

He drove behind a boarded-up warehouse with a vacant parking lot. He parked, went to the trunk, and returned with a bottle of whiskey.

“Drink it, you piece of shit, or I’ll kick the shit out of you,” he said while putting his baton against my neck. Knowing I had lost the battle, I obeyed him and drank.

“Look all around you, not a soul in sight to save you.” then he pushed the play button on his radio, and Freddy Mercury started singing, “Thum, thum, thum, another one bites the dust, another one bites the dust, and another one gone and another one gone,”

Mother fucker! He just ruined one of my favorite songs.

I told Julian the whole story when he came to bail me out the next day.

“Maaddaa faackaa, we need to find this maadda faackaa,” and added, “We’ll get him ‘primo,’ I swear, we’ll get him.”

The next day, I found the stupid cop on the newspaper’s front page. Some ladies from MADD (Mothers Against Drunk Drivers) were honoring him. The Visalia chapter was giving him a medal for the most drunk driver arrests in Tulare County. I felt my blood boiling inside my veins; his name was everywhere. Good.

Another article in the paper caught my eye, “Another bank robbery, this time they escaped with 125,000.00 dollars.” Oh, Linda, you’re such an intelligent woman.

*****

It was easy to find the cop’s address on the internet.

In the morning, we drove by his house. He lived near Farmersville in a new housing development. We found him mowing his lawn, and his patrol car was in the driveway.

With his broken English, I sent Julian to tell the cop that he had witnessed a drunk driver crashing his car into a tree.

Nearby, in a secluded empty field, I had the front end of my car leaning against a tree as if I had just crashed. I was still in the driver’s seat with my chest against the steering wheel. I had my gun hidden between my legs.

When the cop got there, Julian was behind him.

“Are you okay? The cop asked.

Gun in hand, I exited the car and pushed him to the back seat.

“If you don’t do as I say, you’re dead in a second, motherfucker.”

We tied him up and covered his mouth with duct tape. As I drove away, Julian kept him down with the gun against his head.

“If he moves, even a little bit, shoot him in the head, Julian.”

The cop knew I meant it because he stood still. Then, we headed for Dinuba, where Julian worked.

We didn’t go through city streets. Instead, we took a longer route through the fields. We drove across cornfields and orange trees on a two-way highway. When we arrived, the sweet taste of revenge filled all my senses.

The enclosed big yard with a chain-link fence had several trash trucks parked neatly inside. Julian had the key to the locked yard.

“Look all around you. There’s not a soul in sight to save you.” I proudly told the cop when we got him out of the car.

He wrestled and complained when we put him in a residential trash container. He calmed down a bit after Julian hit him on the head. His body barely fitted inside.

I gave Julian the signal to operate the controls. The cop looked terrified when the thick metal arms slowly approached the container.

His muffled screams and expressions seemed to be coming from a silent film. I especially enjoyed it when the container was horizontal just before he went down.

A heavy, muted sound was barely audible when his body hit the truck’s metal floor. When Julian turned the compactor on, I put my ear close to the vehicle to hear the cracking sound of his bones.

The sound must be similar to the sound you hear when you step on a cockroach, only a million times louder.

Julian needed to make many more stops to fill the truck with three tons of garbage. I envied his job. Which must be highly satisfactory.

One slow weekend, Mark showed up while I listened to classic rock and had a few beers. I offered him a beer, and he offered me a toke. He accepted my beer, and I declined his toke. As I was narrating my trip to Tijuana, including my out-of-body experience while driving back, Julian stepped into the apartment with none other than ‘Miss Camel Toe’ herself.

We introduced ourselves. Kim was her name. After a while, I blinked an eye at Mark, and we moved to his apartment. I was sure those love birds wanted to be alone.

Mark was amazed at Julian’s progress. He wondered how he already had a job and car and dated gorgeous girls after only a few months in the country.

*****

A few days later, Kim showed up with a bloody nose. Her upper lip was split open and swollen, and she had a black eye. She said her ex-husband beat her.

“The fucking bastard can’t leave me alone. It’s not the first time he hit me, but it sure was the worst,” she said while looking at herself in the bathroom mirror.

“If I call the cops, he’s gone by the time they come,” she sobbed. “He lives in Madera, but every time he comes to Visalia to visit his buddies, he gets drunk and ends up in my house. And then he begs me, ‘Come on honey; take me back. I know I can make you happy. You know you need me.’ Stupid asshole, I need him like I need a dead rat in my ass.” she said.

We all laughed, but she immediately complained, “Ouch,” cupping her jaw with her hand.

“I’ve seen many movies about abused women, and most end up dead. If I try to defend myself, he hits me harder. I don’t know what to do anymore.” she said.

“You’ll be okay, Kim. We’re going to help you. He’ll be out of your life soon. You’ll see,” I said.

Julian was mad as hell but kept quiet. After we fixed her a little, we gave her two shots of tequila and four aspirins. Then, we left her to rest.

“I think we can plan something around this fog we’re having, like, for example . . .”

In ten minutes, Julian found three ways to get rid of him.

In the morning, I explained our plan to Kim.

“Call him and say that you’ll give him another chance. Tell him to come to your house to celebrate the reunion. But just get him drunk and bring him to us.”

“Okay, that shouldn’t be so hard, and then what?”

“Just get him drunk and bring him to us. But he needs to be all fucked up drunk, okay? It’ll be foggy tonight. Bring him around midnight, when the fog is at its heaviest.”

After she left, I saw Mark and asked him if we could use his van.

Sure enough, Kim showed up at midnight. “Okay, guys, I got my ex in the car. He’s all fucked up. Now what?” she said, full of satisfaction.

Julian and I carried the son of a bitch to the van’s rear. Kim was driving, and we headed to Delano, a small town thirty miles south of Visalia.

The fog was so heavy we could only see about a hundred feet ahead. Julian and I were in the back of the van, keeping an eye on the stupid guy.

A couple of miles past Delano, I told Kim to pull in front of an eighteen-wheeler, and then, we just pushed the guy out of the van.

As simple as that, the motherfucker won’t be hitting any defenseless girls anymore.

When I closed the van’s back door, I saw Kim’s eyes in the rearview mirror. She didn’t seem surprised by what we had just done.

During breakfast, I commented on a story I read in the paper. A funny story, well sad, but also funny.

“A basketball player from a local high school team was surfing in Australia. He was floating on his surfboard face down and pushing the water with his hands. And then, a shark bit off his left hand. Somehow, he managed to swim back to the beach and survived.

After spending a week in an Australian hospital, he returned to his hometown.

Hundreds of students received him on the baseball field, where they brought him from the airport in a helicopter. When he came out, he saluted the crowd with his right hand and got his hand chopped off by the helicopter blades.”

Then Julian made one of his typical silly comments

“Man, how is he supposed to wipe his ass now?”

The End

Originally written May-30-2011

First posted on Blogger Feb-27-2017

Posted on WordPress Sep-27-2020 / Reposted Mar-8-2023

Short Story Collection #2 — Miles Away

Short Story # 2 — MILES AWAY (3900 words)

Miles, an eleven-year-old boy, had only one priceless possession, a helmet left to him by his beloved grandfather, a German inventor, who had died a few years before. The helmet kept Miles awake and happy in his dreams.

MILES AWAY

Miles was eleven when I met him. He was mildly autistic. It was hard to pinpoint his abnormalities. He was withdrawn and silent. To communicate with him, you always had to start the conversation. Overall, he appeared to be an average kid. His mind seemed to work faster than his mouth. One could see frustration and despair while trying to express his thoughts. He had a peculiar tic—his left eye blinked when he seemed impatient. His sister Gretchen was my girlfriend. We were both seventeen. I thought she was the most beautiful girl on this planet.

Miles had been home-schooled; they said there was too much trouble at the public school. He had long suffered bullying and cruelty from his classmates.
Miles learned to love me because I treated him like any other person. I never treated him as if he had any mental disability. We were friends from the beginning.

His room was full of WWII memorabilia, all original stuff. He had boots, helmets, medals, diplomas, and other interesting things. He even had a first-edition book written by Sigmund Freud. His grandfather emigrated to the United States to escape Nazi persecution. He also had several notebooks written in German. Arranged in perfect order, everything in the room was his pride and joy. His grandpa had been an inventor.

Conversations with Miles were sometimes incoherent, but not when he was talking about dreams. That was his favorite subject. He appeared to be an expert in the matter. I never showed him indifference, regardless of how absurd his comments seemed. Gretchen and her dad avoided conversations with Miles about his dreams. They thought the dreams were interminable and boring.

I thought Miles’s mind was trying to balance his deficiencies with his abilities, the same thing that happens to blind people when some senses are heightened to compensate for the ability to see.

At first, deciding whether Miles was handsome was difficult, but the more time I spent with him, the more I realized he was a cute kid.

The day I knew I had gained Miles’ complete trust was when he showed me a helmet and mentioned that he wanted to share his dreams with me.

“Randy, let me show you something,” he said, “Look, this is the coolest thing ever. I call it ‘the dream projector.’ It helps me to travel in my dreams, and sometimes I can visit Grandpa.”

The thing was weird-looking. It was a gray helmet like the ones bicycle riders use. It seemed that the frame could be more solid or strong. It had gaps or slots, probably for ventilation, to prevent the head from sweating or the brain from getting too hot. Along the underside of the helmet were dozens of dull, hard rubber tips that looked like pencil erasers. It had copper wires and a few transistors.

Then, he continued, “This is my most precious treasure. I never use it for protection. I’ve been wearing it every night since Grandpa gave it to me.” After a short pause that seemed more like a moment of hesitation, he said, “Look, I love my dad, I adore Gretchen, and you’re okay, Randy, but my grandpa was something else.” As he said this, his eyes sparkled with tears and pride.

Afterward, when I asked Gretchen about the helmet, she said her grandfather built it himself and gave it to Miles just days before his death. Miles wouldn’t go to sleep without it, despite his dad’s insistence not to wear it in bed. It looked uncomfortable to use for several hours, especially in bed.

“I like my other me better than myself,” he said while tapping his chest with his right open hand. “I’m happier with my inside me,” he said.

“What do you mean, Miles? Is there another person inside of you?”

“Yes, he’s always there when I’m asleep. He is smart, has good brains, and can think better.”

“Can you communicate with him? Does he talk to you?” I asked.

“Are you crazy? He is me! There’s no need to talk to me, we think, that’s all. When I’m in there with him, we’re smart the same. I like him better than I like myself. Do you want to talk to him, Randy? You can borrow my helmet tonight if you want.”

“Is he inside your helmet?” I asked.

“No dummy, he’s in my dreams, ha, ha, inside my helmet. You’re a little retarded, Randy. Sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you, Randy. I would never do that; sorry, you’re my best friend.”

“It’s all right, Miles. I don’t feel insulted. You’re also my best friend. But tell me, Miles, how does your helmet work?”

“You just put it on your head before you fall asleep, and you start dreaming,” he said.

“But I’ve never needed a helmet to dream, and I’ve dreamed all my life without one.”

“Yes, but with my helmet, you can talk to me in your dreams, have real dreams, and see my dreams.”

“Well, it sounds complicated, but I’ll try it. Are you going to be okay without it for one night? Gretchen told me you haven’t slept without it since your grandpa gave it to you. What if you change your mind and I have it at home with me.”

“It’s okay, Randy. I can still have normal, boring dreams without it. Sometimes, I remove it in the middle of the night, and sometimes, I’m boring myself.”

“Before I take it, just tell me how it works. Does it need a battery or a charger? Do I need to connect it to an electrical receptacle?” I asked mockingly, which I immediately regretted.

“I don’t know how it works. My grandpa never gave me instructions. He just made it for me and said dreams are its energy”.

I didn’t know why I accepted to take it with me, but I was curious and wanted to be polite.

I had to admit that the device looked a little medieval. Like something you would expect a torture device to look like, like an apparatus someone would use to reanimate Frankenstein.

When I went home, I placed the “dream projector” on the nightstand beside my books. That night, I read a little bit until I got sleepy. After a while, as I reached for the lamp switch, I saw the helmet and grabbed it.

I put the helmet on in the dark. The blunt rubber tips inside the helmet rested on my thick hair. The tips felt like fingers, and when I moved my head, it felt like I was giving myself a massage. The way it feels when you’re shampooing your hair. It didn’t feel bad at all.

That night, I dreamed I was on the roof of a tall building, and I was afraid to fall. I was paranoid. The rooftop was tiny, a little bigger than my bed. I was lying on my back, grabbing the sides of the building with my extended arms. It was windy, and I was exhausted from resisting the wind. My fear was irrational and real.
Within my dream, I knew I was dreaming. I wanted the suffering to end, but I couldn’t. My terror kept increasing. When I noticed I wouldn’t be able to stop it. I decided to jump from the building. I thought it was my only escape. What a horrible nightmare. In the middle of my fall, I decided to control the dream and enjoy the ride instead of enduring such agony.

I went straight down at 100 miles an hour. After I relaxed, my mind took control of the situation and turned my nightmare into a sweet, beautiful dream. I could see the entire city, the sky, the clouds, and the horizon. I could fly above the treetops and go back up to the roof. I conquered my fears. I was happy.
When I woke up, I didn’t open my eyes or move. I was lying in bed, and I was sure that if I had been at the top of any building, I could have been able to jump and fly.

A moment later, I thought it was ridiculous.

When I opened my eyes, I had difficulty convincing myself that I’d been dreaming the entire time, including when I thought I was awake. Then, I removed the helmet from my head and wondered if I could’ve had the same dream without the helmet.

I realized there were two of me inside my dream! There was me, acting my dream, and the other me, watching me. Or the physical me dreaming in my bed and my other me inside my dream, and I liked the other me, the one with authority to control the dream. It seemed very clear.

“Did you wear it? Did you dream?” Miles asked the next day.
“Yes, Miles,” I said as I returned the helmet. “I wore it, but I wasn’t thinking about using it. I just put it on, fell asleep, and had a normal dream.”
“A normal dream?”
“Well, yes, nothing different. It was vivid, it felt real, and I enjoyed it because I could control it.”
“Did you like the other you better?”
“Yes, Miles, I liked my other me better.”
“You see what I mean now? Now we’re equal. I like my other me better, and you like the other you better.”
“What? Please wait a minute, Miles. There’s only one of me. The conscious one when I’m awake and the unconscious one when I’m asleep, but we’re the same. There’s no need to separate me in two (I felt a little stupid because I contradicted myself). When I say I like the other one better, it’s because I want to act like him in real life. I want to be unafraid and in control.”
“You have to admit it, Randy. You are feeling envy of the other you, but it’s amazing, isn’t it? This is your first dream, and you are already struggling with yourself and yourself.”
“No, Miles, it wasn’t my first dream. I don’t envy myself, and I’m not struggling with myself. But let me tell you one thing. You are a lot smarter than most of us. And don’t believe anybody that tells you otherwise.”

I was confused. I thought the damn thing was useless. It couldn’t protect your head, much less your brain. I was glad for Miles, though. The helmet was his only toy, and he loved it.

As for me, material things didn’t matter. I wouldn’t run to save anything during an earthquake. I would just run with myself and me.

The following day, Miles came up with an unbelievable commentary.

“Hey Randy, I saw your dream. I’m glad you know how to fly from the treetops to the roof of a tall building in just a few seconds.”
“What? That’s impossible, who told you about it? Nobody knows. I never told anybody that’s impossible, Miles. How could that be?”
“Randy, you shouldn’t be so surprised. It’s in my helmet. You knew that. Didn’t I tell you I wanted to show you my dreams?”

It just blew my mind! How is that possible? To know about that dream, he had to be inside my head unless the dream was somehow recorded in the helmet, but that’s so out of this world, so science fiction. There had to be a better explanation. I needed more evidence.

That was beyond normal comprehension. The world needed to know if the helmet could work like that.

I was going too far ahead on my conclusions.

Miles probably saw all the provocative questions in my head because he gave me the thing back and said, “Here, Randy, try again.”

*****

---

Gretchen wasn’t demanding or submissive. I knew she could be happy with me or without me. Gretchen had a strong character. She was also a little overweight. What some people might consider being on the verge of obesity, I would consider voluptuous.

Knowing that we were both virgins, I decided to experiment with her in my dreams.

Sometimes, when I did something repeatedly for hours during the day, I would dream about it. If I swam for hours or watched a movie that impressed me in any way, I would dream about that.

Gretchen and I would make love for the first time in my dream. There was no need to take any precautions: no condoms or promises. Oh, and I wanted lots of foreplay.

I imagined everything, including all my fantasies, and she would enjoy them too. We’d make love all night long. I’d take advantage of my experiment. After all, it would be just a dream.

I put the helmet on and concentrated on my future dream until I fell asleep.

I woke up with a big smile on my face. The dream I had with Gretchen was vivid and real. It was so real that when I woke up, I still had an erection. My penis was still sore in the morning. I’m sure it hadn’t been a wet dream because my underwear and the bedsheets were clean and dry.

The following day, after I returned the helmet to Miles, he said, “Randy, I saw what you did with Gretchen, you dirty man! I couldn’t believe it. I had to turn it off.”

I couldn’t find a rational reaction. I just said, “It was just a dream, Miles, don’t pay attention to it.”

I should have considered that Miles was going to be a witness to such a dream. That was not a PG13 dream, and I felt ashamed.

“I’m sorry you had to see such a shameful dream. Listen, Miles, I can’t control what I dream, I’m not an expert like you. Besides, I’ve been having wild dreams lately.”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t see the whole thing,” he said.

I realized I was in the middle of a complicated dilemma. Should I tell the entire world about this fantastic invention? Should I get a patent and sell it for a hundred million dollars?

A moment later, I discarded the idea. The helmet belonged to Miles, and I had nothing to do with it. Nevertheless, I knew the helmet’s future was in my hands. I could decide to keep it quiet or expose it to the world.

The potential was limitless, but I wasn’t concerned about its enormous value. This was something completely incredible. And I was enjoying it too much.

“How do you turn it off?” I asked Miles after a short pause. “You just tell yourself to wake up, as simple as that,” he answered.
“Please, Miles, don’t say anything to Gretchen about it, okay?”
“Why would I tell her? It was just a dream, right?”
“Yes, and completely unpremeditated.”

After that day, I asked Miles many questions regarding the helmet without trying to be too fussy. I didn’t want to lose his trust or his friendship. I asked him if I could read his grandfather’s notes and books. He accepted, but it was useless because it was mostly in German. Miles was the only expert on the matter.

“One day, I’ll be with my grandpa Dieter forever. He was my best friend, loved me, and was patient and caring. In the end, my grandpa was crazy like me. I know two crazy people can understand each other. After he died, he was in my dreams, and I felt safe there with him, only there. The helmet was our connection; he gave it to me to visit him in my dreams.” I saw his eyes sparkle again.

“I still miss Grandpa. I miss his caressing hands, his hugs, and kisses. Unlike in this life, where most people are cruel, I was always the hero in his stories. All things are better when I’m with Grandpa.”

Miles said the helmet transported him to another world, to another real world—better than the one we live in. He wanted to spend more time in his ‘dream world.’ He believed that one day, one world would cancel the other.
He said he wanted to erase bad memories from his past and add only good things to his future, and it broke my heart to hear him talk that way.

I tried to hide my enthusiasm for the ‘dream project’ with false indifference. I didn’t want anything to ruin our ‘partnership’. I told Miles that I wanted to experiment more. I asked him if we could alternate using the helmet, and he agreed.

*****

---

One night, a sinister idea came to my mind. I decided to go on a tour to hell. A totally drastic change from having sex with Gretchen. I figured that since I could manipulate my dreams if I didn’t like hell, I could turn it into heaven. It could be painful, but I was stubborn.

After I gathered some paintings from the masters depicting hell, I focused on them, put on the helmet, and fell asleep.

In the morning, I woke up a little disappointed. There was no hell whatsoever. Hell probably didn’t exist, or I couldn’t invent it in my dreams. Maybe I needed to concentrate more.

All I dreamed about was Miles having fun with a kite and an older man cheering him up until Miles fell to his knees. I was there, watching the older man comforting Miles after his fall. I saw Miles in my dreams for the first time, but I felt a little disappointed. The dream was a failure. It proved nothing.

When I went back to Gretchen’s house, I got another surprise when I saw Miles.

He had some scrapes on his knees. I immediately asked him what had happened to him, and he said he didn’t know. He said he woke up like that and probably fell from his bed, but I knew that was very unlikely. Could it be possible that he was in my dream? No, no way. Either way, I didn’t tell him about my dream.

The following day, he told me about his dream.

“Randy, I saw you in my dreams! I was having a lot of fun with Grandpa. I was running and having fun with a kite until,” Then, I interrupted him and finished his sentence, “. . . until you fell and scraped your knees!”
“Yes, Randy, I was so happy with Grandpa. I knew I was in a dream and didn’t want to wake up. I wish I could stay there forever. But it’s getting harder for me to connect with him. There’s somthing wrong, I know it.

*****

---

One day, Gretchen told me she had missed her period. Then she said she probably just missed it. Period. She was curious and asked me to walk her to the pharmacy for a pregnancy test. Later, I heard her screaming in the bathroom.

“Positive? Positive! Positive?! It can’t be. Something’s wrong; somebody is playing a joke on me. No way. I’m a virgin! I have never even seen an erect penis in my life! Randy! You have to believe me. I need to get another pregnancy test. This test was probably defective. Let’s get another one.”

On the way to the pharmacy, she kept going at it. I didn’t know whether she was mad at me for not believing or for believing. I never said a word. The always composed and undisturbed Gretchen was mad at me, God, and the entire world. The second test was positive again. Then, she took a different approach.

“The Divine Providence, Randy, that’s what it is, a divine mandate! God chose me!” she said with a sarcastic smile. “What are we going to do, Randy? Well, not you. Obviously, it’s not your fault. What am I going to do? I can’t tell my dad. It can’t be possible. Help me, Randy!”
“Well, if you’re pregnant, and that is beyond far-fetched, would you have the baby? Would you keep it?” I asked her, considering I was the only accusable prospect. After all, I did do it in my dream.

Then I thought about Miles’s scraped knees. Did that happen in my dream or his dream? Was it possible for things to materialize from a dream to real life with the helmet?

“It makes no sense. Why would I need an abortion if nobody has impregnated me? It’s impossible. But if I claim I’m innocent, I’ll be ridiculed. Please believe in me, Randy. If I ever get pregnant, it will be only by you.”
“Yes, Gretchen, I believe you. But if you want, we can make it real.”
“Oh, Randy, don’t joke about it now.”
“Sorry, sorry. I tell you what, Gretchen, let’s wait a week and retake the test. Then, you’ll decide what to do. Of course, if it’s negative, we’ll do nothing, or we’ll celebrate, and . . . oh, never mind.

That night, I elaborated on a plan.

I thought that if I impregnated her in my dreams, perhaps I could undo it in my dreams, too. It sounded absurd, but I wouldn’t lose a thing if I tried it.

After gathering everything I needed to provoke the dream, like pictures of a hospital, doctors, an operating room, and Gretchen’s photo, I focused on my intentions and put the helmet on. And after performing my relaxing ritual, I fell asleep. In my dreams, abortions are legal.

A week later, we got another pregnancy test. When Gretchen came out of the bathroom, she said with a sigh of relief, “false alarm.” Of course, I was ready to show a false expression of surprise.

The instructions claimed ninety-nine percent accuracy. But it could be misleading. It could be less accurate if done within the first days of a missed period. Anyway, I was glad for both of us. I could never know if I got Gretchen pregnant in my dreams or if the abortion in my dream was a success. Or if it was all just a fluke and nothing ever happened.

A few weeks later, Miles said he was going to miss me. I didn’t understand what he meant.

“How can you miss me if we are together, even in our dreams?”

“Yes, Randy, but it’s like a rubber band; it could suddenly snap and push us even further apart when it gets stretched to the limit.”

Sometimes, I couldn’t understand Miles. Sometimes, he expressed himself like a philosopher and other times, he was a complete lunatic. But I always loved him, regardless.

Then, one day, Miles disappeared into thin air. Nobody ever saw him again. His dad filed a police report, and they looked everywhere. The city offered a big reward. Nobody ever claimed it.

It was the saddest day of my life. And only I knew where he went.

A day after his disappearance, I saw him in my dreams. He had finally decided not to come back. He said he was happier there, with his grandpa. He said that he could use the helmet to visit us.

But I had the helmet with me.

I told Gretchen precisely what had happened to Miles, but it was too hard to convince her. So I gave her the helmet and told her how to use it.

I didn’t care if she saw all my dreams. I just wanted her to see how happy Miles was with his grandpa.

The following day, she grabbed a hammer and broke the helmet into a million fragments.

The End

*All stories are protected under the © Seal of the Copyright Office of the United States. April 27, 2023 and May 01, 2023

Edmundo Barraza / Visalia, CA.

Originally written Aug-22-2011

First posted on Blogger Mar-3-2017

Posted on WordPress Sept-2-2020 / Reposted Mar-8-2023

Short Story Collection #1 — A Ghost in Visalia

Short Story # One — A GHOST IN VISALIA (2500 words)

*All stories are protected under the Seal of the Copyright Office of the United States. April 27, 2023 and May 01, 2023

Hello, dear friends.

In the near future, I’ll be publishing a book called “Angel of Death and Other Short Stories.”

“Angel of Death” is the most extended story, but it is not long enough to be a book (around 23000 words). The other twelve short stories run between 1200 and 5300 words. They are very eclectic in theme: drama, crime, violence, sweet and tender, a little science fiction, family, and even one in Spanish.

I’ll be adding one of them to this blog every week. I hope I can get some feedback.

All the stories are protected under the Seal of the Copyright Office of the United States.

~~~~~~~~~

Visalia is a small city in the middle of California. I was living there when I wrote most of these stories.

In this particular story, some of the events were real. When my wife and I moved to this house, a few strange things began to happen: noises, like slamming doors, music coming from nowhere, and other mysterious little details. Still, the most terrifying was watching the volume knob in our stereo system going all the way up while listening to a soft rock station. The part about my daughter and my grandson was real, too.
But it’s not a horror story. It’s a funny one.

A GHOST IN VISALIA

Before I signed the rental contract, the landlady told me that an eighty-six-year-old man had died in the first bedroom. She said she needed to disclose it before I moved in so I wouldn’t quit suddenly without a thirty-day notice.

At the time, I didn’t pay any attention and disregarded the comment as useless and unimportant. Later on, through the neighbors, I learned that the man had lived there for fifteen years. After that, three new tenants moved in and out in rapid succession.

The house was old and unattractive, with a garage attached to the kitchen and living room. The family room was next to the dining room, with a narrow hallway and three bedrooms. The floor plan could have been better. It had dark brown paint, dark brown carpet, and a dark brown vinyl floor in the kitchen and dining room. The house could be the ugliest house on the block. I couldn’t find anything attractive or pleasant about that house, but I’ve never been a person with many demands. Therefore, I signed the contract.

After a few weeks, the house was finally home. I didn’t care about how ugly it was.

One day, I was alone in the house, watching TV in the living room. The volume was low, and it was early at night when suddenly I heard the radio go on in one of the back rooms.

I heard a male voice for a couple of seconds. I turned the lights on and went to investigate. I checked in my bedroom, where I had an alarm clock, but it was off. I had another radio, but it was unplugged. I thought it was bizarre, but I returned to watch the television.

As the days passed, my wife and I kept hearing normal house noises like wood shrinking and swelling or wind slamming doors.

Another day, I was reading in bed around 2:00 am when I heard the patio sliding door vibrating for a few seconds. I thought it was an earthquake, but nothing else shook. I convinced myself that my dog Diego was pushing the glass door. I wanted to avoid entering the hallway and passing the older man’s room at 2:00 am.

One morning, my wife was cooking in the kitchen and listening to music on the radio. I was in my room when suddenly the music got too loud. I jumped and ran straight to the kitchen. My wife had a look of terror. From there, we both could see the stereo system in the living room —the volume knob turning up by itself as far as it could go.

When my daughter and ten-month-old grandson Damian visited for a week, I put them in the old man’s bedroom. At first, she said it was warm and comfortable, and she had no complaints. They were happy, and I was pleased.

My grandson was handsome and intelligent, just like his grandpa.

But one night, my daughter came into our room carrying her son.

“Dad, somebody’s moving our bed. Even Damian woke up. We’re staying in your room now.” Then, she asked me to bring our inflatable mattress from the living room to our room. I stood bravely and confidently, but my knees shook when I passed that room.

The following day, I knew I had to confront the old man. I needed to show I wasn’t afraid of him and wouldn’t run away like the other tenants. After all, he wasn’t the one paying the rent. I moved my computer from the garage to ‘his room.’ That way, I would have to spend more time in that room.

After my wife left for work, I asked him why he was still in the house. I kept talking to him for a few more days, sometimes even in Spanish, but it appeared he was gone. Or maybe I scared him off, or perhaps he never existed.

When I had almost forgotten about him, that’s when I saw him.

There was a mirror hanging on the bathroom door. When closed, I could see that mirror and the one above the cabinet sink. So I could see my body, front and back, simultaneously.

That’s when I saw him. I was in shock but not afraid. It took me by surprise; I jumped back, and in the blink of an eye, he wasn’t there anymore. I saw him, but I wasn’t sure whether he was inside the mirror or behind me. He was wearing a light blue suit and a tie. He looked harmless.

“So you’re here after all,” I said, “I hope you’re not shy. What’s your name? Come on, man, I know you know my name already. Tell me yours.”
“My name’s Peter Shelby,” he answered softly in a hollow and tired voice. Instead of getting scared, I got genuinely excited.“Tell me, are you with God? Have you seen Him?” I asked him.
“Ha! I was eighty-six when I died. I was baptized and had my first communion. I gave the church a small fortune in donations. But God was nowhere to be seen. I tried all my life not to break the Ten Commandments. And it was all for nothing. I still hope he shows up.”
“You might be in Purgatory, and God could be undecided on what to do with you. Maybe you’re paying for some pending sins. Who knows?” I said.
“I hope you’re right because it’s boring here. That’s why I was making noises and trying to manifest my disappointment. I wasn’t satisfied with this situation.”
“But why did you have to scare my daughter?”
“You were not paying attention, and that was frustrating. Being alone, bored, and ignored, I couldn’t take it anymore. Tell your daughter I’m sorry.”
“No, you tell her yourself. No, wait, leave her alone, never mind. But answer me this; what’s your purpose in life? I mean, in death?”
“I have no idea, I think I need to do something, but I don’t know what. My wife died three years before me. We were happy in this house. We spent our best years here.”
“And where do you think your wife is?”
“She must be in heaven, I guess. She was a much better person than I was. I wish I could communicate with her, be with her, and maybe I can ‘die’ in peace.”
I started to feel relaxed, almost as if I were in a normal situation.
“Okay, next question, do you eat, sleep, take showers, brush your teeth, or go to the bathroom?”
“No, no, no, no, and no.”
“Can you cross walls or doors? Can you touch me or hit me? Do you touch the floor when you walk?”
“Yes, I can cross anything. No, I cannot hit you, although I tried a few times, ha, ha. I float a couple of inches above the surface; I don’t need to sit or rest because I don’t need any energy. I’m dead.”
“I just need to tell you something; you cannot appear or manifest yourself in any way while my wife is here. Otherwise, she’ll bring the priest with his holy water and won’t rest until she makes you disappear.”
“But she seems to be such a nice lady.”
“Well, just consider yourself warned. Oh, one more thing: How should I call you, Peter, Mr. Shelby, Poltergeist, Mr. Ghost, or what?”
“I don’t care. Let’s be friends and make the best of it, okay?”
“ Is there anything I can do for you? You know, to help you do something, find something. Talking to a ghost is so weird. No one would believe me.”
“If you tell everybody you can talk to a ghost, they’ll put you in a mental hospital. Oh, and yes, you can do something for me. I want to go to the cemetery and see what kind of grave my family bought for me.”
“Okay, it’s a done deal; we’ll go tomorrow morning. What time do you want me to wake you up?”
“No need for that. I’ll be ready anytime.”
“Alright, see you tomorrow, Peter.”
“Yeah, good luck with that.”

In the morning, when I went out of the front door, I left it open for a few seconds, then I softly whispered, “Are you out, Peter?”
Then, I opened the passenger door, and after a few seconds, I asked, “Are you in, Peter?”
“Yes, I am. Thank you.”
“Okay, now, shut the door,” I said.
“How?” he replied.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” Then, I went around and closed the passenger door.
“Okay, Peter, put your seat belt on.”
“Oh, you’re so funny!”
“Peter, you want to drive?”
Then, ignoring my last question, he said, “Man, you need to replace this old piece of junk.”
“Do you want to walk? Do you want me to call you a taxicab, or do you want a limousine?”
“Sorry, sorry, can we just go already?”
As I started driving, I asked him, “Hey, Peter, do you go out of the house to walk or float around town?”
“I tried a couple of times, but I think the dogs can see me. They bark at me, and I can’t stand it. It isn’t charming. They want to bite me, and I want to kick them. Your little dog, what’s her name? Yes, Frida, when I go to the backyard, she won’t leave me alone. She follows me around and keeps barking all the time. It’s so annoying. I don’t go to the patio anymore, but Diego, the other dog, doesn’t know I exist. And he’s right.”

We had to look for his grave at the cemetery because he couldn’t remember where they buried him. When we found it, he said, “Those cheap bastards! Look at my wife’s gravesite, top-of-the-line! Now, look at mine. The headstone looks secondhand, so small and ordinary. But at least someone brought me flowers, and they look fresh. There’s a note in them. Can you please read it for me?”
“Yes, Peter. It says, ‘I miss you, Uncle Peter. I hope you’re happy wherever you are. I will always love you.’” signed by Nancy Shelby.
“Oh, my dear Nancy. My favorite niece.”
Back at the house, he asked me to write a letter to her.

“My dearest Anais Neess:
I’m still at my house. I’m stuck somehow. I made friends with the new tenant, and he’s helping me deliver this note to you. Please, believe me, this is not a joke. And please don’t be afraid. I wanted to let you know I left some money for you. You’re the only beneficiary. He will give you more details on how to get this money. I didn’t put this in my will because I didn’t want the rest of the family to know about it.

I will keep you in my heart forever. I love you, Nancy.
Peter Shelby.”

After searching for a few minutes on my computer, I found a government site for unclaimed money—a Savings account under Peter Shelby’s name for $45,000,00. I wrote down some account numbers and other details, put a separate note along with the letter, and sent it to Nancy’s address.

He said Nancy was a nice girl, and she might give me a commission for helping her get this money. I said I didn’t care. Then, I asked if he could show himself again as he did in the bathroom mirror, and he said, “I have no idea how that happened, but one time, while I was watching TV with your wife, I saw my reflection on the TV screen.”

“You watch TV with my wife?”
“Yes, all the time. I sit next to your wife all morning, but I disappear when she changes the channel to her Mexican soap operas. I like it when she listens to her music while cooking. We like the same kind of music except for her mariachi songs.”
“And how can you move things around or make noises if you say you can’t touch anything?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I might have telekinetic powers when I get desperate or frustrated, but I don’t know.

I wanted to try another experiment with Peter, and I asked him to come out with me to the backyard.

“Okay, Peter. I want to paint your body, soul, ghost, or whatever with your permission. You stand right here in the middle of the patio. I’ll bring my spray paint gun and some white paint and see what happens, okay?”
“Okay, that sounds like fun,” he answered.
After I got all the stuff I needed, I asked if he wanted a mask, and he said, “What for?” then I said, okay, close your eyes, and then he repeated, “What for?”
“Okay, just stand still,” I said and began to paint him. Then my little dog Frida came and started barking around him. We couldn’t stop laughing out loud.

That’s when my neighbor’s head appeared above the fence and asked, “Hey, why are you painting your dog? Are you crazy or something?” Then, I realized he was right. Frida had white paint all over, and I didn’t know where Peter was, so I couldn’t stop laughing.

Before my wife returned home from work, I asked Peter if he wanted to do something the next day. “Yes, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go to church and talk with God because I don’t think he’s in this house.”

The following morning, after many years of absence, I went to church again. I had been busy doing nothing. But I knew I didn’t need intermediaries, priests, or churches to talk to God.

When Peter finished with God, he whispered in my ear, “Let’s go. I’m ready.”
On our way home, he said, “I have a feeling that we won’t be able to be together or communicate anymore. I appreciate your friendship and your companionship very much. I hope to see you in my ‘other’ house someday.”

We found a woman knocking at the front door when we returned home.

“Hi, I live in this house. What can I do for you?” I asked. She seemed to be in her thirties; she had a quiet and tender beauty. She appeared to be a little shy.
“Hi, my name is Nancy Shelby. I believe I received a letter from you. At first, I thought it was a tasteless joke, so absurd and incredible. But when I checked the account, I knew that it was true. I need to tell you how fortunate you are to be able to communicate with my Uncle Peter. He was such a good person. At his funeral, my mother told me my uncle Peter had paid my college tuition. I knew my mom didn’t have the means to afford it.”

“But who’s Anais Neess?” I asked her.

She smiled, “It’s a game of words, Anais Neess, or “a nice niece” I always loved it when he called me that.”

After that day, Peter disappeared from the house. I went crazy talking to him in every room, to no avail. There were no signs of him anywhere. I missed him a lot. Then, one day, I received a letter from Nancy, a note with a few words, a check for $5,000.00 under my name, and, most importantly, a picture of Peter.
I keep that photograph on my desk, next to my computer, in his room.

The End

*All stories are protected under the Seal of the Copyright Office of the United States. April 27, 2023 and May 01, 2023

Originally written Nov-29-2010

First posted on Blogger Feb-22-2017

Posted on WordPress Oct-9-2020 / Reposted on WordPress Mar-8-2023

Prosa Prosaica

Amor leal y fiel hacia el barrio y ciudad de mi niñez y juventud.

La ‘Colonia Moderna’, un nombre perfectamente inadecuado. Con mi vecina, la Plaza de Toros, coloso de cemento y varilla, de proporciones descomunales. Con una capacidad inverosímil para la mente impresionable de un niño.

Las corridas de toros y las luchas libres, espectáculos al alcance de todos. Costo de la entrada para los niños: un peso. A mi tierna edad, yo deseaba ver los dos espectáculos el mismo día, en la misma arena y al mismo tiempo.

El Canal del Coyote, un río en miniatura. Pero mis ojos de niño aventurero lo comparaban al río Nilo y el Amazonas juntos. Ahí aprendí a nadar — esquivando perros muertos. Y cuando estaba seco y vacío, cada cuadra era un potencial campo de fútbol.

Mi felicidad era desmesurada. Cada día un nuevo aprendizaje, nuevos juegos y nuevos trucos. El trompo, el Yo-Yo, valero, resortera, velit y muchos más. Todos accesibles y baratos, juegos para niños de barrio pobre. Nunca supe a que jugaban los niños de las colonias ricas.

El juego del bote, el pozito matón, el quinceado, el chinchilagua y el del tacón empujando una moneda. Si no fuiste pobre es muy difícil entender. Y si fuiste pobre fuiste afortunado. La costumbre de la escasez no me permitía ser envidioso.

Las respuestas a mis peticiones eran siempre, “después”, siempre después.

Los domingos sin un centavo en la bolsa, con lágrimas en los ojos y la panza llena de hambre. Me acostumbré a esa hambre. Ahora no me molesta ni me preocupa y hasta la disfruto. Debo afirmar esto no fue constante.

Después fui empujado a la iglesia, a la religión, a la aburrición. Eso nunca me benefició en nada. Nomás era de entrar a la iglesia y me entraba un letargo insoportable. Renuncié y me rebelé, nunca jamás asistí y seguí siendo bueno.

Todas las niñas eran inalcanzables y mi timidez era inmensa.

Luego, mis años de calentura, siempre deseando inventar un aparato que me permitiera ver a las muchachas en toda su gloria. Luego aprendí a usar la imaginación para saciar esta curiosidad.

En la cuestión del romance, el amor y lo demás, de todo existió.

De repente mi corazón deambulaba desolado y derrotado. Pero después, aparecía flotando en la cúspide del éxtasis cuando aprendí a combinar el amor con lo demás.

Cuando descubrí la música, mi mente se expandió y explotó. Los Beatles, Monkees, Creedence y muchos otros. Cosa rara, para mí sólo inglés y nada más. El Rock and Roll se metió a mis entrañas y permanecería ahí hasta el final. Luego, lo inherente al Rock, conciertos, experimentación y convivencia. Algo que me parecía imposible, también llegó. Y por parecer imposible lo disfruté más.

Escuela, libros, cine, fútbol, todo esto si me gustó. La vagancia me agradó aún más. El billar y mis amigos lo cambiaba por casi todo. Luego una cerveza, un cigarro y todo se veía mejor. Sin duda era una percepción absurda.

El cine me gustó desde el principio, pero fue otra frustración de ciudad falsamente puritana. Yo deseando ver “Bella de Día”, de Luis Buñuel, cuando ni siquiera me permitían entrar a ver las de James Bond. Podía comprar tequila, emborracharme y fumar, y hacer otras cosas peores, pero no podía entrar al cine a ver al 007.

Mi padre, lejano, ajeno, bueno, siempre bueno. Con sus sueños dormidos y anhelados. El, deseando ser admirado y yo deseando ser considerado.

Mi madre, siempre ocupada y preocupada. Convidando amor, cuidados y dulzura. Nunca egoísta. Con su corazón desbordado en cariño hacia el prójimo. Y repartiendo su sabiduría, escasa y excusada.

Años después, cuando me autoexilié me di cuenta cuanto amaba a mi familia, a mi barrio y a mi juventud. 

Y si tuviera otra oportunidad.

Regresaría y haría todo igual.




Edmundo Barraza
Visalia, CA. 07-09-2012

Mi Padre

Mi padre no era ignorante pero ignoraba muchas cosas

Sin mucha educación, pero sabía muchas cosas

Era otro siglo, otro país

Mi padre decía que sus amigos eran títulos sin abogados

Y el se consideraba un abogado sin título

No pudo terminar la escuela de Derecho por falta de fondos, decía

Ellos apenas trabajaban y ganaban mucho

Él trabajaba duro y por muy poco

Mi padre amaba su iglesia y su religión

Nunca puso una mano sobre mí o mis hermanos

Mi padre amaba el arte, la música clásica, los libros y la historia universal

Amaba y odiaba la política

También amaba las corridas de toros

Nunca tuvo dinero para visitar museos o asistir a conciertos

Nunca vió el océano, nunca pisó tierra extranjera

Nunca viajó en avión, apenas en tren

Y nunca aprendió a conducir

Otro siglo, otro país

Mi sangre, otra triste historia

Muchos sueños, muchas esperanzas, muchas metas

Muchas pesadillas, muchas decepciones, muchos fracasos.

¿Estoy hablando de mi padre o de mí aquí?

Mi padre, vendiendo mi bicicleta, empeñando su guitarra

Arrojados de casas de renta, con muebles en la acera

Yo, sentado en una pelota

Yo era un niño inocente de diez años

Pero el día de Navidad nunca faltaba un juguete

Mi padre, sus sueños de grandeza echados a un lado por un tiempo

Por el resto de su vida

Nos invitaba a cenar fuera, pero sólo uno a la vez

Éramos ocho, más mi madre, más él, éramos demasiados

Mi padre cruzando el río seco a 40 grados de temperatura

A caminar tres kilómetros para llegar al trabajo

Sólo para caminar diez más, revisando almacenes enormes

Con montañas de sacos, toneladas de granos, arroz, frijol y harina

Cuando en casa, muy apenas veíamos algo de eso

Mi padre me llevó a un partido de futbol

Mi padre me compró un libro

Mi padre me llevó al cine

Estoy orgulloso de mi padre

Aún lo extraño y lo amo

Mi padre murió en mis brazos

Mis lágrimas cayeron sobre las suyas

Si estuviera vivo le mostraría todo mi amor y admiración

Lo enseñaría a conducir

Lo llevaría en avión a Madrid

Lo llevaría a la Plaza de Toros

Al Museo del Prado

Lo llevaría al Mediterráneo

Aunque tuviera que venderle mi alma al diablo

Porque mi alma y mi corazón le pertenecían a mi padre.

The End

EDMUNDO BARRAZA

Visalia, Ca. 21-05-2012