Páginas adentro / Inside pages

Páginas adentro

Una noche, mientras hojeaba el libro por centésima vez, notó que una mariposa se desprendía de una de sus páginas y volaba adormecida.

Otra noche, notó que las hojas del libro tenía una rara textura y que cada vez le costaba más trabajo sentir cada una de sus páginas.

Después, su cuerpo cambió y parecía desvanecerse cada noche mientras releía aquel libro. Incluso sintió en su interior un hojear de libros.

Una luna nueva, sintió la succión de un abismo cuando el libro estaba totalmente abierto; esa noche llegó a sentir sus hojas como propias.

A la mañana siguiente, el libro yacía abierto en el piso mientras el viento movía sus hojas. Páginas adentro alguien tenía una nueva vida.

Cuento originalmente publicado en 5 tuits @minafiction.

Inside pages

One night, as he was flipping pages through the book, he noticed that there was a butterfly clumsily coming out from one of the pages.

On another night, he noticed that the pages had a strange texture and that he was having trouble feeling each and every page of that book.

His body changed and seemed to disappear every night as he was reading that book. He felt inside his body pages being flipped through.

On a new moon, he felt the pull of an abyss when the book was totally open; that night he could feel the pages of the book as their own.

Next morning, the book laid open on the floor as the wind moved its pages. In the inside pages someone had a brand new life.

Short story originally published in 5 tweets @minafiction.

Alas metálicas / Metallic wings

Alas metálicas

Bajo el gran lago, espuman en metamorfosis miles de ninfas. Las alimenta el brillo de los metales lunares, el abismo y el calor del sol.

El espejo de agua se rompe y un ruido de élitros se gesta bajo la superficie. El agua se transforma, hierve: son alas y ruido de enjambre.

Vuelo a vuelo, el lago se desnuda mientras un enjambre de alas metálicas se eleva. Al final solo queda un enorme cráter, totalmente seco.

Desde la tierra, un astrónomo observa un inmenso cráter que no había visto antes. Confundido, escribe una nota en su cuaderno y lo nombra.

El enjambre vuela hacia el otro lado de la luna donde más enjambres ya luchan entre sí. El eco metálico del chocar de alas es increíble.

Cuento corto originalmente publicado en 5 tuits @minafiction.

Relacionado con un proyecto de joyeria.

Metallic wings

Below the great lake are foaming in metamorphosis thousand nymphs. They feed on the shine of the moon´s metals, the abyss and sunshine.

The mirror of water is broken and an elytrons´ noise grows below. The water changes, it boils: there are wings and a swarm noise.

Flight by flight, the lake gets naked while the swarm of metallic wings roars. At the end, there is only a crater, completely dry.

On earth, an astronomer watches an enormous crater she has never seen before. Confused, she writes something on her notebook and names it.

The swarm flies to the other side of the moon where many swarms are fighting each other. The metallic eco of crashing wings is unbelievable.

Short story originally published in 5 tweets @minafiction.

Related to a jewelry project.

fly

by Mandy Gibson

she perches on the glassy surface naked

alabaster glisten

ochre sky reflection

satin strands of hair, face hidden

only her skin breathing low

she runs barefoot on sand

tide covering footsteps like lava

the blue/green/black stone of the cape calls her in

wet shining rock in a cry she rises

like spray to the surface, vaporises

disappears in the dark

her dress, caught on the breeze

lands alone

 

You can read more of Mandy's wonderful words here and you can also follow her in twitter here.

land

by Mandy Gibson

that more or less unguarded moment

storms and sunshine equal hope

that pauses ever on the slope

of whispering and croak

for fireworks and dragonflies

scatterfire haze-gold skies

the phoenix rises, fear disguised

in every word she wrote

feeling flat, unentertaining

an insipid lack of motivation

well aware that limp complaining

is little more than cloak

in the bang and the clatter

of life and dreams and twitter

sits a weary wet-winged butterfly

with a fucking sore throat

You can read more of Mandy's wonderful words here and you can also follow her in twitter here.

breathe

by Mandy Gibson

the first scent came in a crowd,

slipped past in a street crossing,

dragging away with a parent's cautious hand,

waking

spoke of far away.

the second scent, when it came

was dark and brooding, coffee and cigarettes,

weary eyes changing colour

in a new pair of glasses, waiting.

the third in an autumn sunshower,

tiny needles of icy water spinning onto skin from light,

all dark clouds and flowers,

warm hands and rainbow.

the final scent flowed and collided in the joy of reunion,

inhaled between sobs,

remembered from forever ago.

and then the first, again.

You can read more of Mandy's wonderful words here and you can also follow her in twitter here.