#5. One Picture. One Story. || RUN!

WARNING: Look carefully at this picture because it has so much to tell you. 

I don't remember my name. I don't remember who I am. Neither I know what I'm doing here or where I'm going but there is one thing I'm really sure about: I'm runing away and I have to get away as far as possible from this place that imprisons me, that makes me feel insignificant. 

I run through the small and uncrowded streets. Avoiding dustbins, beggars lying on the ground and water puddles. The street does not seem very safe, I feel the danger in every inch of my body but that doesn't stop me. I keep running because I know they come after me, many are my persecutors and if they reach me they can kill me without any hesitation. And although I'm way ahead of them, they will end up reaching for me, I know.

"I have to reach an avenue, somewhere more crowded" 

I say to myself.
I keep telling me those words so that, at least, I can have hope.

I get to the center of this huge city, the traffic flows, people walk from one side to another. With a known  or unknown destination they keep walking. Some go faster than others but I'm there, in the middle, still, contemplating everything around me. All those lights, sounds and tall buildings. But none of this sounds  are familiar to me. None of what I see makes memories come to my mind. I've never been in this city before. I have never visited this city before. And  I don't know what I'm doing here. 

I take a deep breath.

I close my eyes and try to calm myself.

After awhile I open my eyes and start running again. 

Now I avoid people. People that seem respectable. People who dress well. People looking at me in surprise and that deviate to the side to let me pass. People that point to me with their finger. People who wonder what I'm doing on the street, running barefoot and in a white dress. People that label me as mentally ill. People that don't realize I'm there. But none of them know what is going on right now, what I have suffered, or from what I'm running away.

When I feel that I could escape, that I could finally be free, my luck is twisted. I cross a street without looking to the sides. A car is coming too fast. I get hit. The car takes me ahead. I fall to the ground and hit my head.

A circle of people forms around me, some wonder what has happened to me or who I am, there are others who are more intelligent and call an ambulance, some even call the police.

Then I feel that I separate from my body, my mind is being separated, it moves away from that circle of people, from the noise of cars. I see how my arms are covered in scratches. My face is hidden by my hair, hair matted with blood. But that, at this moment, produces no reaction in me.

My mind goes away more and more and the memories start to flow.

A park. Ten years ago.

 It is a spring morning and an eight year old girl is sitting alone with a backpack in her arms. I look over at her, her face, her hair and I recognize her. It's me. But I don't know how I got there or what I was doing there, alone.

Then, another memory, this time in a house. 

A lady waves goodbye to me, she gives me a kiss on the cheek and leaves: My mother. My mother left me in charge of another woman, my nurse. As soon as we were alone she gets me out of home and we get into a car. 

We leave, and now I know it's for ever.

Again my mind returns to the eight year old girl sitting in the park. 

After a two hour trip, the little girl waits for her nurse as she has gone to the gas station to buy food. After awhile she's back. They get into the car again and keep travelling. It's already late at night.

When the trip is over the woman puts me in a little but homely bedroom but I'm afraid because I haven't been there before. I cry, scream and don't stop calling my parents, my grandparents and then my parents again. And at that time, sick of the noise I've been making they lock me in a darck room on the basement.

The room from which, after ten years, I managed to get away. A wet room, without light.

Then another memory, in that same park seven years after that trip.

It was one of those few times they let me go out to the fresh air. My looks are very deteriorated, I'm too skiny and dressed in big clothes that don't suit me. Tears stream down my face while I read the worn page of a newspaper. 

And then I remember. 

That article that talked about me, my family, my disappearance and how they had not stopped looking for me. The tears of sadness turn into tears of joy and a smile that has no other meaning than hope is being  formed on my face.

 And between the lines of this article I find myself, the person I am and that has been taken in an evil way. I find my name, Ariana. For me it is much more than a name. Much more.

I move away from that scene and slowly my mind returns to the present, to my current situationto, that car accident. I had fainted and I'm slowly recovering. I'm opening my eyes and I'm getting used to the light. Again, I hear the sounds of traffic, the bustle of people.

_ She's waking up!

_ Miss?

_ Keep calm, we are here to help you.

_ Your name?

Too many voices, too many noise.

_Ariana.

_ Is it your name?

_ Yes.

_ How did you get here?

_ Kidnapped. I was kidnapped ten years ago.

And I can finally relax again and get carried away by the fatigue that suddenly invaded me. I feel I'm on the stretcher in the ambulance, and I dream of seeing my parents at the hospital.

_________________________________________________________________________________

All the stories found in this blog are written by both of us, and are original. Don't use them without asking our permission first.

# 4 One Picture. One Story. || The Necklace

WARNING: Look carefully at this picture because it has so much to tell you. 

WARNING: Contemplad atentamente esta imagen porque tiene mucho que deciros.

      It was the first thing his eyes fell upon as he unlocked the door. That necklace, her necklace, lay on top of some book, probably a classic from her collection. It conferred quite a picture, of utter sophistication and brought back a recollection of happy memories that were no more. He hadn't been near the place since the day she had gone, he hadn't been home much for that matter. Those solitary walks he always felt an aversion towards were his lifestyle now. A man as resigned as him would hammer his own feet if you asked him to.

    2 months and 11 days. Who knew two months could feel like a lifetime? He unquestionably hadn't. They certainly went by a breeze was with him. And now, standing inside her territory, he could trace her scent against the backdrop. Slightly, he compelled himself to gaze fully at the necklace, it was unimportant yet important. The first present he had ever given her, a symbol of endearment, and even though many followed, they could never capture her heart.

She disentangled the felt ribbon with her nimble fingers, as he watched leaning against the doorframe. The wrapping fell at her feet and the chain glimmered in her hands as she held it out. 

'Do you like it?'

'I think you already know the answer to that.'

He saw her feel the finesse and wipe a lone tear on her glowing cheeks.

'You never told me you liked jewelry.'

Her next words startled him. 'I could never afford any'

'And all this time you never asked me for a single piece?'

She just gave him a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, and held out the chain with the heart shaped locket for him as he placed it on the neck of the most beautiful woman in his eyes. And  she turned around for him to admire it..

    Recollecting this, he broke out of his reverie, sat down on the bed, smoothing out the linen. A necklace is for the neckline, at least that's what he had heard.

'You know it's a necklace, not a bookmark.'

'I know, stop teasing me! I want it to stay in my foresight all the time.' And that was where he found it most of the time.

When he came home that dreadful night, she was nowhere in sight. He regarded the clock striking 6 'o' clock. Expeditiously, he rang her cellphone only to find it buzzing inside the house. He swore under his breath before pacing heavily. It was approximately 8;30 when the doorbell finally rang.

'Where the hell have you been? I was dead worried over here.'

'I went to return some books at the library and ran into someone.' She told as she draped her scarf upon the couch, not quite meeting his eye.

'Who exactly?'
'A cousin.'

'Which cousin?' He forced upon his words.

A shadow fell over his face as she uttered a barely discible name. 

'That same cousin who fancied you and whom all your family deemed a much better match than a outsider?'

'Yes- I mean No! But he just wanted to talk. We have been best friends since we can remember. He has been a important part of my life and he just wanted back our friendship!'

'I assure you, friendship is not only what he desires. Does he preside over the library often? Is that why you're always there?'

He knew he had made a mistake even before the words left his mouth.

'How dare you?' Anger shone in her eyes. 'How could you accuse me of- of such a low thing? I'm out of here!'
    
   He saw her pick up her jacket and slam the door on the way out. But he was too stubborn and egoistic to stop her, and he payed for it. He made the worst mistake of his life.

     It was December 31st now, snow enveloped the windows as he ran his hand through his hair and sighed. He worried she would be cold, she was never careful. Gently, he picked up her necklace and dashed outside to find her, to find her and to bring her home, back to his life as the New Year moon was bright in the sky.

_________________________________________________________________________________

All the stories found in this blog are written by both of us, and are original. Don't use them without asking our permission first.

# 3 One Picture. One Story. || A letter For You.

WARNING: Look carefully to this picture because it has so much to tell you. 

WARNING: Contemplad atentamente esta imagen porque tiene mucho que deciros.

(ENGLISH)

Dear Unknown :

Yes , however it may seem odd that you found this letter in the middle of this big world called Internet in which the first words you read were " For you." As strange as it may seem for you to be reading this. Although you do not know who has written it , nor why , nor why it is you who right now it's reading it . Although you may feel strange , please be sure to read it, do not throw it , not until you finish it.

I guess when you feel a deep feeling for someone you do not have have difficulty expressing how you feel with him/her, the things he/she makes you feel when you look deep into his/her eyes, as he/she whispers your name , the way he/she cares for you and protects you. It's not difficult . But writing a letter to someone you do not know, someone you have not been with, is more difficult. More complicated. But even if keep reading because this letter is for you. This is a letter from an anonymous to a stranger . A letter to make you smile , to make you happy. I'll start again , this time for real .

Dear Unknown :

I love you for the way you walk down the street , the way you move, for every step you take without doubting for a moment , the way you always know the direction you need to take .

I love you for how you smile at the people who cross your path and because even if you do not know them, if they speak to you, you respond kindly .

I love you for how you act with older people in the street, how you attend them and help them .

I love you also for how you act with children , with those creatures who play with you and although at some point you get tired of them , you keep paying attention to them.

I love you because you're there at the right time and you will not go if someone needs you.

I love you because in the hard times you do not flinch , you do not abandon those who most need you.

I love you because you know how to act, because you know how to behave .

I love you for the things you do well , but especially for those who you do wrong because despite them you do not quit .

I love you because you do not know who I am but you still read the letter, because even though I may be wrong you can relate to what I said , because you want it to be true .

I love you because I know it's all true .

I love you because I know you're a good person, because if youare not you still try to be one.

But what is certain , if you get here , is that I love you because you read this letter, because my effort was worth it .

I love you because I know I've made ​​you smile .

Even more true,  is that I am not the only one who loves you, but all the people around you and who you do know , love you much more than me.

Anonymous .

(SPANISH)

Querido Desconocido:

Sí, por muy raro que te pueda parecer haberte encontrado esta carta en mitad de la calle dentro de un sobre que lo único que tenía escrito era “Para ti”. Por extraño que te parezca estar leyendo esto. Aunque no sabes quien la escribe, ni porqué, ni tampoco porqué eres tú el que en este momento la está leyendo. Aunque te sientes extraño, por favor, no dejes de leerla, no la tires, no hasta que la termines.

Supongo que cuando sientes un profundo sentimiento por alguien no tienes dificultades en expresar como te siente a su lado, las cosas que te hace sentir cuando te mira profundamente a los ojos, como susurra tu nombre, como te cuida y como te protege. No es nada difícil. Pero escribir una carta a alguien que no conoces, a alguien con quien no has estado, es más difícil. Más complicado. Pero aún así sigue leyendo porque esta carta va para ti. Esta es una carta de un anónimo a un desconocido. Una carta para hacerte sonreír, para hacerte más feliz.  Voy a volver a empezar, esta vez de verdad.

Querido Desconocido:

Te quiero por la forma en que andas por la calle, por cómo te mueves, por cada paso que das sin dudar ni un instante, por como sabes siempre la dirección que tienes que tomar.

Te quiero por como sonríes a la gente que se cruza en tu camino y porque aunque no los conozcas, si te hablan, respondes amablemente.

Te quiero por como actúas con las personas mayores en la calle, por cómo les atiendes y les ayudas.

Te quiero también por como actúas con los niños, con esas criaturas que juegan contigo y que aunque en algún momento te canses de ellos, sigues prestándoles atención.

Te quiero porque estás ahí, en el momento preciso y no te vas si te necesitan.

Te quiero porque en los momentos duros no te echas atrás, no abandonas a quien más te necesita.

Te quiero porque sabes como actúas, porque sabes cómo comportarte.

Te quiero por las cosas que haces bien, pero sobre todo por las que haces mal porque a pesar de ellas no te rindes.

Te quiero porque no sabes quién soy pero sigues leyendo la carta, porque a pesar de que me equivoque te identificas con lo que he dicho, porque deseas que sea cierto.

Te quiero porque sé que todo es cierto.

Te quiero porque sé que eres buena persona y porque si no intentas serlo.

Pero lo que es seguro, si has llegado hasta aquí, es que te quiero porque has leído esta carta, porque mi esfuerzo ha valido la pena.

Te quiero porque sé que te he hecho sonreír.

Aunque más cierto es que no soy la única que te quiere, sino que toda la gente que tienes a tu alrededor y que si conoces te quieren y mucho más que yo.

Anónimo.

_________________________________________________________________________________

All this stories found in this blog are written by me don't use them without asking my permission first.

Todas las historias que se encuentran en este blog estan escritas por mí no usarlos sin pedirme permiso primero.

#2. One Picture. One Story. || Yellow robe.

WARNING: Look carefully to this picture because it has so much to tell you. 

WARNING: Contemplad atentamente esta imagen porque tiene mucho que deciros.

(ENGLISH)

"I remember her as if I had just seen her and it actually had passed a few days since that happened. And from then until the time allowed me, I was coming to this place every day. At the same time, wanting for her. But the moment in which I will see her again takes too long to come.

For now she lived in my memories, that's what she was, memories. An intense memory that every time that came to my mind became a little more real. 

I remember that robe that was covering her hair and arms, the same color as the dress which she was grabbing with her hands to avoid tripping while walking on the ground. As yellow as the sun. That lit any nook of the square in its path.


Before she passed in front of me I was getting some things, I just bought in the market, in the backpack.

What made me lift my head and look at her?

It wasn't her perfume, it wasn't her scent. But the feeling she sent to me. Only with passing before me, with only those moments I felt I knew her, I felt she was someone familiar to me, like we've been together forever.

I lift my face and keept staring at her. And then she stopped. She stopped and turned her head. She toured the market with her big green eyes that contrasted with the dark color of her skin. Despite the situation I did not look away from her and in the end her eyes met mine.

I kept my eyes on her, I made no gesture, no movement in fear of scaring her. I didn't even smiled.

She did not move, She didn't look away from my eyes. I felt how her chest was moving with the rhythm of the beats of her heart, increasingly faster. I was different for her, a white man, with blond hair and blue eyes. A stranger in a land that was not his. Even an intruder. Someone who she has never seen.

I caught her attention.

I stoke her curiosity.

But before anything could happen she grabbed her dress and ran. She ran so fast that I did not realize that she was not there anymore.

It was the most beautiful woman I had known. Beautiful in every sense.

And I'm still here in the same square, in the same place. Waiting to see reappear the woman who that day changed my life. "

(SPANISH)

"La recuerdo como si la acabara de ver y en realidad habían pasado ya unos cuantos días. Y desde aquel momento y hasta que el tiempo me lo permitiera, todo los días venía a esta plaza. A la misma hora, con ganas de volver a verla. Pero ese momento se hacía esperar.

Por ahora ella vivía en mis recuerdos, eso es lo que era, recuerdos y nada de realidad. Pero un recuerdo intenso, que cada vez que se manifestaba en mi mente se hacía un poco más real.

Recuerdo ese manto que le cubría el pelo y los brazos, del mismo color que el vestido que con sus manos recogía para no tropezarse mientras andaba sobre la tierra. Un color amarillo como el sol. Que alumbró cualquier recoveco de la plaza a su paso.


Antes de que pasara delante mio yo me encontraba metiendo unas cosas, que acababa de comprar en el mercado, dentro de la mochila.

¿Qué me hizo levantar la cabeza y mirarla?

No fue su perfume, no fue su olor. Si no la sensación que me transmitió. Solo con pasar delante mio, solo con esos instantes sentí que la conocía, sentí que era alguien familiar, como si hubiésemos estado juntos toda la vida.

Levante la cara y me quede mirándola. Y entonces se paró. Se paró y giro la cabeza. Recorrió el mercado con sus grandes ojos verdes que contrastaban con el oscuro color de su piel. A pesar de la situación yo no aparte la mirada de ella y al final sus ojos se encontraron con los míos.

Yo mantuve la mirada sobre ella, no hice ningún gesto, ningún movimiento con miedo a asustarla. Ni siquiera le sonreí.

Ella tampoco se movía, tampoco apartaba la mirada de mis ojos. Sentía como su pecho se movía al ritmo de las pulsaciones de su corazón, cada vez más acelerado. Yo era diferente para ella, un hombre blanco, rubio y de ojos azules. Un extranjero en una tierra que no era la suya. Incluso un intruso. Alguien a quien nunca había visto.

Llame su atención.

Avivé su curiosidad.

Pero antes de que pudiese suceder algo se recogió el vestido y salió corriendo. Corrió tan deprisa que no me di cuenta de que ya no estaba ahí.

Era la mujer más bella que había conocido. Bella en todo los sentidos.

Y aquí sigo yo, en la misma plaza, en el mismo lugar. Esperando a que vuelva a aparecer la que aquel día cambió mi vida."

#1. One Picture. One Story. || In the darck.

WARNING: Look carefully to this picture because it has so much to tell you. 

WARNING: Contemplad atentamente esta imagen porque tiene mucho que deciros.

(ENGLISH)

"Nothing is what it seems. Nothing is as one thinks it is. Things we see with our eyes are not really that way, they are different. They change. They will never be the same.

In the middle of the night, surrounded by so much darkness I realized it. I realized that in fact I did not know anything, I did not know anyone. Yes, even the people whith whom I was more close those with whom I shared my life, I did not know them. I realized that as much as I pawned everything would change. Everyone would change.

This makes me feel weak,  feel insecure and  feel like I need help but I say to myself that it is only the effect that the dark night has on me, the effect that the distant city lights have on my eyes. An unexplained effect.

I have always liked to spend the night on the terrace of the building. Alone. Looking at the dark landscape. It has something that has made me spend hours without caring about anything. But tonight is different. It was not me who had decided to go up to the terrace. No.

It was the nervous voice of a stranger.

"Get on the terrace as you always do. Here you feel safe and you will be safe today"

Yes, he was right. Whenever I went up here I felt good, I felt safe. But not today.

Today I had a bad feeling.

Anyway I knew nothing. I could do nothing. And for some strange reason I did not move from where I was, not come down to my apartment.

I spent all night up. Seeing how the cars head for the city. Many cars. Many people who will be lost in this immense world. As the city keeps its lights on. Tall buildings that continue to light the sky.

And I fall asleep.

I do not realize.

And are the sounds of fire sirens, the sirens of police cars, ambulances which wake me up. There is so much noise, too much fuss. At first when I open my eyes I do not know what I'm doing there. But then as minutes pass I remember everything.

The anonymous call.

I remember how I fell asleep.

I look outside and see how all that noise that woke me up has being materialized in the street. Firefighters, policemen, doctors. Also curious people.

I do not know what happened and that worries me.

I get scared. I will go down but the door is closed. I can not leave. I can not lose. And that's when I panic. I'm locked in the top floor of a seven-storey building. On the terrace. There is no way to get off. I can not leave.

I go to the border of the building again and I start to scream, I scream with all my might but no one seems to hear me. They Do not look up but instead they are looking towards the front door of the building.

I walk away from the edge and take a deep breath. I have to reassure.

I look up at the sky. The night is over and has given its way to the day. The situation has changed. There is no artificial light coming out of the city. It seems that everything is natural.

Again I peek and I look at what people are watching. A procession of firefighters who carry white bags of the size of a person comes out from the building. Many white bags.

I realize what they are.

And I panic, and this time I have no way to calm down because what I have seen will be with me the rest of my life.

Bodies.

Inert bodies.

Lifeless bodies.

And that's when the anonymous call pops in my head again.

"Get on the terrace as you always do. Here you feel safe and you will be safe today"

And only now I realize its significance. They were transcendent words. But I'm scared. It scares me to know that someone knew what was going to happen and for some unknown reason chose me to be the one who will survive.

I have not moved from the edge of the building but I'm not paying attention to what's going down. I can not keep looking. So I do not realize that people realize that I'm up here I don't realize how they whisper among themselves. I don't realize how some firefighters reenter the building.

I do not realize it until I hear a noise at the door.

I jump.

"Miss!"

"Miss stay away from the door, we are going to tear it down!"

Although I was not around the door I keep as away as I can. I hear a thud and the door falls down. And three firefighters come from it. They approach me carefully and examine me but they see I'm safe. That nothing happened to me. They talk to me but I don't hear anything so they make gestures indicating that I should follow them. I start walking.

I walk through the door and realize that someone has locked it from the inside. Someone has locked the door so I could not go out or so anyone could get to me.

I do not care.

I just know that there have been many murders in my building but I'm safe."

(ESPAÑOL)

" Nada es lo que parece. Nada es como uno piensa. Las cosas que vemos con nuestros ojos no son en realidad de esa manera, son diferentes. Cambian. Nunca son las mismas.

En medio de la noche, rodeada de tanta oscuridad me di cuenta de ello. Me di cuenta de que en realidad no sabía nada, que en realidad no conocía nada ni a nadie. Sí, incluso las personas con las que más relación tenía, con las que compartía mi vida, tampoco los conocía. Me di cuenta de que por mucho que me empeñara todo cambiaría. Todos cambiarían.

Esto me hace sentir débil, me hace sentir insegura y que necesito ayuda pero se que se trata únicamente del efecto que la noche cerrada tiene sobre mi, del efecto que las lejanas luces de la ciudad tienen sobre mis ojos. Un efecto inexplicable.

Siempre me ha gustado pasar las noches en la terraza del edificio. Sola. Contemplando el oscuro paisaje. Tiene un atractivo que me ha hecho pasar horas y horas sin importarme nada. Pero esta noche es diferente. No había sido yo quien había decidido subir a la terraza. No.

Fue la voz nerviosa de un desconocido.

"Sube a la terraza como haces siempre. Ahí te sientes a salvo y hoy estarás a salvo"

Si, tenía razón. Siempre que subía aquí arriba me sentía bien, me sentía a salvo. Pero no hoy.

Hoy tenía un mal presentimiento.

De todas formas no sabía nada. No podía hacer nada. Y por alguna extraña razón no me moví de donde estaba, no baje a mi apartamento.

Pasé toda la noche arriba. Viendo como los coches se dirigen a la ciudad. Muchos coches. Muchas persona que se perderán en ese inmenso mundo. Como la ciudad mantiene sus luces encendidas. Edificios muy altos que no dejan de alumbrar el cielo.

Y me quedo dormida.

No me doy cuenta.

Y son los sonidos de las sirenas de bomberos, las sirenas de los coches de policía, de las ambulancias los que me despiertan. Hay mucho ruido, mucho alboroto. Al principio cuando abro los ojos no se que hago ahí. Pero entonces conforme me voy despejando lo recuerdo todo.

La llamada anónima.

Recuerdo como me quede dormida.

Me asomo a la calle y veo como todo ese ruido que me ha levantado esta materializado en la calle. Los bomberos, los policías, los médicos. También la gente curiosa.

No se que ha pasado y eso me preocupa.

Me asusto. Voy a la puerta para bajar pero esta cerrada. No puedo salir. No puedo bajar. Y es entonces cuando me entra el pánico. Estoy encerrada en el último piso de un edificio de siete plantas. En la terraza. No hay forma de que baje. No puedo salir.

Me vuelvo a asomar y grito, grito con todas mis fuerzas pero parece que nadie me oye. No miran hacia arriba si no que están mirando hacia la puerta principal del edificio.

Me alejo del borde y respiro hondo. Me tengo que tranquilizar.

Miro hacia arriba, hacia el cielo abierto. Ya se ha acabado la noche y ha dado paso al día. La situación a cambiado. Ya no hay luz artificial que sale de la ciudad. Parece que todo es natural.

Vuelvo a asomarme y me fijo en lo que la gente esta mirando. Del edificio sale una procesión de bomberos que cargan bolsas blancas del tamaño de una persona. Muchas bolsas blancas.

Me doy cuenta de lo que son.

Y me entra el pánico y esta vez no hay forma de calmarlo porque lo que he visto me va a acompañar el resto de mi vida.

Cuerpos.

Cuerpos inertes.

Cuerpos sin vida.

Y es entonces cuando la llamada anónima de ayer vuelve a mi cabeza.

"Sube a la terraza como haces siempre. Ahí te sientes a salvo y hoy estarás a salvo"
Y es ahora cuando me doy cuenta de su significado. De lo trascendentes que han sido esas palabras. Pero me da miedo. Me da miedo saber que alguien sabía todo lo que iba a pasar y que por alguna desconocida razón me eligió a mi para sobrevivir.

No me he movido del borde del edificio pero no estoy prestando atención a lo que pasa abajo. No puedo seguir mirando. Por eso no me doy cuenta de que la gente se da cuenta de que estoy abajo, no me doy cuenta de como murmuran entre ellos. De como algunos bomberos vuelven a entrar en el edificio.

No me doy cuenta hasta que oigo un ruido en la puerta. Me sobresalto.

"Señorita!" 

"Señorita apártese de la puerta, vamos a tirarla abajo!"
A pesar de que no estaba cerca me alejo mucho más. Oigo un ruido seco y la puerta cae abajo. Entran tres bomberos. Se acercan a mi con cuidado, me examinan pero ven que estoy a salvo. Que no me ha pasado nada. Me dicen que les acompañe pero no escucho, no escucho nada. Me hacen gestos indicando que les siga. Empiezo a andar.

Cruzo la puerta y me doy cuenta de que alguien la ha cerrado desde dentro. Alguien me ha encerrado para que no pudiera salir o para que nadie llegara a mi.

No me importa.

Solo se que ha habido asesinatos en mi edificio pero que yo estoy a salvo."

One Picture. One Story.

via Tumblr.com/tagged/books

If  having one blog it's hard, let's see how it is to have two blogs. 

I'm the owner of Her Place at The Universe. a blog where I share things about my life and about what I love (i.e. Fashion, Architecture and last but not least Islam). But I somehow needed this blog. I needed this little piece of world only for my thought, only for the things I want to tell, for the things I want to write. 

I will talk about me, about you, about this world, but in a very different way. I won't write well made essays, no I will write stories, fictional stories that could be real. They will tell my story, what I may be suffering at that moment. They may tell your story. They may tell the story of the world.

I don't talk. Something I don't like about myself is that I don't share my deepest feelings with the ones who most love me (i.e. family and closest friends) I don't know why but I think is that I don't know how tell them,. I've allways though about it, but when the moment comes I don't find the words. So I hope this helps me.

And I hope this may also help you.

So this way I introduce you my new little place:

One Picture. One Story.

UPDATE: Since awhile ago, my dearest friend from the blog La Tour de Force has joined me in this journey that is slowlly growing up. She has great writting skills and is also a great persone really close to me, and I'm really happy for having her by myside on this. Hope you enjoy our stories. Hope you can learn from them. Hope you can feel them.