Convocatoria de Cuento Corto por Arte Escrito Podcast

🖊Te traigo algo bien cool: una convocatoria de Cuento Corto para celebrar Arte Escrito Podcast como parte del Día Internacional del Podcast a celebrarse el 30 de septiembre. Espero te animes y participes. Los 5 cuentos cortos seleccionados, y las quizás menciones honoríficas, se leerán en el episodio #40 titulado Arte Escrito y allí estarán grabados para que los escuches cuantas veces desees. Corre la voz, comparte este post.

Toda la información está en las fotos, pero si necesitas más me puedes escribir por mensaje directo en mis redes sociales o a Recuerda que la fecha de cierre es el 22 de septiembre de 2021.

Un abrazo

The Queen’s ill words

The waves crashed on the rocks that encircle the small bay. The night was upon them, and so was her moment.

“Where?” She asked in a commanding voice.

His was graspy and ancient, “Write it in the sand near the water’s edge.”

She took out her sword, walked towards the edge where the water would touch the sand when the tide came and wrote: Fall from grace into the hands of your enemies, be humiliated and in darkness suffer, Melvin, Lord of the West, king of the Eaglekin.

“Done, lets go.”

“You can’t leave! You must be present when the sea swallows the words or they’ll become your curse. It’ll be an insult to the goddess and she is never mercifull.”

An inconvinent, her enemies where close and she was loosing the war. Dark magic was her only chance, one filled with danger.

Slowly the tide came closer to her words and her patience grew smaller, but she needed to wait. She thought of the humiliation she would put him throu, pull the feathers from his head one by one. A discrace for an Eaglekin. For her kin, the Graykin, would be to be pintch with a thorn of a red rose; it’s venom would run through her white blood and change its color to red and her skin would turn pinkish as that of a Humankin. A most painful humiliation, but imposible for she exterminated them all.

The sea elegantly swang back and forth as if toying with her. She watched it closely, thinking the goddess might call upon it and retreat it. There was no reason for it. The ill words would crush Melvin and she will have once more around her long grayish neck the amulet, The claw of their queen, Melvin’s dead wife, to control the Eaglekin.

The foam almost touched the words and retreated quickly. The shamman made a long sharp sound, she looked back. A lance pierced his chest, he fell on the sand. She looked at the forest behind her and saw nothing.

As she turned around to watch the words, Melvin stood in front of her, his head golden plumage sparkling under the moonlight. His deep brown eyes filled with rage, his square jaw tensed. He grabbed her by the neck, threw her to the air. As she fell, he grab her with his tallons and flew to a near rocky point where he dropped her. Inmediatly she looked for the beach where her words were written, but Melvin grab and pulled her towards his face.

In her heart she felt the touch of darkness, a whispper of her words in her ear were carried by the soft salty breeze. Melvin looked pleased, “This is your fall from grace, Your Highness, and my lover awaits you at the bottom of the sea, where you shall live in darkness for all eternity. But first, a gift from a goddess worthy of a queen.” And in his hand he held a red rose.

This story is part of a prompt from Write on Edge. Go check it out.

El uso de una trenza

Su cabello dorado lacio y sedoso fue dividido en tres mechones, que por consiguiente fueron sobre puestos el uno sobre el otro una y otra vez, hasta que una trenza que le llegaba a los pies fue construida y en su terminal fueron entrelazados un conjunto de doradas navajas triangulares. Se puso en pie y caminó hacia él, quien no le miraba a los ojos por que no solo ella era una amazona, era la reina, y un varón nunca les mira a los ojos, pero los de él solo miraban la trenza en su mano derecha. Con sudor en su frente y el rostro pálido no hizo mas que quitarse la camisa y tornarse hacia la pared donde sus manos fueron amarradas y en su espalda eran visibles las cicatrices delineadas la una sobre la otra. La amazona se acercó y alzó el brazo con el que sujetaba la trenza, él apretó fuertemente las sogas a la espera del metal trenzado que pintaría nuevos trazos carmesí.

Las sirenas no existen de Susi de la Torre

¿Quién no cree en sirenas? Al menos para esos que trabajamos en la fantasía y la ficción, sin dejar atrás a los pequeños de nuestras vidas, las mitológicas sirenas viven en nuestra imaginación.  Todos conocemos el famoso cuento de hadas de Hans Christian Andersen titulado La Sirenita, y la versión de Disney ‘The little Mermaid’. El de Andersen lo leí cuando era una adolescente y lo encontré fascinante, la versión de Disney no se comparó en lo absoluto al original y su trágico final.

Las sirenas no existen es un cuento corto por Susi de la Torre para su blog Durmiendo en una papelera. Susi se adentra a la psiquis de una tripulación que pasa por una de las necesidades primordiales del hombre, donde la idea de la sobre vivencia late en sus mentes mientras se repiten “las sirenas no existen”.

En un viaje visual nos lleva Susi de la Torre para hacernos sentir que estamos allí entre las olas del mar, la penumbra de la tripulación y la sirena frente a ellos.

Les invito a pasar por Durmiendo en una papelera para que disfruten del cuento corto Las sirenas no existen.

Looking inside my manhole

            What would my manhole look like? Would it be surrounded by concrete or green soft grass?  Would it be rusty, deep black or gray?  Is it small or big, round or square?  But what’s inside my manhole?  What am I hiding underneath it? 

            There are so many questions for something so simple.  The truth is that I am making all these questions in order not to look inside my manhole.  Is in front of me and I have no desire to look upon it, for I don’t wish to pull its top.  I do not want to know what monsters or strange beings will crawl out of it.  I fear a shadow is residing inside that manhole and that it will consume me if I let it out.  It should stay there!

           But wait!  What if it just goes away?  What if this shadow, cloaked in a purple fear, leaves when I free it from the prison I have kept it all these years?  It’s a chance I have to take.  I will do it!  I will open that manhole and let it be free.  I will let it be transformed into hope.  For in the shadows of my fears my hope has become a black sad being.  Kept from the light inside a manhole I created for it.  I will let it be free so it can grow by my side.  I will let it transform me into a new person with out fears and with new hopes and let it teach me to be brave. 

            I open the manhole with a little difficulty for it is a small one.  Put the iron oval top aside and waited for the shadow to come out.  It is a little afraid to come out for the rays of the sun are too bright and its eyes are accustomed to the darkness.  After a while it came out and stood in front of me looking straight to my eyes.  Its eyes were as black as the night as its hole body was.  Looking at it more closely I realize it was me. 

            We stood there in front of each other waiting for words to be spoken.  But all that came out was a tear drop from my eyes and a smile from the shadows lips.


This short story was made for an excersise for Soul Food Café



Güarionex, the steed who took me to the Hermitage

There is a strange thing about horses I do not understand. There are very mysterious and if you don’t see my point, just look at them straight in their eyes. Their eyes have stories to tell, but since they can’t speak they are silent. Still some creatures can speak to them and hear their stories and transmit them to others like me. They are called the Horse Whisperers, a rare species among humans. One of them introduced me to Güarionex, my golden steed, the one who will take me to the Hermitage, a place wheremy inner writer can be in solitude.

I felt scared as I approached Güarionex for I have always been afraid of horses. If they don’t trust you there is much that can happen. I looked deep into his black eyes at the same time he stared at mine. A moment of eternity passed between us while we gaze upon each other reading our souls.

Suddenly he made a nod and I came out of the trance. “He will let you ride him”, said the Horse Whisperer. I smiled for what I saw in his eyes was a story so extraordinary it was both uplifting and inspiring. This horse was no ordinary steed, he was a warrior amongst his kin who was the companion fo legendary warriors. I felt unworthy of such an honor of being able to ride him.

“We must go know, is getting late”, the Horse Whisperer added as he climbed up his white horse. “The trail is long, but inspiring. Let Güarionex feel the road and do not be scared for he will take good care of you. He has seen something special in you.”

“Why you say that?” I asked.

“He is letting you ride him. Last time he let someone ride him was a century ago by a great king of kings.”

“Maybe his bored and want to feel the road under his hooves.”

“No. He saw something in you, so do not think of yourself as entertainment for him. He knows when someone is worthy.”

I look at Güarionex once more wanting to ask him what he saw in me, but as I gaze upon him I felt a warm feeling inside my heart that took my fears away. I smiled, he nodded.

I climb on to his saddle and waited for the Horse Whisperer to tell me what to do. He just said, “Hold on and seat tight, is a bumpy ride.” Suddenly the horses started galoping fast. Tightly I hold on to the rope in order to slow him down, but Güarionex did not give in.

“Loose him up!”, the Horse Whisperer shouted.

I did not want to do that. A chill went up my spine as the only thing I could do was hold on. I got closer to his neck trying not to fall down for I knew it was going to hurt a lot if I fell.

“You have to let go!” The Horse Whisperer shouted again.

I looked at him not understanding what he said. I was really scared, the wind blowing hard at my face. The road passed fast underneath us as Güarionex rode faster and faster each passing second. The valley was hard to admire at that pace. Everything was a blur because I could not distinguish one color from the other, a wild flower from the grass. The only steady things were the sky above and the mountains beyond. They looked as if they were spectators looking down on us, not wanting to miss the action that went on in the valley beneath them.

The Horse Whisperer’s words echoed in my mind as I tried to understand their meaning. “Let go,” I said to myself. “Just let go,” as I said that my hands relaxed their grip and loosened the rope on Güarionex. A sense of freedom revolved around me and confidence took over my soul. It felt great! I let go of my fears and enjoyed the ride letting Güarionex ride faster than before and trusting myself to him.

A rush of adrenaline flew thru my veins as the wind in my face felt exhilarating. Then it came out of my mouth like it had been there all my life trying to get out, but never had the chance. A loud scream, yes I screamed so hard it was heard throughout the valley as we rode fast through its green pastures.

The Horse Whisperer laugh and I joined him. “Oh, this is awesome!” I exclaimed.

“Every time, every time,” he repeated with a huge smile.

“Can he go like this for a long time?” I asked out loud.

“A little longer!” He answered.

“Well then, let’s have a race!” As I said that I let out a “Hia!” and Güarionex went even faster. It was a glorious experience that uplifted my spirits. The Horse Whisperer caught us in seconds and he pointed to a group of trees for us to stop and for the horses to rest.

We stopped at the chosen spot and when I got down Güarionex caressed me with his face. I smiled and said to him, “Thank you, too.” I kissed him in his forehead and hugged him. We stayed there under the covers of the tree for an hour eating and laughing. The Horse Whisperer told me of his craft and talents, of his family and how he was chosen to be a horse whisperer. He explained that they choose a name that only the horse appointed to him must know, but I could call him Rob. He was taught at the University of Centaurs by one of the legendary centaurs of old. Playing wiht a leaf grass on his hand, he explained that the centaurs are the only creatures capable of teaching that craft, for after all they are half horses.

The road was waiting for us and we climbed up on our horses, this time, for we were closer to the Hermitage as we covered most of the road in our ride, we took it slow. I wanted to enjoy the sites as we past beautiful trees and enchanting roads. Soon enough the sanctuary of the Hermitage was visible in the distance. It look beautiful, I smiled as I saw it. I was finally there and my heart was full of joy to gaze upon it.

“When we get there I will attend to the horses. You go in and relax and enjoy your stay. It’s a good place for meditation so take advantage of your time.”

“I will.”

“I’ll see you when your party are ready to live.”

“Thanks for the wonderful trip!”

“Don’t thank me, thank him,” Rob, the Horse Whisperer, said pointing to Güarionex.

I smile and gave Güarionex a pad on his mane. We entered the Hermitage and left the traveled road behind.