I write as a hobby and I believe every new story is a way to enhance yourself. Looking forward in making you succumb in delight and bring a smile or a tear, whatever suits most. English and Spanish. xx
I write as a hobby and I believe every new story is a way to enhance yourself. Looking forward in making you succumb in delight and bring a smile or a tear, whatever suits most. English and Spanish. xx
I wake up alone at night, stomach dropping, breath halting. Sweat drips, bones ache, eyes wide— tears stream, unrelenting. Splintered.
No more.
They don’t care anymore. Their smiles faded long before I became a shadow in their eyes— a burden too heavy, too broken to disguise.
No more.
Why can’t it be different? Why can’t we rewind? Why…
No more.
I starve myself on purpose, thinking hunger might cleanse me. I stay awake, to remind myself I’m nothing but a mistake.
Why…
I bite the hand that feeds me, so maybe it'll let me starve Spare them the urge to pretend— spare them the weight of loving someone who only breaks.
No more.
It took too long to see— a blade, a leap, a rope, some poisoned clarity— could unburden the family I’ve cursed to carry me.
Why…
Breathe in. Breathe out. Angie knew what Viv was doing, and she had to warn Williams. He was getting too involved, too blinded by the alluring glow Viv — that damn, charming woman — cast around her. He needed to understand she wasn’t perfect. He needed to know she wasn’t who he thought she was.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Angie measured her steps, her nose wrinkling instinctively as the sharp, metallic scent of fresh blood filled the air. The garage grew darker with every passing second. The oppressive silence unsettled her—part of her was relieved she heard nothing, but another part knew it could only mean one thing: Viv already knew she was here.
The thought made her blood run cold. Viv’s cleverness was terrifying, but Angie reminded herself why she was doing this—for Williams.
Thud! She froze.
3… 2… 1…
Turning sharply, she spotted scattered boxes in the corner. It was probably just rats in this damned garage, but the image of Viv’s potential crimes loomed over her, making her skin crawl. The smell of blood was so vivid now that Angie could taste it—coppery and bitter, clinging to her tongue and throat. Her stomach churned as she fought the urge to vomit. Whether it was the stench or sheer terror, she couldn’t stay here much longer.
Each step forward felt like a mistake. She reminded herself: evidence and warn him. Evidence and warn. That’s it.
The space cleared, and harsh yellow light flooded the room, illuminating what lay ahead. Angie’s breath hitched as her eyes landed on the gruesome scene. A table stood in the center, its loose straps dangling like silent witnesses. Tools lay scattered around it, stained with reddish-brown smears. Bags and instruments hinted at horrors she couldn’t fathom. Her mind reeled, filling in the blanks with grotesque imaginings.
She doubled over and vomited.
Her body shook as she clung to the wall for support, bile rising every time her eyes strayed back to the table. Nausea clawed at her, but she couldn’t look away.
Then, a voice broke through the suffocating silence.
It was soothing, calm—a light at the end of the tunnel.
“Angie.”
Her head snapped up. Williams stood there, perfectly still, his figure silhouetted in the yellow glow. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes pierced through her.
Angie gasped for air, her voice raw and trembling as she managed to croak, “She’s not who she says she is.”
“I know,” Williams replied, his tone steady, almost chilling.
His unyielding gaze sent a shiver down her spine.
Ella de cabellos negros rondaba por la cumbre de aquella lejana loma. La luz de la luna iluminaba su rostro moreno y ojeroso, curvado desde su lumbar hasta su cervical, desfigurado por algo indiferente de los años, algo oculto.
Un lobo hambriento a la luz de la luna sólo podía significar peligro. Éste se escondía en la hierba grisácea, se camuflaba y con la paciencia de un cazador experto removía la tierra bajo sus garras.
Una mujer y un lobo. Un asesino despiadado y una mariposa débil.
Ella saltó hacia la figura del can, sorprendiéndolo por completo. Se agarró a su pelaje y arrancó su piel. Su cuerpo cual arma, envolvió al lobo y lo atravesó con su brazo izquierdo. Los gemidos, la sangre y la luz de la luna adornaban el lugar.
La mujer usó todo su rostro y lo introdujo en el estómago del lobo, logrando que el animal de su último respiro. Se deleitó con los órganos tibios del ser y gozó de su festín, finalmente en cálido silencio.
A lo lejos, una pequeña niña perdida presenció toda la escena, ella sólo estaba buscando a su madre. Su cuerpo entero reaccionó al ver esa figura familiar devorando al animal salvaje. Comenzó a transpirar helado, se paralizó de pies a cabeza y las lágrimas brotaron desesperantes.
"Mamá" quería gritar. Ni una palabra salía de sus labios pálidos. La noche sólo proporcionaba una ventisca gélida y un silencio interrumpido por los sonidos horripilantes al remover tejidos viscosos con tus fauces. Las lágrimas salientes de la pequeña la abrumaron tanto que tuvo que suspirar por aire, soltando un estruendo dirigido directamente a los oídos de la fiera.
La mujer levantó su cabeza del vientre del animal. Su rostro estaba manchado por un líquido rojo y pedazos de tejidos colgantes en sus cabellos cual adornos. Sus labios estaban irritados por haber hecho contacto descuidado con los ácidos gástricos, lo que producía que se mezcle su propia piel con la del animal, terminando en una miscelánea escarlata. Miró en dirección del sonido, ella denotaba una mirada inhumana con dotes únicamente depredadores; esclerótica rojiza, iris de noche y pupilas inexistentes.
El peso de mil rocas se posó sobre la indefensa niña al conectar miradas con su madre. Quería correr, quería gritar, no sólo lo quería; lo necesitaba. Las más remotas fibras de su ser se removieron, conspiraron para mover al menos un músculo; pero, lo único que consiguieron es temblar. La pequeña sentía el pavor en sus huesos y no podría combatirlo aunque quisiera.
Lentamente, la mujer cargó su propio peso en sus extremidades y avanzó con dificultad hacia la pequeña. Los movimientos que sus brazos hacían eran físicamente imposibles; capaces de fracturarse en otros cuerpos, pero no en el de ella. Avanzó con peligrosos ángulos e hizo que sus ramas secas sigan en camino. Su mirada jamás abandonaba a la niña. El silencio ahora plagado del sonido de huesos rotos y torcidos.
Un hilo de saliva caía por sus labios maltratados mientras avanzaba. A su paso dejaba una estela de sangre, viceras y tela saliente de su vestido rasgado. El camino que la separaba de la pequeña se hacía más corto, y al acercarse más se podían ver las lágrimas brotando de ambos seres.
Al estar frente a la niña, un único pensamiento cruzó la mente de la mujer. Moría por hacerlo. Se despojó del espacio que las separaba y la abrazó. Besó su cabeza y disfrutó del momento. Cerraron sus ojos y sonrieron sin darse cuenta, sus propios cuerpos cobraron conciencia y se alcanzaron para prometer nunca dejarse ir de nuevo.
Ambas cubiertas de sangre y otros sentimientos gozaron del momento y apartaron sus miedos. Madre e hija reunidas finalmente.
The fox squirmed under the bunny's gaze. Felix knew he couldn't hold it back anymore, even though it meant the true end. Those big ears twitched, waiting for his words. Oh, they’d been talking nonstop for countless seasons—whether winter struck or the scorching sun threatened them both. Sometimes, they didn’t say anything at all, letting actions scream louder than words as they strolled through the forest, hidden beneath leaves and circumstances, far from prying eyes.
Felix had first seen Bun as his lunch. That’s all she was at the start, he reminded himself. He had always been a solitary fox, avoiding the herd or any kind of reunion. His luxurious reddish-orange coat blended perfectly with the skirts of tall acacias, allowing him to move unseen—until he stumbled upon Bun.
Bun, with her endless chatter and glib speech. He didn’t know how she had convinced him to stay. Maybe he’d just been lonely. That feeling blossomed within him faster than he ever expected. Before Felix realized it, he needed the bunny. Not as a simple appetizer, but as a companion.
The fox prepared his internal confession, taking in the world around him. Everything felt sharper, more vivid—the way the light filtered through the trees, the damp earth beneath his paws, the sound of the wind carrying distant whispers. He searched for words beyond the typical three. Words had never been his strength. How could he explain the turmoil? The story? The dichotomy that gnawed at his mind? The need for closeness, the quiet delight he felt whenever she leaped and twirled through the forest, never still.
Before he could utter a single syllable, Bun spoke first.
“Don’t.”
Felix froze. The word echoed in his ears, and he didn’t move, though every fiber of his being screamed for him to take a step closer.
“Don’t do this,” she said, her voice steady.
Instead, he took a step back. His stomach dropped, making the truth crystal clear. She didn’t need to explain—she already had. It was wrong. And she would never, ever feel the same.
He felt like a fool. Roots might as well have sprung from his paws into the soft, humid ground beneath him, because as he watched her hop away, he knew. He knew he’d never see her again.
I fell to my knees before him. Never, in all my years wearing the demonic crown, did I imagine that he—the archangel of the pearly gates—would place his sharp sword against my carotid. One pulse, one deliberate movement, and my existence would end. After all these years of battle—king against prince, dark against light—we both knew it would end this way. One way or another.
There was no escape, no reprieve from this final act. His eyes pierced deeper than his blade, and in that moment, I understood. His light had blinded me, had clouded my better judgment. The prince had always held the power, and I had refused to see it.
Now, his gaze declared the end of our charade. As I looked into those eyes, a voice spoke, quiet yet unyielding: 'He will give you death, and you will love him for it.
En un pasado que recuerdo muy bien, mi respuesta sería un rotundo "no". No lo hubiera aceptado, no hubiera concebido la idea que ahora vivía en mi cabeza con mi permiso. Era duro, como un golpe imprevisto en la sien, pero tenía que. Algunos me extrañarían, otros festejarían, pero había algo seguro: jamás olvidaría este capítulo.
