Segunda foto


De nuevo, ¡situarnos! Por segunda vez tenemos la suerte de contar con una foto de Gabriel López,  (ItacaProds). A mí me inspira historias muy diferentes, espero que os pase lo mismo y podáis hacer vuestro mini-relato con total libertad.

Como pude comprobar con la primera imagen, en vosotros hay palabras preciosas esperando a ser plasmadas.  Y os repito, no os define el escribir más o menos de x palabras, o ninguna 😍 Nadie va juzgar, nadie va a quitaros esa ilusión de empezar y acabar un proyecto pequeño que encierra una satisfacción muy grande.

Recordad que podéis mandarlo a mi correo, twitterfacebookinstagram, ponerlo en un comentario de esta entrada… ¡¡¡Lo que os suponga menos esfuerzo!!! Pero acordaos de darme algún nombre para publicar cuando haga la recopilación, o de decirme que sea anónimo si así lo preferís.


  • Por cierto, ¿recordáis lo que comenté el otro día? (Yo no me acordaría así que lo resumo):
  • Hablé de que esperaba que esto fuera como una habitación en la que poner todo lo que nos gusta, expresarnos, y utilizar esas aproximadamente 300 palabras para entrar en contacto. Espero que con esto estemos un pasito más cerca:
    • Para saber más podéis echarle un vistazo a esta entrada.


4 thoughts on “Segunda foto

  • Night had fallen, and I still had absolutely no idea about where I was “How? Why me?”, I mumble while walking. It had been hours since I lose the trail of the deer, and I was only walking in circles on that humid forest. After a while, I hear a lot of noise nearby. Deer noise. I follow it and I found a clearing, in the middle of nothing. The noise suddenly stops while I get there. When I arrive, I cannot believe my eyes. What in the actual hell could a 60-foot-high gothic abbey do on a forest, miles away from civilization?

    After some outside inspection, I observe that it looks like it had been finished yesterday. No harm, no damage, no sign of deterioration at all. It starts raining, and I decide to pass inside. The big metallic door is half open, but there is no evidence of it being forced. “Is someone waiting for me?” I ask myself.

    Coming in, as soon as I enter, the wind closes the door behind me. I leave the hand-made crossbow on the floor, and light some of the candles with my lighter. This place arouses all my senses: that unmistakable smell of church candles, with the fresh odor of the humid soil of North Scotland; and the charming noise of water smashing against the coil-black slate roof. I can now see the rose windows, lighted up by the candles. That is when I get really scared. The image they form is me. My face, myself. Then I feel how someone crosses behind me. I turn around but only see shadows. “Who’s there?” I ask, as if any answer to that question was going to make me feel better. Then, some whispers fill the silent main hall. I can’t distinguish them, or identify where they come from.

    “Hello there?” Is this really happening? Or I just fell pursuing that deer and knocked myself out? Whispers again. Now I clearly see a person running towards the main tower stairs. “Hey! You!” I try to chase him, but seems so disappear. I decide to climb up the stone stairs, and when I’m half way up, the loud noise of deer returns. I make it to the top, and then I seriously doubt about my clarity of mind. It has stopped raining, and I am staring at literally dozens of deer, peaceably grazing on that clearing over the moonlight. Just like they have been there all time. “Seriously, what in hell is going on?” I think to myself. Then, I observe movement through the forest. Finally, someone is rescuing me. I try to shout for help, but the deer noise is too loud for being heard. I have to go back down and find them.

    On my way down, maybe because of the hurry, I fall down. I can feel each one of the stones transported to do that stairway on my back. But I’m alright. The deer sound has stopped, and I can hear the rain hitting again the roof. The door opens and I desperately shout on my way down, but there is no response. When I get down I see him. It’s another haunter, that is lighting up again the candles, and staring perplex at my face on the rose window. “Hey, can you hear me, brother?”. He seems to hear something, but not understand me nor locate me, and I’m still on the dark part of the abbey so he can’t see me. “It’s me, brother, at the end”. He suddenly turns around, seeming scared, but nothing compared to me, I’m frightened. I’m so scared that I run all the way up again. But he seems to chase me.

    “How? Why me?”

    Yo tengo muchísimas ganas (¡quiero tocar una temática muy guay!), pero estoy con el nanowrimo y SF y sufro ;__; Seguramente llegaré a última hora, pero llegaré <3

    • Sí sí, me muero de curiosidad por saber quién ha podido ser… :O Yo estoy entre temáticas muy diferentes, ¡ya veremos qué es lo que prima cuando me siente a escribir!
      La última hora siempre saca cosas bonitas Bea 😉 ¡El nanowrimo merece tu completa atención!

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