Twilight's Flash Fiction / Relatos cortos crepusculares

  Nobody His name was Nobody. The name was chosen by his father because he wanted his son to never fall into the trap of pride, importance and self-promotion. Nobody grew up alone and learned to think alone. His ideas were not contaminated by anything or anyone, and his thought flourished from the white of the void until it came to compose the most beautiful spaces. Worlds like red roses, universes that flew on butterfly wings. And he died without knowing what a kiss tastes like, without knowing caresses and oblivious to the love of someone who filled their perfect worlds.   Nadie Se llamaba Nadie. El nombre lo eligió su padre porque quería que su hijo nunca cayera en la trampa de la soberbia, de la   importancia y del autobombo. Nadie creció solo y aprendió a pensar en soledad. Sus ideas no estaban contaminadas por nada ni por nadie, y su pensamiento florecíó desde el blanco del vacío hasta llegar a componer los más bellos espacios. Mundos como rosas rojas, unive...

 Ann Ann traveled on vacation to Spain after having lived in Madrid for a few years during her childhood. The history of the Middle Ages had been her passion ever since her father, a great diplomat, was stationed in Spain.   His stories had stimulated the little girl's imagination and she had never stopped remembering visits to those silent and impressive castles that held unspeakable secrets. She got off the plane and headed for the hotel. That same afternoon she had booked a visit to the Romanesque castle of Loarre, in the province of Huesca. She took the photos out of her bag and looked at them once more. In the most important photo, there was an enigmatic suit of armor at the entrance to a splendid hall. She had examined the photo many times as an almost imperceptible detail had caught her attention. Behind the grooves of the helmet's visor, something seemed to glow. Could it be eyes? She had made this trip to inspect the armor, though he had thought it would surely be s...

  The Cradle. In the center of the room, in the shadows, the splendid cradle revealed its aquamarines embedded in the black ebony of the headboard. A sunbeam, lost, came to illuminate the hidden faces of the twins who were sleeping peacefully. The cradle was surprised by the discovery because it had been alone in that attic for more than forty years, after having cradled all the offspring of the family. The cradle was felt again the center of the universe. So much happiness made it hug them tight ... tight. So tight that the twins stopped breathing.   La cuna. En el centro de la estancia, en penumbra, la espléndida cuna dejaba ver sus aguamarinas incrustadas en el negro ébano del cabecero. Un rayo de sol, perdido, vino a iluminar las escondidas caritas de los gemelos que dormían plácidamente. La cuna se sorprendió del hallazgo porque hacía más de cuarenta años que permanecía sola en aquel desván, después de haber acunado a todos los vástagos de la familia. Se volvió a ...

  Sparrow The other day a sparrow came to visit me. He surprised me because these little beings always keep their distance. However, he settled on my shoulder and with his beak seemed to want to tell me something. Without making a sound, he would open his beak wide and his eyes fixed on mine with an inquisitive and pleading look. After a moment, the sparrow took off and flew out the window. That was the prelude to sporadic encounters that took place over several days. The sparrow repeated the same actions every time he came to visit me, and sometimes his trills brightened up my eternal sad moments. But one day that look shone in a special way. The reason was two small tears that left his eyes. The sparrow lowered his head, following with his eyes how those tears fell until they collided with the palm of my hand. Then he looked at me with an eternal gaze and left. I never received a visit from him again until a long time later he came to say goodbye. He perched on my bedroom...

  Rain On sad Autumn days, the rain whispers to me. Every drop confidences me. She tells me where she has been in ancient times and tells me where she will be in a million years. Some, the smallest, are singsong, and sneak into the nests that time weaves with the lives of melancholic souls. Others, almost gigantic, pass by, giving themselves importance, although later they return and caress you. In the end, some return to the oceans. Others are dropped on the ground and when they reach the depths they agree with the gnomes and the beings of the forest their future.   Lluvia En los tristes días del otoño, la lluvia me susurra. Cada gota me hace confidencias. Me dice donde ha estado en épocas remotas y me confiesa donde estará dentro de un millón de años. Algunas, las más pequeñas, son cantarinas, y se cuelan entre los nidos que entreteje el tiempo con las vidas de las almas melancólicas. Otras, casi gigantes, pasan de largo, dándose importancia, aunque luego vuelven y t...

The Bridge A peaceful autumn day. The sweet colors of the withered leaves of the trees on the ground accompanied us as we strolled down the hill. They were trees acclimated to the unrepentant lunar solitude that, together with the brilliant image of the Earth's surface, reminded us of our childhood on Earth. We had recently purchased a building in the complex located on the Sea of ​​Serenity. The complex had been baptized with the name of "The Bridge", referring to the flexible tubular structure that linked the Earth with the Moon. We had used the bridge very often to travel to Earth, and access to it was an imposing transparent hemisphere sealed from the outside. That morning, after our walk, we decided to visit the hemisphere, within which all kinds of businesses proliferated, to try to buy some luminous flying gadgets for our house. The surprise was unspeakable. We barely had time to close the gates, outer space became a solid, impenetrable mass and the possibility...

Mohammad Shaban He only has the imagination, the memory of what his eyes saw before he lost them. Mohammad is a handsome boy. His cheeks declare his love for life. He has not lost his smile, nor has he lost the illusion for so many things that he has to live in the future, his future. Someday somewhere, someone will return his sight and he, grateful, will continue to smile at the world and forgive, if forgiveness is possible in this difficult world. From @AndredeVegte6 https://twitter.com/OnlinePalEng/status/1427002637384404995/photo/1   Mohammad Shaban Solo le queda la imaginación, el recuerdo que lo que sus ojos veían antes de perderlos. Mohammad es un niño guapo. Sus mejillas declaran su amor por la vida. No ha perdido la sonrisa, ni ha perdido la ilusión por tantas cosas que tiene que vivir. Algún día en algún lugar, alguien le devolverá la vista y él, agradecido, seguirá sonriendo al mundo y perdonando, si es que en este mundo difícil cabe el perdón. De @AndredeV...