june, 2013 # 126 Revista Digital miNatura 1 - servercronos.net

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The Magazine of the brief & fantasticinside of her, a scream that echoed inall the asylum and all her soul, ascream that was conflated with achildish sobbing, making the mostshameful noise ever heard in the place.But Sarah also knew that this time shemust win the battle of her fears, it washer life what was in play this time, andmaybe the spider was dead, becauseeverything with life in the place hadrun away. It must be dead... but maybeit was a trap, a dirty trap... She couldn'tstop looking at that dreadful and nastybody, she couldn't stop looking at itand she couldn't stop crying... andcrying again.Perhaps... perhaps the fire wasn't asbad as it appeared, maybe it was a key,the key of freedom, the wantedfreedom she was looking for...Juan Pachón Ulierte (Spain)AlarmedOnce again “The dream frightener”gave the accustumed ring to only wakeup some parts of my body. -Damnalarm! - whispered a voice similar tomine which ranted holding to thepillow. My mind, stuck in the protest,tried vainly to appease a phobia thatwould make my mornings become amartydrom, and I told myself:“Interrupting sleep in an artificial wayshould be considered a violation tohuman rights”…”Maybe, allhumankind’s problems woulddisappear if we forbade the pungentawaking this thing produces”… Butthat’s the way it goes, we are the onlyanimal on earth who has this tortuoushabit.Considering the time that passedbetween the abrupt shriek of the alarmand the ramshackle movements that mybody invented to turn it off, I alwayslost the necessary minutes to have acalmed and relaxed breakfast. Thedelay on which I lived had alreadyembedded me becoming a costume,until that fateful day arrived.Here and there gossipers say I’m dead... and here I am now, waiting in limbo,alarm free, but viscerally alarmed bythe possible veredict… For I’ve beentold that hell is the eternal repetition ofthe most hated thing. And I know thathe will ring forever… repeating, everyten exact minutes.Lucila Adela Guzmán (Argentina)Tick TockWhen I woke up today, somethinghad broken on the world.Tick tock.The thorns infested bed sheet started,ruthless, scratching my skin. Tick tock.Awakening, the sun has speared myeyes trough the open window. Tickmay- june, 2013 # 126 Revista Digital miNatura 50
The Magazine of the brief & fantastictock. After closing it, the frowningwalls have attempted to hang over me,when they thought i wasn’t looking.Tick tock. Tick tock. That damned ticktock. The clock insults me. It teasesme. Tick tock. I feel its malevolentpresence. It drives me crazy. Tick tock.It wants to finish me off. Tick tock. Ifuriously pounce on it. I crash it againstthe floor, smashing time and time againuntil it hushes. I’m yelling, tears arerunning trought my cheeks and myhands are copiously bleeding, buteverything’s back to normality.“Is there something wrong?”, i realizesomeone’s speaking behind me. “I’veheard you screaming and i’ve comein...”. I turn back. He’s there, full ofarrogance, watching me. Twisting hismouth in a scathing smile. I carefullylisten his puffed chest.Thump thump..Pedro López Manzano (Spain)Martian MeatIndustries Ltd. Corp. 9Exactly seventeen minutes remainedof his first working day, just a bit morethan a quarter of an hour to overcomehis deepest fears. He looked nervous,and there was good reason. There he9 Translation Andrés, Nina y Ángelawas, dressed in bright grey overalls,waiting to begin the shift along with hisnew companions, all of them dressedexactly like him, and with several yearsof experience behind them. He waswaiting nervously in the wide lobby ofthe slaughterhouse of the unique meatcompany in Mars. The owner, a richman in his fifties, was the thirdhusband of her mother. He hadobtained this employment for him witha brief video-call to the humanresources director.―I do not want any scroungersaround me ―his stepfather had beenintransigent since he received thenotification of him failing hisuniversity admission exam―. One ofmy employees has just retired and Ineed to replace him with someone Itrust as soon as possible. We areflooded with work, we just can't cope.Tomorrow is your first day.Since he didn´t have a degree, theother option he had was to beemployed in the Phobos's mines, andit’s commonly known that seventy-percentof miners who work on theSatellite die in less than ten years.Manipulate those disgusting giantslugs, the only edible native species onthe planet, eleven hours a day, itcouldn't be worse than not reaching hisearly thirties, as much as the disgustthose damned bugs gave him. Just theimage in his mind of himself touchingmay- june, 2013 # 126 Revista Digital miNatura 51
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