Antibiotics For Bronchial Pneumonia Stories

Well, here I post some stories I submitted to contests and have not been awarded. I do:) In fact, right now I just send one to the II Hebe Plummer Award for Short Story . If nothing comes out, so I will here. ____________________________________________________________________________________


First, that I submitted to the competition of micro Cultural Institution "the Brocense", through my Institute. Personally I think it is very sadistic and very emotional, but I do not know why saltworld of art in temples sacred to her. His name would appear engraving awards, occupy front pages of newspapers and magazines, monopolize the headlines.

Ella. Actress. When I was young and the world was yet to explore and not afraid to do so, the most accessible she was dreaming. One day he got carried away and returned with a dream.

left school Dram Art & aacute; tico warily and a smile that seemed to say "here I am." He soon enter a fairly major company in the country. When she was chosen for the starring role in the upcoming work that would, it, innocent, failed to see-or perhaps not want to see the producer's eyes, that looked like a wolf licks watching him in Little Red Riding Hood.

Soon know what that man-that fed her and her dream she wanted. Accepted its scalerceos love, played with him, not knowing it was her wrist. A rag doll stitched smile to the face, full of childhood fantasies and utopias. Only a puppet it would lose its value in the real world gave to her and nailed the clutches of the harsh truth.

And that night, the premiere, was found. With the curtain and down and she collapsed in the foreground, with hundreds of pairs of eyes watching perplexed that wrist was broken. Had not forgotten the script, or steps, nothing. Simply, his role had comeNight of magic TMLXC

Cloud was speeding over the heads of the procession and the people away. Divided into age groups, children are their parents, young and old, heading for the concourse surrounding the town, where the pyre had been prepared for the fires.

Cloud took a last look around, waving their weary wings translucent. There was laughter and fury, laughteriacute;, they had not missed kisses and caresses on the little they had of holding .- Beat!

finally spied a fairy playing channel the thoughts of a young couple to their most primal instincts. Cloud shook his head and walked over to his partner, although it did not pay attention, plunged into his task.

-Beat, I need help ... There's a guy that ... "he realized that he was not doing any attention, focusing endlessly on his game, & amp; iexcl; Beat!




cloud, red with rage, took a deep breath and turned away. Go with the fairy! For once you really love someone needed comforting ...

-Cloud, she turned to look at Sandia, he approached with his red suit and a grin, " you know she is. Come on, I'll help.

Between the two, succeeded in minutes that those pessimistic thoughts stay away from the youth's head, whispered marginallor, as always in huge shadow, and placed in the folds of her dress. Both smiled and exchanged glances.

- Will not you go to the fires? "Diana did not reply. He kept looking into the distance, with that half smile adorned with freckles, that peaceful expression framed by a tousled brown hair half that made his face look like a box .- Everyone is there now. Do you want to help you get off the roof? I know I'm not much help, but something I can do. We have to hurry! Or start without us. And I do notmiss it for the world, because this year there is even more fires than the past.

-Cloud ... "The fairy left her string of uncontrollable thoughts and looked at Diana. The Listener

watched with tenderness and affection .- Shut up and watch the sky. Is starting. On the horizon, the sun began to sink among the treetops. Suddenly the light turned orange, the clouds were tinged with sulfur powder and magic beganor to flow around the world. Cloud was received like a breath of fresh air, clean and pure. He filled his lungs with the oxygen vital to her and sighed as a lover in the light of the Moon.

Their wings shuddered and took a new shine, as stolen from the stars that flicker in the night sky of summer. It was a moment steeped in a peace that ran every fiber of her little body almost ethereal, like an electric shock, such as tingling in the morning dew. When she opened her eyes had closed without notice, given to pleasure-it was light purple, and Diana seguíaa his side, staring at the spectacle that night ú ; unique but looked at from time to time by the corner of my eye.

-Diana. Congratulations.

The human smiled. Cloud And then he realized that he was older. It was old, sure, but it was not the girl who had been, according to his immortal memory until yesterday. Then the fairy pre

The fairy did not understand.

"But you hear us ...

" Yes. But I'm not one of you. Cloud, do not worry, "he repeated. The calm smile on his lips showed the fairy who was not afraid or feel regret. I still have many fires and many solstices to dance around the fire. I have no fear, cloud. I like my life as I lived, and what must I do to live, I'm no crock. "The fairy smiled acoMPAN .- Cloud, whatever, let's forget this night. It is San Juan, and is the shortest night of the year. It's short, but intense, is superb and, yes, it's over. So you have to enjoy every moment. As the life of a Human. And suddenly his eyes were younger, brighter, and his face again as a child. Perhaps he had never ceased to be .- Let.

Night of San Juan is a night to live. That's the real magic.

And Night

followed, and lasted a few hours I had to endure. People danced around the fires, jumped, screamed. Cloud knew that night in San Juan, with only forty years old of living, which at that moment could sum up human life. Cloud did what Diana said, and forget any problems that night, let it burn in the flames of false lights, and was devoted entirely to dance with Watermelon, Heartbeat, Savia, Whisper, Tide and other fairy who had gathered. After the conclusion of some other human-festejarían until dawn-joined; To Forest Beings Diana herself, to tell the stories they remembered humans and that some had even forgotten elderly, to continue dancing, singing and seeing in them the sun gave a new a.

There, sitting on the branch of a tall pine, surrounded by Nymphs, Sylphs, elves, dwarfs, other fairies, and even, at the foot of the tree, a couple of centaurs Diana and watched the dawn cloud and blue lights again painted the sky with a bright color and clear.

- See? "Asked Diana, never lmp; oacute; the four long hours her mother took to go get a glass of milk in hand, sitting on the couch while the TV talking in front of her, indeed for anyone, because his eyes were fixed on the keys of the typewriter hastily pushed down by fingers soft and experts from martial, whose gaze was lost in the ink blots that your spectator is not yet understood.

- Mom, Marcial is a writer? -Don Marcial, Laura. Not so young. And no, a professor of letters in University.

Laura stayed pensative while his mother was washing, days after the incident, from which the girl greeted his neighbor with a big smile enigmatically. "No," finally decided, "Mar ... Don Marcial-corrected, blushing slightly, is a writer, I'm sure. Writers write. And he writes. Following is a writer.

Mary looked a few moments with tenderness in his eyes. I was in love with her child. He gave the reason for your little was proud of your deduction. -De more, I willas Don Marcial. But no beard. Laura soon became frequent to go to the home of martial on Saturday afternoon, when he knew he was not bothered by it or removed to correct exams or work. Some of those afternoons both strolled through a park beneath his block to the library, where he taught to read poetry of Neruda and Gloria Fuertes. Other days, usually rain, they stayed home and read him stories Marcial he had written, but never came to confess that he improvised on the spot for her. Laura grew up admiring Martial, was; Foward what he did with his friends at school, to which he always replied with a laugh and a kind word. But gradually, as with the old toys, Marcial was increasingly taking a minor at the time of Laura. The afternoons in the library were replaced by afternoons in the park, playing make-up with friends, alone in her room with her dolls. And later, those childhood afternoons would be replaced by the holidays with friends, studying for exams, doing jobs, make-up with friends, taking pictures, dreaming of love impossible to hate teachers mathematical & aacute; policy, clubs ...

And Marcial became only the downstairs neighbor, with which he passed from time to time, smiling at him with shining eyes and a wistful smile . One who, according to his mother, had been his best friend as a child, of which his father had always been jealous. Who was his innate taste for books and stories, thanks to whom was dedicated to dream of another world when classes bored him, who taught him to win without a sword and dragon could be a princess without a kingdom or dresses. And more thanto time, Laura was asked if this would be true. Some snippets of images on your memory, that seemed torn from the strength of an old black and white film, I said yes, that man, ever had anything to it. And she made a wry face and attempted to squeeze the image, the still handsome young man who told stories, and compared with that of the increasingly bald man, his eyes growing ma s small and increasingly tired smile. was ending and the first year of high school when, among review and consideration was devoted tielove the rhymes, meter. He smiled, watched Wise old bookseller. "I'll take it. he paid a modest price and put it in her purse. And, on your block, before entering the third, knocked the 2 º A. Marcial opened the door. And Laura saw an older, more mature, more women, but with the same spirit as that of the girl who walked through the door of his house for the first time for an afternoon with a glass of milk and ignoring the TV watching him write the book that she now showed him, with that perpetual smile, with an invitationto signing the deal.

And Laura saw the man I remembered, sometimes in black and white, sepia, sometimes older, more tired, his beard white and ashen, eyes smaller ; you than ever, but still shining, they were still showing him blue skies that were not his, but that he knew belonged to him. The woman, who was no longer a child, was allowed to hug the old man too young when she began to mourn in front of her. And since then, Saturday afternoons were again walking in the park to the library, reading evenings at the home of writer-From which the caretaker said he had been reborn, "improvised stories and sleep recovered from a girl who wanted to be a writer without a beard.

were days when Laura regained her best friend, the man in her life, her platonic love, as decided by it. His love random, not hurt or run away, that simply was there. And it remained so, continued to be the first to read anything she wrote, the first and sometimes the last, to give their opinion on the pieces of paper gradually goingNo part of life. Martial continued to occupy part of the soul of Laura-part that was hidden so long, to be seen in the last minute, even when the university and

Philology Hispanic

hundred percent occupied his time, he finished the race and began working in a bookstore, he began to publish short articles or stories in a magazine or newspaper , when he moved to another neighborhood, another house with another person.

One afternoon, handed the man MarcialLalaith something about ... But hey:) I'll talk about that another time. A kiss mua: *