Magical Stories/Historias Mágicas

The Other Side of Your Color      In Brownsville, every line designed round brown and blue silouhettes. The edge of the landscape was brushed by wooden roofs, dried up pine tree tops as well as beaming waves of heat. There was no green color.  Everthing was brown and blue. The inhabitants wore light blue or brown-beige cotton shirts, skirts, dresses, pants or the combination of either or both.  All women were round, not fat, but round. They sat on brown peeled wooden benches that rested quietly in dried up parks.      A woman wrapped in beautiful red silk garments, not apple red but orange red, a live red, a vivid red, appeared suddently and walked down the dusty roads of Brownsville.  All people, dressed in rags of brown and blue, did not understand other colors existed. This girls red was ignored and denied by everyone. She had no one to talk to. No one dared talk to her.  It  was too risky. "Excuse me sir," shed say to...

EL MAR Me encontraba parada en un viejo muelle de madera quebrada. Las olas se golpeaben y chocaban contra el poste que apenas mantenía al muelle erguido en el precipitado océano azul. La brisa salada perdida en su humedad me mojó de pies a cabeza, sin importarme estar completamente empapada. De repente un rayo chocó en medio del océano. Las nubes se hablaron entre si mandando mensajes vívidos para que la madre tierra temblara. El sonido tronó a través de los huecos del cielo, brotando su interior, soltando sin cesar todas sus lágrimas al océano. Jamás se separaran. El cielo tiene muchas penas que desahogar y cuando crea una tormenta perfecta, suelta todas sus tribulaciones, llora. Incansablemente. Llora.  El océano abre sus brazos fuertes para recibir con alegría, todo lo que se le derrame, lo acurruca hasta eventualmente crear una fuerza vívida, que crece a formar olas altas expresivas que crujen en carcajadas y perdonamientos, que juegan y gritan cada ...

The Sea  I stood at the end of the old wooden pier. The waves hit and crashed against the post that kept the pier standing in the blue precipitated ocean.  The salty breeze lost in its wetness soaked me from top to bottom.  My hair dripped. I did not care. Suddenly a lightning crashed in the middle of the ocean. The clouds spoke to one another sending messages to make a vivid sound on earth and make it tremble.  The sound cracked through the holes of heaven spilling its guts, releasing its tears ceaselessly into its brother ocean.  They could never be apart. The sky has its many sorrows to drain and when it creates a thunder in perfection, it finds a way to let go of all its troubles, it cries. Instantly. It cries. The ocean opens its strong arms to receive with joy all that is poured down and rocks it until it eventually creates a life force that grows into heavy expressive waves.  They roar in laughter and forgiveness, that play and sc...