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Crocodile (fragment) Taphonomy

The crocodile had grown, he was sure. Was accommodated under our bed, between a red wool pads Sarah had brought her mother's house. I tried it out. It was now almost as long as my legs but all I did was to open his mouth with an evil smile, show me teeth and with a flick of the tail, she takes the pile of pillows as if they were nothing more a red lake.

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dinosaur's skeleton was on that beach, buried under the sand. I had no doubt. He had spent afternoons and evenings at the museum, gaping with all those fossils could safely say that what lay beneath the sand also was.
I waited until conditions were right. The tide was about to board and leave new sediments. Shovel
circled the edge of that bone would be more or less my height, and the digging went slowly. When I finally got out of the sand, I watched him closely. It was perfect. Would have more than seventy million years ago but could still appreciate the details, the grooves of the blood vessels at the ends and the gaping wound left a horn in a fight.
bone dragged across the sand to the water. I had to make sure no one will find the site, be made to excavate, dig up and eventually dam everything. Now
was only sure that the hole left by the bone was large enough. I lay in and began to cover it with sand. I could feel the connection with other bones in my feet, my head.
"fossilization conditions are excellent," I thought a few seconds before sinking completely, already feeling the wet sand around me, and that the tide had finally risen.

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Stories In the Arctic

meantime, I grasped it for polar bear that devours not, as it did with my previous girlfriend. Because I knew that I wanted to marry in the Arctic with the guests mingled with penguins and seals.
My girlfriend had looked from the bottom of the huge wrap that lint covered with delicious little nose. Almost said "I do" but the bear has been dragged.
As there is nothing I can do, though she keeps shouting from afar, the guests looked furtively, looking for tiny, tender little nose peeking out from the polar cap Quilted lint.

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This is what they say:

This book is the result of forty-three stories Tuesday of radio and a careful and rigorous selection that leaves us on paper texts that affirm the strength of its quality , that fiction and radio have again found and that the romance can go for long.



I am content with the feeling of being there, chosen from among the many stories that came every week.

To read the prologue winner and
To read the note on the website of Alfaguara

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chain

Not that I love you, love "I say sometimes. It makes me nervous that you eat a cup of tea afterward.

Perhaps that is why so much looks at me and smiled when, for every birthday, I buy a new set of porcelain Chinese.

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Porcelain Migration

beetles, they say, do not migrate. Are small and hard, tough. Especially those who have antlers.
- Where are you going with that? -Whisper someone in a circle.
For this reason and for no other reason, prefer to stay at home, under a crust or an unpainted wooden bench or even can get under the cap that a child is knocked down to go play football. When the child returns
put their best face to frighten, so that the child release the cap and run to his mother.
"Mom, there's a deer under my hat, he will say.
And the mother, who spoke with another mother or several mothers at once-say it is time to return (to migrate) to house and take a hot bath.
beetles, where winter and was no more than white, they'll let their children and some grown up, practice their teaching painting on the walls of fabric.

. . . . . . . . . . . Back

Story Award least Diomedea. Click on the image to read the rules:

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returns water from above

Lift the lid of the tank to watch the water from above. He shakes off the remnants of confetti that have been in the hair with his hand, and one of them falls overboard. Fish are blue, orange, and white, what else. It has also been one of those cleaner fish, as crazy as her mother leave everything clean, clean.
"It's funny how the elephant-heard someone say.
The others are sitting around the television, and Sara happens to put mittens, ready to take the cake from the oven, leave on the table a bucket and a pitcher and fades off into the kitchen.
The fish are from one corner to another, undulating like a sheet of paper Albal underwater. As can be distracted from the fish, turn to the table, and get the ice. Will flush all cubes in the water. When you can look away from the fish, he thinks. In the background, someone will talk about the length of the wormholes.

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He says a storyteller ... Our mayor

Julio Cortázar

A storyteller is a man who suddenly surrounded by the overwhelming din of the world, committed to a greater or lesser extent with the historical reality that it contains, choose a particular topic and makes him a story. This set a theme is not so simple. Sometimes the storyteller chooses, and sometimes feels as if the subject being imposed on him irresistibly pushed him to write. In my case, most of my stories were written, how to say-regardless of my will, above or below razonante my conscience, as if I were nothing but a medium through which passed and manifested an alien force

.[...] [...] I think that the issue of coming out a good story is always exceptional, but I do not mean that a subject should be extraordinary, unusual, mysterious or unusual. On the contrary, it may be a perfectly trivial and everyday anecdotes. The uniqueness lies in a quality similar to the magnet, a good topic attracts a whole system of relations connected, clots in the author, and later in the reader an immense amount of ideas, entrevisiones, feelings and ideas that floated up virtually in their memory or their sensitivity, a good song is like a sun, a star which revolves around a planetary system which was often not aware until the writer, astronomer of words reveals their existence. Or to be more modest and more current at a time, a good theme has some atomic system, the nucleus around which electrons rotate, and so, finally, after all, is not it as a proposition of life, a dynamic that urges us out of ourselves and enter into a relationship more complex and beautiful ?[...]

[...] And this man who at some point choose a theme and makes him a story will be a great storyteller if your choice has, at times without his knowing it consciously, that fabulous opening of the small to the large, individual and confined to the very essence of the human condition. All enduring tale is like a seed which is sleeping giant tree. This tree will grow between us, will the shadow in our memory.

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When the mayor came to the canyon, we knew that we should hold elections. were on the square, waiting for the proclamation of the parties. The mayor was delayed according to custom. It was strange to see him leaving the official car with blue and yellow tights, like a superhero, and a helmet under his arm.
"Dear citizens ... "He began.
She did not finish. We stared, probably amazed by the impeccable silence that had been around. It fit the helmet and slid into the barrel after asking me if he could borrow his lighter. I, like every good deputy mayor should do, I offered to light the fuse myself.

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back the competition of micro Writers School

This is the opening statement:

"When the mayor came to the canyon, we knew that we should hold elections"

more than 100 words. And send it to participate here before 12:00 on Friday.

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has been hidden my garage, including bicycles and tubes to mount the awning in the garden. Just talk and sometimes I listen to sneak out at night. I soil to prepare something to eat and will leave by the door, if he is hungry and wants out. I know it's useless, but still I keep trying.
has told me, yes, told me why hide-and he said he is afraid. At the moment only steal small items, such as exhaust pipes and engine gaskets. And it comes with a black face, I must remind him down a towel next time.
"Just little things," he said with his mouth full when she came across a windshield wiper in hand, still half-chewed.
only small things, small things that Assol me, that I said. I wonder if you know that after you can no longer satisfy their hunger with only the windshield or mirrors, you need the whole car. And then maybe move on to the buses and trucks. I do not know is why go after a few days ago I try not to leave casa.egura. I know it's not, then you need the whole car. And start with the buses and trucks.

When I came down today to keep her company has offered me a delicious piece of tire. I tried to remember why I never leave home for two weeks.
try to concentrate on that nut lame reason as that gives me and me in my mouth.
"I must again leave the porch light on, tell me, while I take the second nut and chew slowly.

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Something to eat raspberries

- Who paints the white cliffs? -You ask the child sitting on the sand under the arch. He looks
. Understand.
"I can only say that they do at night," he says, and turns his face toward the sea again.

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The white cliffs

Mom always gets the large knife used to chop meat when out walking the dogs. What lurks in the bag and then attached to the dogs on leashes. He also fucks the basket. As the trees come loose the dogs and greets us with his hand. Returning brings
raspberries. We devoured them with gusto. They are juicy and red, very red. Maybe that's why it takes the knife to bring a full basket of raspberries. Yet we never knew why a dog always comes back limping and when I get home lies in a corner, far away from Mom, to lick a deep wound in the neck.

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The Dark Knight

The Joker:
"You Will not kill me out of Some misplaced sense of self-righteousness ... and I will not kill you Because you're just too much ... fun."

The Joker:
"See, I'm a man of simple tastes. I like gunpowder...and dynamite...and gasoline! Do you know what all of these things have in common? They're cheap!"

Harvey Dent:
"The famous Bruce Wayne. Rachel's told me everything about you."
Bruce Wayne:
"I certainly hope not. "

Alfred:
"I suppose they'll take me in as well, as your accomplice. "
Bruce Wayne:
"Accomplice? I'm going to say the whole thing was your idea."

Alfred:
"Were you mauled by a tiger?"
Bruce Wayne:
"It was a dog ..." Alfred
:
"Huh?"
Bruce Wayne:
"It was a big dog!"

The Joker: [to Batman]
"We Should really stop fighting, we'll miss the fireworks!"

THE DARK KNIGHT (2008) Dir
Cristhopher Nolan

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essential

The book had been on the wrapping paper on the kitchen table. She had given the package and then had slipped quietly out the door. There was a faint whisper goodbye.
So now he stared at the books, papers and empty glasses on the table. And after a while, still did not understand.
-guide-dog for survival was read in large white letters on the cover. Volume 1: Life in the city of cats.

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The cat of the bag (VI)

The third time-the last, we should not have opened the suitcase. There had been too long. Victor returned from a weekend and brought a classmate. Describe it wasted no time.
-Maika said and we said, "these are Peter and Valentine.
I blushed a bit to give him two kisses. Now I know that maybe I should not tell the story of the suitcase because "that was sure we should never open that time.
prepared a picnic. He was also a hot day, the lizards on the rocks, and while Maika picked a couple of stones overweight enough to subject me the tablecloth, we look. Wait a few seconds.
- What to pack? "Victor said.

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The cat of the bag (V)

should be [...] Then, later, and there were no birds, we saw how the cat pulled a leg from between the covers and touched, just touched the ground below. We we had to be silent. We heard how bristled hair and pulled out the nails and as we turned into his suitcase because it was your suitcase without fuss, without the world had changed at all. Yet we rush to lock him in there all at once.
"Never again," we said. Victor
then loaded his luggage into the car and Pedro went home. I still stayed a while longer, thinking about the grandfather. [...]

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The cat of the bag (IV)

[...] "I see it.
said that. He said I would like to see it or maybe we could open and look inside. I wanted to see him again so we support the suitcase on the floor, sliding shutters that opened up with a soft click eyes peered at the small dark place, we knew, we knew, the cat had not stopped watch us from the beginning. The left ajar and sat around it all afternoon. We joke about the bride of Peter, stayed in repairing the cottage of the tree, we remember the grandfather of the hot afternoon when he died and then we sat in silence watching the case. We had put a stick between the covers to not close at all. And we looked, really never knew how long we had been watching that old suitcase, lying on the grass trying to listen like a cat meowing from inside. [...]

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One year home

For that, this garden meets a year old. Never would have thought they could keep as long, though I am by nature vague. But I'm glad. Glad to hear the other side (or hidden in the grass). I welcome the opportunity to have met on your blogs and some in person. Blogger
also says that this is the entrance 107. And the green accountant says that in one year more than 12,000 people have been here.
So thank you.

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Accidents (5)

"Put the dessert plate in place," said his mother, if you want cake another day.
But when he approached the dishwasher, the older brother had left open, showing the mouth-fell in and the door closed behind him.
He covered his nose and held his breath as he could. Leaving her clothes had shrunk and her socks color of the shirt. Still went to his mother.
anymore I do not want chocolate cake, "he said. The next day buy it strawberry.
then ran upstairs to his room, proud, figuring it was a lion who had been bitten on the arm.