What will I be?

"Lady, baby, gypsy, queen."
"Do I have to choose?"
"Time is going. Tick-tock tick-tock."
"Just now I fancy... hmm..."
"Tick-tock tick-tock"
"Stop it! You aren't a clock!"
"I can be whatever I want."
"What's wrong with being a mirror?"
"It's boring!"
"Because being a clock and saying Tick-tock is so exciting! A mirror is cool! You know everybody."
"Yes, but nobody looks at me, they look at themselves. They talk to me though they never see me."
"Hm... that's the nature of a mirror, isn't it?"
"Lamest excuse ever."
"Sorry, but I'd never thought before what being a mirror would be. So, tell me, what is it . Explain to me the ins and outs of a mirror's life."
"I'll tell you one thing, if you are not the fashion-fan-type, it sucks."
"I'm still not convinced."
"Worry about yourself, miss, you haven't decide about yourself yet."
"It's a pretty night, don't you think?"
.

Lollipopping

The day was clear. The blue clean sky, the hills a green sea of grass. Rupert liked walking alone. That pretty morning he put on his wellies, took the umbrella and started his walk with happy feet. He said hello to everybody with a big smile. Crossing the graveyard his steps were slower. Fascinating places, graveyards. He stood in front of an old grave. It was an intriguing one. The letters on the stone were worn and mouldy, but still clear. Lucius M. Loinbury (1882-1914) He died. That was all. No beloved parents, nor siblings nor wife. Nothing. Just the obvious fact of his death. Rupert went on with his walk, still wondering about Lucius M. Loinbury. He smiled and thought he should bring Lucy here, to meet Lucius. Lucius's grave, in fact. He was sure she'd like it.
.

Stardate 3141.9

She was playing chess with Rupert. Losing. Again.
But in a blink she wasn't there. Where, she didn't know, either how or why. She waited. Alone. Waited a long time. In a room? A prison? Days and nights. In her dreams she heard Rupert whispering.
But in a blink she was in her old own room, in her homeland, before she moved to F. Land. Her old friends were there, laughing and drinking coke. It seemed they were having a pyjama party. A very long pyjama party. Noisy and boisterous. If she closed her eyes she could believe Rupert was talking to her. But any blink brought her to him. She tried to toss her thoughts through the wind and the leaves. "I'm coming, please, my love, I'm coming, I'm trying, please, wait!!"
But the joy and the laughs seemed never-ending.
.

Be seeing you

.

Lollipopping

"Have you seen the advert for the exhibition?"
"At the local gallery, about that zen guy?"
"I think you lack a bit of perspective, my dear Lucy".
"Do I?"
"Well, maybe you would be interested in taking a look at the old numbers of the Gazette. Old, old numbers. Back to the twenties numbers".
"Stop teasing me, Rupe".
"Never".
"Git".
"A cup of tea, my love?"
"I'm going to kick your tao, honey".
"All right, all right. So, back in the twenties he was living here, at the Manor. He turned the old stables into his studio".
"And what did he do? Got involved with the daughter of the landlord? Popped her cherry?"
"Nothing so conventional, my love. It seems he was very influenced by the fever for the orient that hit the twenties and acquired, um, unusual dressing priorities. He painted naked and the rest of the time he wore white robes".
"Sure I lacked perspective".
"They said the vicar's wife never recovered from an unexpected encounter in the gardens".
"You put things under such an interesting light!"
"Tomorrow night, then?"
"You diabolical mastermind!"
.

Heart sick

Algunas noches son distintas. No muchas. Cuando pasa una estrella fugaz o quizá los planetas se alinean. Empezó tras la marcha de Penthesilea. Si estaban en el mundo civilizado buscaban una habitación, si no se escondían entre los árboles. Lejos de Merry. Sólo ellos dos. Para luchar. Pelear. Enfrentarse con besos que eran como mordiscos. Volcando la rabia en otro cuerpo rabioso. Furia en la carne. No hablan. Gimen si no pueden evitarlo, sobre todo gruñen y jadean. Se olfatean como animales. Se aparean como las bestias. No hay nada suave en ellos, en lo que hacen. Nada tierno. No es amor. Ni siquiera es sexo. Es un castigo. La penitencia por otro pecado. Por eso se esconden.
El dolor es una distracción.
Por eso se buscan.
.

¡Bailad, bailad, malditos!

¡Malditos! ¡Estamos malditos! Es una enfermedad de la sangre, marcados por las mareas y la luna, cada seiscientos veintidós años hay una conjunción planetaria que nos empuja a ello, cada medio siglo el cometa nos enciende, cada sexenio, cada lustro, cada vez que nos vemos. Aunque ya no nos vemos. Tú estás en Babilonia, tú también, incluso tú. Pero yo no. ¡Malditos! Me visitáis en mis sueños y despierto con vuestro olor en las sábanas. ¡Malditos mil veces! Voy a lanzar un hechizo en tu cama y mañana cuando te despiertes estarás muerto. ¡No! Mejor aún, cuando te despiertes estarás vivo pero nadie te verá. Serás la muerte en vida. Maldito Pem, maldita Penthesilea, viejo Merry. Malditos, os odio con todo mi corazón...

-Delira constantemente.

-Si la fiebre no baja esta noche...
.