Alukard-Abysswalker

Lucia mira por la ventana, pensando. Hace tiempo que vé todo, no a través de la ventana si no en su cabeza. Piensa en su mamá, cansada, harta de todo. Piensa en su papá, cansado, negado a ver el bien en nada que no sea dinero. Ningune es mala persona, pero no necesitan serlo. La manera en la que se ven entre sí está armada, prefabricada. No es que no haya amor, quizás lo hay, es que tienen una deficiencia para explorar sus emociones. Una deficiencia que hace tiempo se volvió una elección. Por otro lado, ¿Y ella? Ha hecho mucho trabajo, le ha metido mucha garra. Pero aunque le cueste, lo hace. El tema es que con una brújula rota es difícil saber dónde estás. ¿Cuánto exagera al reaccionar con tristeza? ¿Dónde y en qué contexto gritar es poco apropiado? ¿Con quiénes y durante qué conversaciones es adecuado llorar? Lucía piensa, como siempre ha hecho. Taza de café en mano, mejilla pegada al vidrio frío sobre el que gotea la lluvia. Duele, quizás hay algo de masoquismo en ello. Quizás es qu...

Faith Park is a remarkable place, full of wonders for all to see. Why we’ve got everything from crosses, to charms, from dried up husks, to incense and all the works! Yes sir, in here you’ll find everything your soul desires, unless of course you’re in the #enlightenment era  on your way to Nirvana. In that case we have everything and anything you’d need to keep away any material desires. Budda himself would admit to being proud of you once you’re out! But of course we ain’t narrow minded at all. Perhaps you’re more on the African side, your worship is less temple and more practice, in the fields and with the people. We know that well enough so we’ll give you every tool that you need. Or if you’re a first timer of the first nations well, every shop in here has every piece of herb, animal hide and bone that you may need for any and all of your days of worship. Now sir we of course mean no disrespect, if ya got any complaints let our chief inspector know they’ll make sure to write it...

 Marilyn loved the piano, the sweet sounds of ivory hitting strings hitting the air, vibrating at the perfect frequency to make a human feel connected to the universe, connected to God’s divine instrument for designing His universe. She had tried them all, or well plenty of them. Guitar, harp, theremin, zither, sitar. She had traveled far and wide and tried and tried. But it was the piano that spoke to her. Of a loving God and the embrace of melodious miracles that were always there to be heard. It is an instrument of course, a piano is a way to live through the music of the world. Yet something wasn’t entirely there that night. Years of practice had taught her a lot, covering her fingers with callouses, making her wrists ache with the tension of hours upon hours of practice, until her fingers were stiff with the joyful soreness of training. But she had learned above all when the one out of tune was herself. Disconnected with that divine frequency, body and soul elsewhere. Because ...