The raven. Paco!... Cried the raven... Paco!... Paaaco!... Cried over and over. Then Paco opened the window and, with a piece of ham in his hands waited patiently till the raven flew to the nearest branch of the tree. Paco stood there for a while scrutinizing the magnificent bright black bird as the raven was looking at him in an inquisitive way as well. Suddenly, as if Papageno y Papagena were singing their duet in the magic flute, both characters in this story joined in a surrealist song full of “Pacos”. When the training was over, Paco put the ham on the sill and closed the window. He remained there behind the curtains looking how the raven hurried to catch it’s prize and how, with a slight look back as if it would like to thank the human, jumped into the abyss and soared a bit later flying towards who knows where, with the ham in it’s peak. Thanks for reading and correcting me.

The exam. There I was, climbing up the stairs as if it were some of the himalaya walls, heading to the fluids mechanics department notification board. My weight seemed to have increased up to five hundred pounds and my brain was deep in a thick fog as a result of the last nightmares which had kept me awake for several days. The awful dream was always the same: I was sited on my desk, in front of a stack of papers, hearing the watch tic-tac like the hammer-smith, with my hands on my head, desperate, wondering how I would be able to learn such amount of things in only one night. But the fact was that I really had studied hard for that exam. When I reached the stairs hall there were already some school mates looking up their names on the list. I approached them with my heart beating like the drums of a salsa band and my throat so dry that I couldn’t even gulp. I remained there for a while staring at the glassed panel trying to find my name. The next thing that I remember was me, jumping in the street, levitating three palms over the ground and all the happiness of the world running through my veins. Yes, I had passed that exam. Thanks for reading and correcting me.

The visitor. Please, come in and make yourself comfortable, this is your house. There is fish broth on the fire, into the chimney, be careful don't burn. There is also sherry if you want to spread some drops on it. I'll be with you in a minute. The dog sleeps, the cat only watches and the parrot is a cubbish, so don't pay attention to his nasty words. Take a book if you wish, those on the top shelves have the best drawings, I'll turn on the light for you to have a best sight. There is a piece of cheese in somewhere over there and a knife on the table. If the radio bothers you don't hesitate and turn it off, sometimes the music is not that good. Please, have a look at the fire and throw a piece of wood into the chimney if you feel that the temperature comes down, I'll be right back in a second. If someone calls, please feel free to pick up the phone although the call sound is a funny song which I’m sure it’s going to please you. If turns out to be my mother, tell her that I’ll call later, don’t let her under any circumstances to bore you with her pains, ills and complains. Just make yourself comfortable, I’m just coming back. Thank you for reading and correcting me.

The “tricornio”. It was a cloudy winter night, perfect for the mission which consisted on taking some objects from the landscape in order to study them later. The flying saucer remained up among the clouds, out of any possible human sight, and the two members of the crew were teleported down to the desert country road. Immediately they began to walk around, looking for some object worthy enough to be taken to the ship. They took some rocks, a dead little bird, a hedgehog also dead, and a broken car tire. The objects were teleported back to the ship and the two entities went some yards farther to take a water sample from a little pond. It was there where they saw the strange thing resting on the grass, close to the small pond. The strange object seemed to be out of context, as if it shouldn’t be there, however, the extraterrestrial being had the irresistible need of picking it up. He began a careful examination of it, turning it around, wondering what was the purpose of that device. He started an unaware telepathic conversation with his partner who felt a sudden surprise because they were supposed to remain in silent. Then, the one who had the object, as if he was talking to himself, wondered if that object would be a kind of food container, one of these objects where the humans make their physiological needs or an ornamental object perhaps. His partner started to feel nervous and afraid because of such a strange behaviour. The first extraterrestrial felt the need of putting the strange device on his head, as a hat, and immediately he noticed a growing anger feeling. Then he took a piece of branch from the ground and approached to his partner in an violent mood, threatening him by wielding the piece of branch, with such a good luck that he kicked a stone and fell ahead on the muddy grass. The strange object rolled down some yards away and he stood up covered in clay stains all over his body, shaking his head as if he had just awake from some strange dream. Then his partner questioned him about what was going on, and his answer was certainly strange: “I don’t know what that device is, neither what it’s purpose is, but when I was wearing it on my head I felt a terrible urge to take you to the jail and punish you with the piece of branch over and over until you tell me where you come from, your parents name and something about stolen things and drugs…” They left the “tricornio” behind and hurried back to the flying saucer.

My adventurer Friend. Hi bro, what’s going on. He taped on my shoulder, then I turned around and saw him. He was wearing a blue sky t-shirt with an inscription on it in which you could read the strange message: “the truth still is out there”. He was in blue jeans, and a kind of colour explosion in his sport shoes. His hair turned grey long time ago and his green eyes which I always had remembered bright and about to jump out of that charming face, seemed to withdraw tired into his eye caves. But looking at that face as a whole, the wide smile and the truly forehead gave him the same friendly aspect that he always has had. I extended my hand towards him and, as if he wasn’t aware of that, he approached to me and gave me a strong hug, hitting my back with the palms of his hands, so hard that made me cough for a while. While I was recovering my breath, he began to tell me, in a rush way, a sort of stories about places, people and things done, jumping and waving at the same time, as if that would help me to imagine it. I stood there misunderstanding all that jam until he finished exhausted. When the time to say good bye came, I could notice his tuned skin and the piercing in his ear. I stood standing there for a moment, meanwhile I went on staring at him walking towards a new adventure. Then I picked up my suitcase, stretched my suit and walked back to the boring hole from where I had came out half an hour before, in order to have a break for lunch. Then I realized my sadness while I was thinking about how the chasing of the truth life would be like.

The widow and the cats. She feels so sad and so lonely that she always cooks for five persons because that is the number of chairs she has in her dining room and in the case that whatever visits would come. She always keeps candies in the storage room and she takes care to remove them when the caducity date comes and gets some new ones in order to give it to the children than never will visit her. The cats are her only company and she talks to them calling at everyone by his own name, arguing with them when they are naughty and taking them to the pet doctor when they feel sick. But that’s not enough for her and everyday, she goes out carrying the extra meal, looking for more street cats to feed, putting the food always in the same corners, not knowing that she also feeds rats, pigeons and seagulls. She walks everyday to the mall through the longest path, looking at all the faces passing along in the case she meet someone to talk to, but she knows there is no one known left. She buys the top quality brand meal for her dear cats and changes a little words about the weather with the busy cashier. After that, she pays and walks back home to set herself in her armchair in front of the television. She takes the remote control and switches on the gossip programs and waits for the weekly telephone call life test. As soon as some shrilling noise wakes her up, she slowly stands up and makes her way to bed in order to keep on dreaming on happy past times. And then, in a low tone, her cats essay their funeral chorus in the dark.

Lost opportunity to practice English. It was a Sunday morning and I had gone out to run for a while through my usual path. It was a fresh rainy morning at about eight that day. As there wasn’t any wind at all and the rain was constant but soft, I decided to run about five miles in not an effort rhythm. I had questioned my daughter if she wanted to go out to run with me, and I received a slow grunt and a turn movement under the blankets as an answer, so there I was, running alone in the rain with my headphones listening to the “Black Eyed Peas” singing “I got a feeling” when I saw a middle aged couple, about fifty yards away, walking towards me. I had just past the top of the hill, which is the hardest point of my running path and I was trying to recover my breath, when I cross my way with a man and a woman with large back packs and walking canes. They had just left the small bus stop glass canopy when the man called my attention waving his hand. I stopped and took off my headphones while breathing quick and putting my hands on my knees, and he asked me in English about the bus frequency, the next bus stop and the next village. From this point, next to the top of the hill, there is a wide view of the shore line, and you can see all the small villages in the distance. Then I made an effort and gathered all the words I could in order to tell to that man the following speech: “fifteen… two miles… there”, and I pointed away in the distance to the next village, down by the sea. The man immediately understood my indications and thanked me with a hand gesture and a strange smile, and joined his partner to keep on their way. I put back my headphones and went on running down hill, thinking about a lot of questions I could ask to that people about their trip. And I wondered where they came from, what their nationality was, and so on. And above all, I was angry with myself because wasn’t able to speak to them for a while and I wasted a chance to practice my poor speaking skills. But, what would you have done after running up that steep hill out of breath and under the rain? Probably this is not the best moment to practice languages, isn’t it?

A walk through Gernika. This morning I had to drive to Gernika for work reasons. This is a little town in the heart of the Basque country and one of his most important historical and institutional places. It was there, on past times, where the representatives from the country villages gathered themselves to take the main decisions about the country government. The meetings took place under the Gernika tree, a sort of sacred oak next to which there is a small meeting house. The town is sadly famous because the great massacre that took place there through the Spanish civil war. The town was heavily bombarded by the German and the Italian air armies. Although some history experts say that the punishment was against the republican Spanish army, ordered by the general Franco, other experts say that it was a training by the German army to essay his destruction techniques. That massacre inspired the famous Pablo Picasso’s painting “The Guernica” which nowadays remains as a peace world symbol. Walking through this town has made me feel as if I was watching a little piece of history. And for a while I have recalled my grandfather’s words and feelings when he was a young soldier. He told us how he saw the bombing because he was recruited by the republican army those days. If you played attention enough, you would find that there is not an old town in this place. That’s because the village was rebuilt once the war was over and the oldest buildings were burnt through the bombard. You can also appreciate that the urban style put in the reconstruction is a poor one, that’s because the post war time was a very hard time. But this is other story. Thanks for reading and correcting me.