Autor: Carlos Reeves

Soy como cualquier otro que le gusta leer y escribir, no estudié literatura y tampoco sé de grandes autores. La razón por la que comencé a escribir es porque desde niño tomaba esos cuadernos Scribe de hoja blancas y dibujaba todo el día. Esos personajes y escenarios empezaron a tener una narrativa, entonces tuve que escribir sus historias y saber dónde terminarían. Tengo problemas para concentrarme, si un colibrí vuela por mi ventana me la puedo pasar observando cómo se alimenta de las flores, incluso si se va, pareciera que me lleva con él a un mundo imaginario. Soy perfeccionista, escribir es un trabajo duro. Poseo una rivalidad contra las palabras y los renglones que conspiran en mi contra, paso horas editando y leyendo para aplacar su rebeldía. Antes me limitaba ocultarlos después de escribirlos, temía que lo leyeran y vieran semejante lío. Pero todo cambió cuando descubrí que hay personas que pasaron por las mismas rebeliones. Keanu Reeves, Steve Jobs y Scott Fitzgerald. Soy un soñador, no un escritor.

When Seagulls Fly

My brothers swim in the sea while I am sitting on the sand accompanied by my dogs, my father drinks a beer and helps my mother prepare the ceviche.

I go in the sea until I cross the waves blast away from my brothers and I dive into the depths. I rest lying in the water and look the seagulls pass by in the sky. I swim to shore but I can’t get out, I’m trapped in the current and a wave rises behind me. I struggle to escape it, I call my brothers who play on the shore; I scream to my parents, but they continue preparing the food. My mother calls them to eat but she never called me; only my dogs see me. The wave breaks pulling me into the sea and rolls me inside. I fall on the beach; I try to get up and as soon as I recover the wave falls on me and pulls me into it. And I never went back to shore.

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Echoes Of The Past

A desperate scream in the dark, I hear my voice came back.
Why have you left me?
Peace is extinguished and I only see war, I feel drained and I slowly consume myself.
CARLOS REEVES ’05

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Faeton

There is a lance-shaped tower on the moon, made of stone with symmetrical finishes connected at the tip of the arch. In the center is a rosette of violet and blue colors. The entrance is a cavity with engraved wooden gates guarded by two angels. Men, women, and children walk inside.

I find myself on a hill followed by a woman holding hands.

“I have to leave,” I said staring at her trembling eyes.

Kiss my cheek and release my hand.

I go to the tower and gather with the walkers; she waits on the hill.

At the entrance, one angel blocks my way and stares at me. A third angel comes out.

“What do you want?” The voice echoed in the wind.

“I want to see him,” I replied.

“Turn back!” said.

“Why should I move? I am image and likeness, more noble than you. Let me in!”

The angel moves aside and vanishes inside.

I climb the stairs where the cries and wails of the dark make me tremble. I feel exhausted and my sight is clouded, before everything was darkness, the third angel appears and takes me in arms. We float in the sky to the clouds that reveal the vault of the universe; I could distinguish three figures of radiant warmth. My body burns in flames until it scatters in flakes of dust.

“Dust you are and dust you will be,” said.

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Old Memories

A voice calls me, I turned around and there she was. I know who she is, I never heard from her again until today, and now I see her standing there in the Cathedral’s choir just as I remember her. Smooth and dark hair, light skin with green eyes, short and with a feline smile.
CARLOS REEVES ’05

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