Writing Prompt. Dialog: 1.

Writing prompt. Dialog: 1.

-"How do you make beer?" Asked Ryan.

-"As far as I know, It's like making bread , but you add water." Said Muck

-"It can't be, my cousing works in a bakery, they use water to make the dough." Ryan took a sip of orange juice.

-"Well, if you know so much, why are you bothering me?" Muk protested.

-"I've never claimed to be an expert, I just know water is used in both processes, I was asking out of curiosity."

-"Ok, but why is beer a subject matter now? It's not even noon!"

-"I've heard some cats are collecting postcards as a hobby, well I want to make beer as a passtime."

-"You mean, penpals?" Asked Muk with a grin.

-"No, no! I mean the square thing on the postcard!" Ryan, as short tempered as he was, slammed the table, spilling some juice and almost tipping off Muk's cup of coffee.

-"whoah! Slow down pal! You were talking about beers, why this craving all the sudden?"

- "I don't want to drink them, I want to make them, as a change of pace."

-"So, are you quitting the job anytime soon?" Asked Muk before taking a big gulp of black coffee.

-"No, It'll be a passtime. Look at Tom, the poor guy never took a day off, no passions, not even a single nap. And now he's shaded, a walking corpse!"

-"I see what you mean, it would be a shame to lose you, including your charming personality." Muk smirked.

Ryan was about to protest, but he keep it to himself.

The waiter brought the check, Ryan invited the breakfast.

-"It's called a stamp." Said Muk, while giving his friend the knife.

And they crossed the door thresshold at the same time.

Ah, those nights regret

A new aperture appeared in my room. Somewhere to scream and fall head-on. I recall my sweet mistress, Eleanore. So fair, kind, and full of love.

Bitter endings and full remorse Memories with her just took their course. Like celluloid melting under summer light Secret kisses in plain sight

But those cold days are just gone. Her pulse, smell, and soul No more cuddles, no more love. A shame that a bunch of pain pills did the job.

Diagnosis

The merry-go-round will not stop.

It's futile to cry; everything takes its course.

The storm is rough; it will stay for long.

Under the sheets, I hide from the screams.

I cover my skin in body cream.

My face is free, my conscience is clean.

My redention is nigh

She said, 'Everything will be fine'.

She offered her hands, but I didn't comply.

Interloper

I remember that day well. My first delivery was at an old man's house. He was taking a nap, alone, in his library, hugging a big leather bound tome. I slowly woke him up, called his name and we went for a walk.

After a couple more takeaways, I sat down at a cafeteria for some ice cream.

- "Don't worry, I'll order one for you." Said the middle-aged man to his wife.

She didn't take any seat, she was looking rather annoyed. Shortly after, the man emerged from the ice cream parlour.

- "Pistachio, whisky cream and ... what was your favourite flavour?"

- "You well know I'm allergic to pistachios, change it to strawberry." she said, raising her voice a bit.

The fair haired man entered the shop again, now she really was annoyed. Not even a minute has passed when the man knocked from inside the place's window.

- "Do you know where I put my credit card again?" asked with a mix of meekness and muffleness from the glass panel.

The red haired woman sighed in frustration, passed the shop's threshold, extracted the man's credit card from his pocket and said: "let me do it".

After a lovely cool dessert, I took another nicotine gum (withdrawal is hell I tell you) and paid a visit to a brother and sister. The sun was up high, vaporising everything it touched. They were buried alive under rubble, a missile hit their apartment. He was hugging his little sister when I came. A really sad picture, I confess, but the job must be done. I held him by the shoulder, called his name and we left that horrible dark place. I shook his clothes to remove the little debris he had on his clothes and we went for a walk.

They said "Juan Gonzales" (a cover name), you see, I know everyone by their name, their true name, so I know where to find them. The room of the hospital was white, clean in appearance, he was on the hospital bed, being watched by his friend, who was holding his hand. I did not waste time, a few minutes later I was out, consuming my next nicotine gum.

The next call was in an apartment, a guy was punching the walls in rage, she was lying in the middle of the living room, covered from head to toe in blood and bruises. I hate to see them in bad condition, moreover, I can't finish a delivery successfully if they look so rough. So I did the humane thing of cleaning her wounds and wash her carefully in the copper bathtub, she then woke up, she looked herself, looked at me and smiled, thanked me, told me she was an engineer, she just won an internship at NASA, I congratulate her, said her name and we went for a walk.

I was having some pepperoni pizza for lunch when they said "Juan Gonzales", I remember thinking: "Again?! Did I miss that one?". I entered the hospital's lobby, 10th floor, white impeccable room, the two alone being engulfed by the yellow emanations of the noon's light. The bedridden’s friend was immobile as a marble statue, I swear, he was not blinking the whole time! I said Juan Gonzales' true name, and a few minutes later I was masticating another nicotine gum on a bench at the park.

The next take-away was a courtesy call from a rockstar, he was trying to reach me, after he broke up with a gorgeous gal. He shut himself in the damp bedroom and produced a rusty, filthy, syringe from his backpack, laid down on the bed and he inject himself with some white substance, an hour later I was holding his long greasy hair, helping him puke into the toilet, I said his name and we went for a walk.

I was drinking my evening black coffee with some toast when they said "Juan Gonzales", I exploded in anger, complained and argued whether that was some kind of prank or miracle, they replied that there are miracles no more.

Flustered, I entered the old hospital, took the lift to the 10th floor, now the orange lights were the only warm thing in the room, Juan Gonzales was looking at the night sky while the statue-for-a-friend was still holding his hand. Then it struck me, the fact was I couldn't recall that living statue's name, in fact, I do not recall seeing his face before!. I need to tell you this, because I'm good with names and faces, I can exactly pinpoint down the flavour of ice cream, the middle-aged couple where having that morning, but, this man was a fuzzy memory, a dream you usually fight to stay with you after you wake up. So I was there, next to the IV drop, about to say the bed ridden young man's real name, when they shouted at me that the contractor had cancelled the order due to some unforeseen factors, suffice to say it was an uncommon event.

After such a change of plans, the healthy one got up and walked up to the door. I was still puzzled by his nature, so I tried to follow him, but just before leaving the patient's room, he turned to me and I swear we made eye contact for a second! my heart almost stopped, he didn't say a thing, I was struck by a lighting bolt, he just scouted the room and then he entered the empty corridor. Did he see me? Did I imagine it? I shall never know, for I had doubts, it might well have passed a second or a minute, I left the room and found nothing in the corridor! the young fuzzy man was nowhere I mean NOWHERE to be found in the entire hospital!

The last thing I remember is that it was a quiet night, other times, I would have complained to the air about lacking any take-aways. Now, I was grateful, I needed to take some fresh air on a building roof overlooking the pretty lights of the urban landscape. I touched my right pocket, there was an old dry stick left, I remembered her lips under the slimming moon at sea, I remember her too well: "You shouldn’t smoke, it’ll kill you." she said, taking the same cancer stick from my mouth, robbing me a kiss. I can still hear her sweet laugh when we went for a walk. I remember thinking "yes, it will kill me" while lighting the cigar.

Of what happens after

When all is done

You'll find yourself falling down.

The judgment criteria are unknown.

But you'll know real soon.

For those found guilty of pain,

Filled with hatred and disdain.

The unfathomable, hungry depth awaits.

To devour such a wretched mistake.

The lucky few will be held

By the hands of fair cupids,

To be carried away

to where souls disintegrate.

The writer would also be falling

For is a sin to imagine

The winged heralds will laugh.

And the darkness will be around.

However, those who scribe the world,

Shall be held by their own words.

Those characters whose lives have bestowed,

Will carry the writer far away from the woe.

Angels will cry in anger.

The depths will scream in hunger.

The writer will be full of tears of glee.

For not even the gods will take their iron will.

No habría llegado a los 50 «Me gusta» sin vuestra ayuda. ¡Gracias por este sueño!

So cool! I can't believe I've reach 50 likes!! Way more likes that I was hoping for!!