En uno de los blogs que sigo, "The one minute writer", tiraron un post muy lindo que daba una idea para empezar un mini escrito. Tienen un concurso cada viernes de escribir una mini ficción, y esta vez participé =) El link para el blog es este: http://oneminutewriter.blogspot.com.ar/
Esto es lo que decía el blog, y abajo, dejo la pequeña ficción que inspiró =)
"You're walking home from the train station one day and suddenly come upon a beautiful old home tucked away between the other buildings. Funny, you've never noticed a house there before. Then you notice the FOR SALE sign. Hey - you've been looking for a place closer to work anyway. You decide to buy the mysterious house. What happens? What's inside? Where did it come from?"
I was
waiting for the real estate guy, and he came, very nervous. At first I thought
that he was nervous about the house. Maybe nobody wanted to buy it, so he was
nervous I shouldn’t want to buy it either; maybe he didn’t like the neighborhood…
I thought it a very nice place, very safe… But, no, something else was
troubling him, and I was soon to learn what.
We entered
the house and I got to see it was no long uninhabited, because there was not
much dust to be seen, the house looked quite clean. Everything I saw I liked,
so coming to a deal on everything was easy. I enquired upon the history of the
house, but the salesman only told me it had belonged to an old lady who had
just passed away and had left it as an inheritance to her grandchildren, who
were selling it to divide the money. I asked if it was not unsentimental to do
that, given that probably those grandchildren had lived and enjoyed very good
moments. The salesman shrugged and started for the door, telling me that a week
from then all the paperwork would be done, and I could go and pick up the keys.
I stopped
him there, and said that obviously something was wrong, and I was not leaving
until he told me what it was that I had to know about my new home. He sighed,
sat down on the tiled floor, and commenced a little narration.
He told me
he had lived, as a child, on this street, exactly in front of the house I had
just bought. This man, who looked not older than thirty years old, said that he
would always look through his windows to this house, the nicest of the block
those days, and see a little girl, of about his age. He described the girl as
if she were an angel, and said she had been his playmate back then. Her name
was Sarah. Before sighing and falling into silence, he said he had never seen
her since.
Evidently,
my salesman still had feelings, deep feelings, for this girl Sarah. I asked
about the reason for this, for her having disappeared, but he didn’t know it.
He only knew that once, when they were ten, she had kissed his cheek after a
day of playing in her park, and the next day she came (for she came once or
twice a week to this, her grandma’s house) she didn’t come out to play whit
him, and never again had he seen her, until…
One month
ago, a man about five or six years older than him came to his office offering
to buy this house, and telling him the same story he had told me about the grandchildren
wanting to sell it. When this man signed, he saw he had the same surname as
Sarah had…
My salesman
couldn’t continue, his eyes filling with tears, so I told him we would come to
the end of the question and find this angel-playmate of his again.
