This one’s for the Spanish speakers among you. Sorry I can’t translate it, but seeing as this is an exercise in the application of words for the mere —and precious— sake of them being words, it would be futile.

Here’s the exercise: Write a full text —can be a short story, a haiku, a poem or a fucking sonnet, doesn’t matter— using words that start with the same letter. You can go all the way or, like me, you can use words that don’t start with that letter sparingly. It’s great fun and loosens up the vocabulary, while prompting us to tackle fucking weird words, like clepsydra.

If you try this, either in English or Spanish, post your results here or send them to me. I might do something with them.

Sara sabía.

Siempre supe que Sara sabía lo de
Samuel y Sabina. Sara sabía y Sara
sobrellevaba.

Sara sobrevivía.

Ese sábado Sara suspiró, salió y se
sentó en el zaguán. Yo la seguí. Sara
sonrió. Ahí sentados, sucedimos.
Solos.

Sara sabía salada.

Sara soñaba a Samuel. Sara era suya.
Yo no sustituía. Cuando más,
suplantaba.

Sara soberbia.

Así seguimos semanas.
Samuel no sabía.
Sabina soportaba.
Sara sufría.
Yo suplicaba.

Sexo seguro.

Sara sufría. Sara sollozaba. Sara
sentía y yo, simplemente, sobraba.

Sara semántica.
Sara sinuosa.
Sara sexual.

Sara suicida.

Sara saltó.

— sergio at 12:12 PM     Comments (17)   TrackBack (0)

As she arches her back, inhaling irregularly, beckoning you to pop the buttons of her blouse, you realize it’s been far too long since you last did this.

You remember with the clarity that only smell and touch memory can have. Her skin, peachy and soft. Hot at the touch. How it trembled slightly when you would run your fingernails across her back, tracing elaborate patterns that only you remember but they were oh, so clear.

She’s kissing your neck and running her hand across your thigh. You don’t like that, but you don’t tell her. You play with her hair some more, grab her by the waist and make her straddle you.

You remember that day you two spent outdoors, probing, tasting, exploring. How you mapped each of her erogenous zones with millimetric precision. How you then spent months working out the different orders in which you could attack them. How she clawed your back and bit you that one time (which was not an altogether unpleasant sensation, you discovered).

She is hugging you and nibbling silently on your ear. You barely know her name. You barely care. You just hold her gingerly and start tracing patterns on her back with your fingernails.

You go back to that last time you were together. She lit up a cigarette, looked you in the eye. You shied away. You both knew it was over.

And now you’re here, with this other woman. This person you don’t really care about. And her hair color is wrong, her skin tastes too… different, and you’re just going through the motions. You’re caressing her bottom while you softly blow on the base of her back, and suddenly you realize she’s looking at you with a curious and mildly unsatisfied glance. “That’s not doing it for me, honey”

And then, just like that, it hits you like a brick to the head:

You’re not over her yet.

You roll over, curse silently and light up a cigarette. Shit.

— sergio at 02:07 PM     Comments (16)   TrackBack (1)

The taste was stronger than he expected. The little sandy grains stuck to it gave it a salty twinge. Altogether, it wasn’t all that unpleasant, until the earthworm wiggled against the roof of his mouth. At this, Hans began to make heaving motions as his thorax contracted in preparation to expel. He closed his eyes, thought of spaghetti and gulped. The other boys cheered as he kept fighting the urge to vomit.

ONE!

Hans took a look at the bowl of earthworms and had a passing thought that it just wasn’t worth it.

But you don’t just walk away from a double dog dare, you know?

The Braunau sky reddened as the sun set in the horizon and Hans stared at the almost empty bowl. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and took the last mouthful, which he promptly swallowed without tasting (it takes the edge off, he would boast to Anna a few days later). All but one of the other kids stared at him, holding their breath — waiting to see if he would finally heave. Once they made sure he was keeping his meal, they erupted in raucous cheering.

TWENTY!! TWENTY!!! WOO!!!

Hans’s face was red and he felt a little dizzy, but he turned to face the one kid who wasn’t clapping and laughing, and stared him in the eye:

- You know what you have to do now, don’t you?
- I… yeah. It will take some time, though…
- We’ve got time. We can wait. Can’t we, guys?

The other kids laughed and agreed. They were ecstatic at the sight of Hans’s prowess. The black haired kid just nodded, smiled nervously, stared at the ground and started the way home, leaving Hans and the others to celebrate.

He was greeted by the smell of freshly baked apple strudel, which he nibbled at without enthusiasm as his mother washed the dishes. He wasn’t really hungry, so he excused himself shortly after and bustled up to his room. Once there, he unfolded the map of Europe that was included with his geography schoolbook, and stared at it long and hard, drawing lines of communication and supplies, and marking important spots in his head.

Russia would prove the most difficult, he realized, and for a few moments little Adolf thought of calling the whole thing off… But you don’t just back off a triple dog dare, you know?

— sergio at 07:35 PM     Comments (7)   TrackBack (0)