Amelia Arzod
Stories (2/0)
Kuri's Story
#KuriStory #HeyKuri Winter 2018, December 25, Around 9 AM. It was Christmas. Harry took a moment to realise it. Still asleep in his bed, conscience and subconscious seemed to engage in a merciless battle: one to hold him a little longer, the other to lure him into his meanders. His consciousness always ended up winning, so it was. His eyes had not yet opened, but he felt that a reality he used to was trying to invade him. It was a matter of seconds. Maybe less. Already awake, his senses well rested after a restful night, were operational. The sounds came to him distinctly now. He heard the buzzing of a fly near his right ear. The touch too, he felt the weight and warmth of the big blanket on his legs. It was Christmas. The information had stagnated in his brain as if suspended somewhere in the gray matter, no doubt. It probably had to go around in circles waiting for a neural connection to gently decide to do its job. "Eureka!" shouted Archimedes in his bath. Harry had the same feeling; that of having solved THE great mystery. And his whole body started. A sudden start made him sit up abruptly in his bed, his eyes opened at once, his pupils dilated and his heart beating. The adrenaline of the moment gave him an energy that only required explode. A moment later, he had jumped out of bed like a superhero, wearing his pyjamas of convenience—that of Ironman 7.0 improved version— and set off without anything stopping him. It was Christmas, Harry was sure of it now, and a big smile clung to his face despite the urgency of the situation.
By Amelia Arzod6 years ago in Futurism
The Nasturtiums
I was painting a vein when my husband entered my studio, told me he loved another, and left me. Anyone who has ever painted flowers and leaves knows how much to paint a vein is a delicate operation that cannot be interrupted. We use an extremely fine brush, barely soaked in a creamy white. We take a breath to avoid any tremor, and we trace the vein in one light line that we hope is successful. So I finished my vein, rinsed my brush, wiped it carefully with a slight rotation so that the tip kept its sharpness, put it in its holder, and looked up. My husband, of course, did not wait for me. He had gone noiselessly, closing the door gently. I leaned on the back of the chair and began to think.
By Amelia Arzod6 years ago in Humans