¿Y que chucha es un alebrije?, le pregunte. Ella apuntó a la mesa contestando: "esa cosa de ahi". Gire mi cabeza para observar una especie de caballo con alas o algo así, poco me importaba. Deje escapar un suspiro, con un dejo de apatía dejamdo entrever que mi atención aun se centraba en el asunto pendiente que habíamos estado evitando durante horas. 15 minutos pasaron en completo silencio, ella con la mirada clavada en el piso, y yo hipnotizado with Dante and deformed faces formed on the wooden ceiling. Forces met, clear my throat and say your name to start the dreaded conversation. "We need to talk" I said, she only nodded slightly. "Look, I've had problems lately, but I do not think they are enough to get away from this way." She fixed his eyes directly into mine, with a look of sadness and anger, ready to take the start the sentence that would end the whole affair. "Do not hate, if you had doubts," he said softly, suppressing its obvious urge to scream in my face. "You have not done anything terrible, you have not committed any mistake, you have not done anything ... but just can not stand you. I get bored and annoying me and I have no idea why. "That said, got up from his chair, going to the door. For a moment he paused, as if to say something else but did not. Azoto the door behind him, and the sound echoed in my head for a long time. But that birthday shit, I'm the only alebrije. But what the fuck is a alebrije? Story by Felipe Contreras.
Illustration by Alvaro Rojas.
Illustration: Digital Painting.
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