I haven't been able to write anything for days, between this climate that doesn't decide to be spring or autumn, and my body that can't decide between being healthy or sick, I find myself in a writer's block. But they say inspiration has to find you working, so let's try again. Let's see...
—It was one of those strange days between seasons, when the weather seems to change its mood by the minute. The day had started with a radiant sun, but suddenly the sky had blackened, portending a storm ...
Wow, it seems that this could lead somewhere, it was about time — I said to myself when suddenly a lightning bolt that comes out of nowhere hits the electric pole in front of the house, and it catches fire, leaving the neighborhood without electricity.
"Damn it, it can't be!" Just when it seemed like I was entering the "zone" —I lamented not without a lot of frustration and a bit of desperation.
After two hours, the police patrols, the fire department and of course the power company were finally withdrawn, so I turned on the computer and got ready to start over.
—It was one of those strange days between seasons, when the weather seems to change its mood by the minute. After a strange and sudden storm that had left the neighborhood without power for a few hours, José gets into his taxi to start another day of work.
—Just two blocks from his house, José is distracted for a moment and does not notice the presence of a loose cable that floats in the air and stops suddenly, skidding on the wet asphalt ... —and just at that moment there is a strong impact outside and the light goes out again.
As my computer shut down again, insults came out of my mouth that any gang member would have envied. It was incredible that the power went out again after less than an hour.
I went out to the street to see what had happened and to my surprise a taxi had crashed into the new pole, just placed shortly before. Almost without thinking, I said —José, are you okay?— when I saw a man of about 25 years staggering out of the taxi.
I think so, but I can't say the same about the car, "he replied," I haven't even finished paying for it and I already destroyed it, "he added lamenting, and without wondering how I, a total stranger knew his name.
But what the heck is going on here! I write that the sky portends a storm and lightning strikes. Then I write that a taxi skids on the wet asphalt and a taxi crashes on the newly changed pole.
Hmm ... I better stop imagining things and report the accident, the people from the electricity company are not going to give credit. They're going to have to change the same pole twice the same day ... this is for Ripley, really.
Hours later, with José safe, having removed what was left of his poor car, and changed the post again, I got ready to try again, this time with a little more caution.
—It was one of those strange days between seasons, when the weather seems to change its mood every minute. After witnessing an unfortunate accident due to wet asphalt left by a sudden storm, a writer sits in front of his computer to try to write a short story. One to get him out of the creative crisis he's been in for days. Suddenly the phone rings ... —Ringgg! the phone rings suddenly making me jump.
But what the hell !! ... - Ringgg! it sounds again- he answered not without a lot of fear as he did not understand what was happening. They were from the electricity company and they were checking the reports of the workers who changed the pole twice the same day, since they suspected that it was all a story to get a little extra money by selling one of the poles. I explained to them how everything had been and they remained fairly calm.
After having happened three times, it was clear that this was beyond chance, for some reason what I wrote was coming true. What should I do? - I thought -, I do not know why this happens, or if it will be permanent or temporary.
Suddenly I went from having the power to write stories, to having the power to write history, and as Uncle Ben from Spiderman said, with great power comes great responsibility, I accidentally left the neighborhood without electricity twice, and I ruined poor José's life.
Well, I need to write something, or live something worthwhile and then write about it, so let's try it one last time.
—It was one of those strange days between seasons, when the weather seems to change its mood every minute. After a strange day, a writer in crisis found himself in a difficult dilemma, and he did not know what to do.
—In cases like this only the voice of his deceased wife was able to reassure him and give him clarity of thought. He never had a chance to say goodbye to her, and since then he had a hard time writing.
—Suddenly someone knocks on the door ... -Toc knock! listening. As he expected, someone knocking on the door.
I stop writing and get up to open the door, and as I do so I see her, my late wife, and tears run down my cheeks.
—Don't cry Carlos —she tells me. —You don't know how much I have missed you —I tell her as I hug her tightly.
—Boy, you're in big trouble— a police officer tells José the taxi driver. —You managed to get out in time before the burning pole fell on the taxi but your passenger did not —he adds.
—But if I didn't do anything, —says José— that lightning bolt came out of nowhere, and even though I braked, the car skidded and crashed into the pole, I barely managed to get out of the car, and when I wanted to help my passenger the pole It hit us, I couldn't do anything!
—Well, in what the expert reports are done, you come with us to the police station.
—And who was the deceased, mate? —A second officer says to the first one— you don't recognize him a little bit? Take a good look at his identification, it's from the little that the flames didn't consume, —he replied.
—Yeah, I know who he is. Poor man. He's the one who wrote that novel about his late wife that he was about to take to the movies. He said it was her way of saying goodbye to her because he was in a coma when she passed away and he couldn't even attend her funeral.
—Yes, my friend, now they may even add all this to the movie.
—Unit 25, unit 25! Please confirm the identity of the deceased.
—It is the writer Carlos Robles, I repeat, it is the writer Carlos Robles.
©bonzopoe, 2021.
Thank you very much for reading this post and dedicating a moment of your time. Until next time and remember to leave a comment.
