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MartaWritez
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About places

Inward-Marta-publicar

Illustration by Gema Galán

PETER. So, Marta, where do you want to go now?

ME. I want to go to an unforgettable place.

MICKEY. And why don’t you look inwards?

That happens to me

relato a veces pasa

Illustration by Gema Galán

That happens to me. I get lost. I look around and wave and smile and even pretend I’m normal. But inside my pupils I get lost. The doctor said that I can’t focus and I try to put everything inside. China, the road, the cold, the words, the slams, the salt, the conversation from yesterday at 4pm. Then everything eclipses everything. There are no edges. It’s a textbook fade out. I asked him what is the cure. He said I can’t treat it by myself because I don’t have balls so I need someone who does it for me. “Who? To do what for me?” I repplied while thinking about my mother, the only human being who would do everything for me. “Someone who pushes you into the space. Someone who smacks the shit out of you. Someone who tells you the truth. The one that chaps your lips when you say it but it doesn’t make you cry just pushes you forward” “How do I look for someone like that?” “Easy. You don’t.”

At the beginning

at the beginning pic

Illustration by Gema Galán

At the beginning, everything was alive. The plastic pink kitchen was always cooking tasteful meals. The porcelain doll pretended she was a good girl but deeply inside, she wanted to hurt you. All your toys and stuffed animals had names and feelings. Soil with water in a bowl was a delicious cream of vegetables and some grass on top, the parsley. Your wooden table made by your grandfather was the counter of a shop where you sold all kind of products. Your father’s dog was your same age and maybe that’s why you understood each other. A towel and some sheets holded by sticks were a beautiful house with a luxurious entrance and a parking spot on the front to leave your bicycle. Your jump rope was a snake. Your grandma’s kitchen cloths connected with clothespins were the Spice Girls’ dresses. Your grandparents bed was a trampoline.

There was no problem in believing that children were born when a woman’s desire to have babies was so perceptible that nature couldn’t deny her wishes, that the tooth fairy didn’t forget you and left a 100 pesetas coin in your shoe the next day to trick you and that The Spice Girls slept all together with make up and cool dresses on –you saw that on a girls magazine-. Some of your pleasures in life were having the last sip of your grandmother’s coffee or climbing up the window and seat on the sill with a pillow to enjoy the views of the street –you were living on a ground floor apartment-. At the beginning, everything was simple and you thought you already knew everything. At the beginning.

Inspired by “Report from the Interior” by Paul Auster

How scary is the fear?

Alicia was a brave, single, beautiful mother. Only one thing could scare her. But that thing wasn’t an ordinary fear of spiders. It was worse than feeling a cold gun on her temple, worse than being buried alive. It was the fear of hearing that something bad happens to her daughter. She couldn’t handle it. The fear was made out of solid cement. It didn’t let her think or sleep or enjoy a simple cup of coffee. It was kind of a primitive animal feeling. “Keep your descendants alive” But she didn’t have one of those. She had something colossal. A daughter. Her daughter. Her only reason to live and her only reason to kill.

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Inverness, the Truman Show

Inverness is a little town populated by Polish, Spanish, Indians, Pakistanis, some Scottish, thousands of seagulls, many crowes, countless midges, plentiful of cats, a few spiders, lots of mushrooms and a monster called Nessi.

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