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LINDA

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 Un gritó resuena fuera. Una a una las casas de la calle oscurecen. Después de unos segundos, mi casa es la siguiente. No veo más que la luz de la luna a través de mi ventana iluminando cada uno de los muebles en mi habitación. El grito se detuvo, pero el silencio se llenó con los murmuros de los vecinos preguntándose “¿qué carajos acaba de pasar?”

 Cuando salgo a la vereda, Juan me ve y cruza para encontrarse conmigo. Como todos los demás (a excepción de los niñxs que ríen y juegan a las escondidas, a pesar de que sus padres les piden que no), tiene una expresión de confusión en la cara.

“¿Escuchaste eso?,” me pregunta. “Parecía una nena.”

“Sí,” respondo.

“Lucas y Esteban Albornoz fueron a buscarla. Otrxs chicxs los acompañan.” La chispa de desconcierto en los ojos de Juan, pronto se enciende con curiosidad. “¿Querés ir?”

 A Lucas siempre le había gustado un buen misterio, quizás eso lo convertía en tal buen periodista.

“Debería buscar mi cámara nomás. No voy a demorar mucho, la dejé arriba de la—”

“Bueno, andá.” Las palabras me salen más cortantes de lo que esperaba. No tengo ganas de ir a buscar a nadie —los Albornxz y sus amigxs ya están en eso—, pero la adrenalina arde en Juan y no puedo decirle que no. “Yo voy a buscarme un abrigo.”

 Juan se da vuelta y corre hacia su casa. Son casi las 11 pm, el sueño empezaba a ganarme antes de que todo esto pasara. Echo una última mirada a la calle. La gente ahora se junta en grupos a comentar sobre lo que piensan que pasó. En algunas ventanas ya pueden verse las luces de las velas. Con un suspiro entro a mi casa.

 Ha sido una semana extraña de hecho. La ciudad entera estaba como loca por la desaparición de Linda Ruiz, una niña de 12 años que en la fotografía de las noticias se paraba frente a la iglesia San Ignacio en su vestido blanco con flores amarillas y naranjas, su pelo rubio y brilloso atado en un moño salmón. Sonreía amablemente a quien sostenía la cámara. Cuando miraba a esa foto, me sentía incómodo y descompuesto, aunque no entendía por qué. Creo que en parte es porque me recuerda a mi sobrina —una dulce muchachita de 15 años que vive con sus padres en Rosario—, y el hecho de que todo lo que habían recuperado de Linda era su dedo índice.

 Hace casi una semana, dejaron en la puerta de la casa de sus padres una pequeña caja azul decorada con caritas sonrientes y animales. Al principio no entendían de qué se trataba, no había remitente, ni una nota, ni siquiera un símbolo de algún grupo terrorista. Nada. Tremenda sorpresa se llevaron al ver dentro el fino y delicado dedo de su hija. Naturalmente, su padre lo reportó a la policía esa misma noche.

 "Quién puede ser tan hijo de..." Unos cuantos golpes me traen de nuevo a mi —ahora oscura— casa en Colonia San Martín. Es Juan. Esta parado en la entrada vistiendo un sobretodo negro y una polera gris, cámara en mano.

"¿Estás listo?," Me pregunta. “Sí, vamos.” Mi estómago se revuelve en protestas.

#Historias #Historias de terror #Primera Parte #Capítulo 1 #Acento Argentino #Argentina #Lobo en la ciudad #Un Lobo Más #Linda #Linda la historia

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An Open Letter to Misha Collins

Dear Misha,

I’ve been a fan of yours for more than two years now, ever since I saw a video you posted about some charity competition for Random Acts (sometime in early 2015). I saw something different about you, something special that I didn’t see in any other actor/celebrity. Honestly, if you had been just another pretty face in Hollywood, I wouldn’t have been your fan. I’m an old soul like that (I’m only 28 though). Following you on social media just proved to me that you are different, and very special, over and over again.

For years I’ve asked myself what I really wanted to do with my life. Growing up poor and being a nurse in a third-world country exposed me to a lot of social (as well as health) issues that are often discussed, but never really resolved. It left me bitter, angry, and frustrated.

When I saw that video, and started following what you and Random Acts do, it rekindled in me the faith in what people can do, even the ordinary people, one step at a time, one day at a time, and as you said, one random act of kindness at a time. That “simple” idea is such an integral step towards making the world better, and thank you for reminding me of it.

I’m posting this letter because we’ll never meet (like I said, I’m poor and I also live in a third-world country with a shitty exchange rate with the US dollar) but I’d like to tell you that you’ve been such a great inspiration to me. You are such a great catalyst for good, and I’ve never been prouder to be a fan of someone. Also, I’m a Vicki fan, too! I’ve read her works (well, just the ones the fandom has managed to find), and she’s so beautiful and amazing and super smart. That piece she wrote about having a choice and taking a year off from college is my favorite. It really got to me. I never had that choice when I was studying. My thoughts when I was reading it was “That’s allowed?!” and it’s like a whole path of life’s revelations opened up in front of me.

If I could re-do my life, I’d wish to be as active as the two of you early on in making a difference in this world. Catching up now, though. There may be a lot of obstacles, but both of you are our guiding lights. I’m also a fan of how you are raising your kids. They’re growing up to be amazing people, just like their parents.

Seriously, keep up the good work. You’re an amazing human being, Misha. I’m not gonna blindly say here that you’re perfect (although sometimes I do, I’m a fangirl for crying out loud), but we’re humans, we do what we can. We’re perfectly imperfect, and isn’t that the wonder of it?

Always your fan,

@red_seventh

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when you run out of drama to make in your life you gotta start ant drama

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So I found this caterpillar on my way to class

We’re bros

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when you’re at a family gathering having a good time but you feel the existential crisis about to hit ya 

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I’m a succubus

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OK. So our party was hired to take provisions to a town. No problem. Easy. Currently on the party: a bard, a cleric, a fighter, a warlock, a ranger (my favorite so far), and me, a monk.

At some point in our travel we found the horses of the people who hired us complete slaughtered, and a few goblins surprise us. I dodge some attacks and we all roll initiative.

I’m second, so after the bard gives me inspiration I walk up to the one goblin who attacked me first, hit him with my quarterstaff and punch him in the face, breaking his nose and killing him. My reaction? “Sorry”. Everyone’s laughing because I just apologyzed to a goblin for killing it.

Moving on, we tracked one of the goblins to a cave. The ragner finds three wolves chained to a stalagmite and we both decided to set them free. We fight two more goblins, I fall unconscious, the bard and the cleric cure me. I managed to calm the wolves a little, and then jumped to the rock and freed them. The ranger named me “the breaker of chains”, mother of wolves too perhaps?

After that we take a short rest and a 5′ break. When we were back we walked farther into the cave only to find us some more goblins. I’m the first to drop to 1 HP. We’re surviving. They’re only two of them. But wait... one of them is running. Well, shit. The warlock chases him, and unintendedly alerted four more goblins and a hobgoblin. We’re fucked.

One by one everybody falls unconscious, except for me, the fighter, and the cleric who is trying to stabilize as many of us as possible and won’t stop praying. The ranger falls unconscious by the hands of the big guy (his name was Klarg, I’ll never forget that). The fighter is flanked by Klarg and the last goblin. She’s down. The cleric kills the last goblin and I’m left, with 1 HP, fighting singlehandedly with that Klarg bastard. I freak out and kick him in the crotch. He cried a single tear. The cleric’s godess answers her prayers and heals our fighter to 1HP, who is now up and takes advantage on the now “clutching-his-own-genitals” hobgoblin and kills him. We celebrate our victory.

We’re stabilizing everyone, but then my curse decided to show up. For those of you who doesn’t know about it, I’m cursed. Every single one of my favorite characters die at some point. They might come back to life later, but they always die. And so it happens: the ranger is dead and floating down a river. We are so focused discussing how are we gonna bring him back that we forgot about the river. He’s almost out of the cave when the fighter runs and catches him. Sigh. We’re back on the road with our provisions and a dead body. Shit. What are we gonna do now? Obvs we’re gonna find a temple. I hope our ranger doesn’t rot ‘til the time we arrive.

#D&D #D&D5e #dungeons and dragons #D&D stories #why did he died #dick kick

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