The Last Train. First part

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"When the soul is muddled and when inside a labyrinth is not a way out, when everything before us shows dark, when the stigma of death becomes desire is the time of euthanasia, but never suicide"

History of a Suitcase.

Many readers have complained when after following one of my stories serial I have not posted the final, I always say that my stories even written in continuation key, each chapter is independent and leave open the possibility of placing a finish in the minds of readers.

If instead of writing with a modern computer, it did with my old Lexicon, possibly even could concentrate as the first writers in a single novel focused until the end of the story, but today my way of writing is different from yesterday, to put a single credible example that surely is understood, if last year by this time when I started that chimeric trip by the Orinoco along with Vicente Moreno de la Tejera , a voyage that made me grow of literary form with each new chapter, if it had continued it today would not be writing interesting articles on poetry in the English language.

Digital writers, generally, there is always an exception, but we usually behave before writing in a different way, give priority to the moment and the interactivity between the readers, and at the time of writing are led gently by the currents coming.

~~Many stories remain silent in my Works yet to be concluded, but that by inconstancy is for responsibility, for the adventure of writing grow more is always my top priority, and among which I'm learning go counting things of the past, the present and the future that I share with all users wanting them to read a few stories that serve to inform immediately to entertain and inspire all those authors that pass through the Web, a few stories as it is logical, some are more successful than others, but that gives them naturally, all are built without frills or gimmicks, as they were conceived between the opinions of the authors are shared with those who surprised and amazed they write and publish on the Internet.

How do not want to let more stories to media count, for a time I will write only short, one of two stories or three chapters, not may never be seeing a religious parade and at the same time to sound the bells in the Bell Tower, in my case, watching the parade, playing bells, preparing the Saints, arranging the thrones preparing the sermon and sweeping and scrubbing the temple for the liturgy.

This short story is written for the Forum of Literary Creation of Francisco Moreno, speaks of failure, of heartbreak, of betrayal, of oblivion and death, but especially talks that so underappreciated feeling called friendship, and I will try to do, saving the infinite distance, with the peculiar manner of those fictionalized stories that Vicente Moreno of the Tejera wrote as portraits of its time.

To do the endless writing with the extensive introduction to publish it in two chapters, in my next installment I'll edit the end, meanwhile, all readers can put their minds to work and imagine a possible end, the possibilities are always...

Infinite!

* The Last Train *

When Shannen White closed the door could feel how their world was there behind it, while I squeezed the small suitcase holder went out and decided step started. Shannen looked new avenues and old buildings after his smoked glasses as if it were a casual visitor and returned to feel that old feeling of how a strange among his people and in his own city.

Everything had changed suddenly, his family, those she considered friends and his companion had located it again before a terrible truth that thought passed and which dipped it in a world of loneliness, helplessness, cruelty and sadness, in his mind just two thoughts gave turns as traveling in a surreal attraction of fair ending all at once or start all this filthiness of his mind and attempting once again to start from scratch.

-On this occasion of minus zero.

Answered yes same how if someone from the inside organize their thoughts to reflective conversation mode, from a confused, contradictory and turbulent inside that made it almost capsized in seas of anger, oceans of sadness, Peña rivers and lagoons of shame, with the tree of love, withered hate heart and broken by the trust Shannen White noticed how after her sunglasses the eyes were full of tears.

The old railway station building arose in the reddened eyes of Shannen so ugly and so sinister as the first time she saw it, located at the only real-time digital signage and the clothes of the people, looked at the timetable of trains as if wait someone or some train to leave then, very close to the platform, he took out a cigarette and while relaxed aspired smoke decided to wait.

The railway environment made him remember the times that he had tried to escape from his personal hell, by water and by land, the destination was the same and gave always equal, but that paralyzing fear forced her to return to the starting point. Strong and wound, hesitant and determined, Shannen left the small suitcase on the floor while the Horn of a convoy sounded in the distance, Shannen White began to move through the platform of the station, suddenly in the dark sea of noisy shadows someone family emerged from the gauzy fog, and as grabbed her by both arms, with joy and surprise asked.

- But... are you? I was told that you had died, the fireproof Shannen White in my eyes, not I can believe.

Shannen still dazed reacted and Sally, his old friend of Institute, recognized as if they were just a few days without being they embraced and sat in one of the banks that had in a row by the platform, there as in the old days, the two friends deeply excited by meeting continued the conversation.

Sally-. So changed I am not I've recognized? I as soon as I entered inside the station the first thing I've seen has been you, but when I looked and you have returned the head I thought that you spent on me, I felt sadness, but at this stage daughter mine am already cured of ungrateful spirits, you've followed watching and I have come to the conclusion that actually... between the glasses you wear and absent so that you've always been I had not recognized, I saw you as that first day when I met you, rare, sad, but mostly very lost, and it was at that time when I have approached you.

It Will Continue To...

The story has two different versions, final publication consists of 50% of both versions, the first part corresponds to the story written in Spanish, and the final part corresponds to the English version, and in order to try to make a tribute to the tragicomedy.

"There is a train called destination passing through dreams, there are valleys, slopes and mountains that greet passing, dark tunnels, dangerous bridges and cliffs that must save, a train without stations and passengers inside, just travel an EGO and his solitude. Driving along the rails of the future a train called destination circulates without noise, slipping by dreams so that only toll station called end."

History of a Suitcase.

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