universoperdido
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Universe Missing

Storyteller, cinephile, reviewer, a little more than everything and a little less than a lot.

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Joined in 08, 2018
universoperdido
· 2 days ago

The night was intense, and Molly's grandmother's clock was driving her crazy. She sat desperately on the couch waiting for her friend Francine to arrive. *My God, why is she so unpunctual? Molly thought as she grunted.The ticking lacerating in her ears like sharp knives. She looked out the window every minute, but there was no sign of Francine. She decided to call her again, but her phone was off. She wondered where her friend could be, they should have been at the party an hour ago.Meanwhile, Francine was parked on a city boulevard before a bar. She wasn't looking at her phone or the clock in her car, just watching the door of the bar, waiting for Chase to come out. He finally did, holding another woman's hand. Francine's heart stopped and it completely ruined her illusions.Tears ran down her cheeks, for her suspicions were true. She remained inert in front of the steering wheel for several minutes sobbing like a child. The pain wouldn't let her breathe, wouldn't let her concentrate. She took an impulse and decided to turn on her phone to distract herself with something else.She found several missed calls from Molly, who was impatiently waiting for her at home. She swallowed her sadness and decided to call her so as not to worry her. She gasped several times and with a forward movement of her eyes endeavored to speak to her friend calmly.“Francine, where are you?” Molly asked annoyed. "My God, I've called you twenty times! It's been over an hour since we should have been at Kyle's party."“Molly, I'm sorry, but I'm not going,” Francine whispered.“W

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universoperdido
· 7 days ago

Perhaps I am one of the people who daydream the most. It happens to me all the time, either in the company of solitude or when ideas infiltrate my head without my express permission. Sometimes I am not in control, but I do my best to appear normal.On occasion, my parents and siblings have found me talking to myself. I would recite adventures that only played in my mind and escaped through my mouth, propelled by the air in my lungs. People always considered me strange for talking to myself, but with time, they got used to my way of being. Those who did not know me, however, were amazed at my peculiar ways.My daydreams have always been a hindrance to my concentration, especially at work. I remember once getting caught up in a daydream while performing a task. Sometimes, I would remain engrossed for long minutes until someone would come to snap me out of my trance. My co-worker at the time was already familiar with my distractions and was quick to bring me back before our boss noticed.“Mr. Arocha should be here soon, we have to get the report ready!” said Jessica, my co-worker. I woke up right away. I didn't get lost in my fantasies if someone was with me, because embarrassment prevented me from daydreaming.“What were you thinking about?” Jessica asked me as she organized some papers on her desk.“I was thinking about the latest Pirates of the Caribbean movie, the part where Jack Sparrow gets stranded on a deserted island and all the other characters go looking for him.”“And you imagined yourself as one of those pirates?” Jessica asked with a mocking ton

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universoperdido
· 12 days ago

I always thought it would be absurd to have appreciation for someone you don't know in person. Without knowing the expressions he exhales through words or by saying them he extends some faction that deliberately taints his countenance. It was tough for me to believe in the honesty of people, being very observant of emotions myself, I could not discern if the arguments floating over my head were truthful or worthy of the most significant attention.Charlotte's words came to me without my asking for them; as if by fate's compulsion. I, a wealthy old man spend his last days in a different city completely cloistered, surrounded by priceless history and collections that no human being would have dreamed of obtaining. From ancient pieces from the Middle Ages to priceless lost objects from World War II.Garments of royalty. Original manuscripts of cursed writers. Unfinished paintings by famous artists devoured by loneliness. Period items worthy of a historical museum. It was a pleasure to collect all kinds of artifacts with interesting stories, in that I squandered my enormous fortune; in the treasure of man's past.My friend, Alice, was my greatest purveyor of rare objects. She would visit me every week in my luxurious penthouse, offering me things that might be of interest to me, but many of them I turned down, for I did not consider myself an ordinary collector. To put it in fanciful terms: the object was calling to me, not me to it. It was like a sixth sense I had when I was faced with the right item. For several weeks, I considered my collector's hunger dead until it manifested itself in Alice

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universoperdido
· 30. May 2024

Lo sabía… ¡Lo sospechaba, pero no hice nada! Debí detenerlo cuando podía, ahora me siento tan culpable como si mis manos hubieran sido ejecutoras de aquel terrible crimen. Ezequiel me maldijo con su espantosa verdad, y en su último baño de arrepentimiento, solo le quedó señalar aquella puerta.Mi socio Ezequiel y yo éramos excelentes en nuestro oficio. Acabábamos de comenzar en el negocio de la taxidermia, aunque la vida no nos sonrió al principio con muchos clientes, paulatinamente fuimos enalteciendo nuestra compañía. En aquel entonces, todo era muy duro, ciertamente, pero la genialidad de mi socio trascendía a medida que nos dábamos a conocer.Particularmente no éramos muy íntimos con nuestros clientes, pues no correspondía a nuestro oficio. El dolor no era algo que debíamos mitigar, sino postergar, preparando como a una estatua perpetua aquellos cadáveres que tuvieron un valor sentimental para las personas.Convertíamos lágrimas en risas, pero sabíamos que aquello eran solo máscaras, que se disolvían una vez que cruzaban las puertas de sus casas. Descubrimos que disecar mascotas muertas para sus dueños, era un trabajo muy lucrativo. Las manos de Ezequiel, combinadas con las mías, hacían obras de arte.Mi compañero era un enigma desde que lo conocí. No era casado y parecía nunca pretender una familia. Su único amante era el alcohol y su escenario la oscuridad de nuestro entorno de trabajo. Sus ojos saltones, su rostro pronunciado, su boca entumida y delgadez extrema, me hacían recordar a algún títere diabólico con excéntrico sentido del humor.Si pudiera describir todos los de

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