¿Un buen final?

En eso que durante los últimos días del mundo, el último gran mago que el planeta conocería descubrió que el poder más grande residía en los deseos verdaderos de un alma pura e inocente. Esa alma era un muchacho amante del bien, la igualdad y, además, enamorado de otra muchacha de su misma edad, pelo oscuro, ojos profundos de cuarzo negro y piel fina y suave, como de seda.

Así, el gran mago le preguntó al muchacho que respondiera a una simple pregunta: Teniendo en cuenta que el mundo, todo aquello por lo que hemos luchado durante miles de millones de años, todo aquello que conocemos y amamos está a punto de morir, dime, sin más tapujos y a mayor brevedad posible, cuál es tu mayor deseo? La respuesta, condenó al mundo, eso sí, el muchacho murió feliz, pues ésta fue

su respuesta:

- Amo al planeta, quiero a la raza humana y me encantaría que todo esto tan bello se salvase. –reconoció el muchacho- Aun así, lo único que deseo antes de morir, es ver su (refiriéndose a la muchacha de pelo rizado) pulcro rostro adornado con una de sus amables y cálidas sonrisas.

Nothing is what it seems

There was not a single soul beneath the twinkling darkness. The lights of the city were illuminating this little and poor house where I rest, alone, with nothing apart from my isolation and my old and loyal bloodhound.

That night was passing through the time as peaceful as butterflies flap their wings, with nothing useful to do, and lots of issues to think about. But no one to hear, feel or just not to pay attention, but nothing, only silence, which is, for me, the most boring and useless sound that has existed on the Earth all through time.

Fortunately, things don’t happen as they should. I was immersed in my own mind when, suddenly, a bullet struck the thick concrete wall with which I use to protect myself from the breezy hardness of natural elements. A bit of time was needed for me to realise that my peace had been penetrated by the sound of a brick broken by a life threatening shot.

As usual in this type of situation, I frightened myself as if my soul was going to fall into a black hole. I quickly woke my faithful dog, dressed up with my “Sunday best” clothes and walked outside with my rifle, made in 1887 by the best armory in Britain, in order not to show the fear inside my eyes if the danger was coming.

I don't know what kind of joke was represented by the bullet that night that entered the hard way in my house, but so far, this incident has never happened again in order to make me suspect about the culpability of this fact. I will never forget the only issue that took me out of my thoughts, just a grain of sand of the high rocky mountain of my isolated life.