I Write Novels And Short Story Books
The pattering on the roof
By: Andres Becerra
First release -
The unfathomable depths of complex human mind play tricks on us more often than we can tell. Our brain depicts images and visions of happenings that might be stored in the subconscious or might probably be forgotten by us, existing in a past that our own mind denies to recall, or simply tries not to bring about. The problem comes when such things trespass the boundaries of sanity and invade and conquer our mostly concealed fears unknown by others... even by ourselves. And even worse when such things cross the line of imagination and become a part of our weak reality and our tangible existence.
I was five years old then, too young to remember, intelligent to question myself though. I questioned that day as I’ve never questioned some other things in my life. Blurry images of such happenings I'm about to tell still come to my mind; sometimes in dreams, some other times as a reminiscence, so vivid, so present. They are fed by a story of that day; a story told by my grandfather whenever he has the chance. Sometimes when we are gathered for this or that reason, in a holiday, a birthday celebration or a family reunion, he happens to tell the same story we all know by heart. However, I feel I know more than the rest, undoubtedly because I was there. It seems my grandfather got terribly shocked by what happened and you will clearly understand the reason of such eventual state of mind. It was shocking to me as well, but, not back then; the shock developed with the time. As I grew older I began to understand that what we lived couldn’t have been natural whatsoever and that no rational explanation exists to justify the horrid things we saw.
By: Andres Becerra
First release -
The unfathomable depths of complex human mind play tricks on us more often than we can tell. Our brain depicts images and visions of happenings that might be stored in the subconscious or might probably be forgotten by us, existing in a past that our own mind denies to recall, or simply tries not to bring about. The problem comes when such things trespass the boundaries of sanity and invade and conquer our mostly concealed fears unknown by others... even by ourselves. And even worse when such things cross the line of imagination and become a part of our weak reality and our tangible existence.
I was five years old then, too young to remember, intelligent to question myself though. I questioned that day as I’ve never questioned some other things in my life. Blurry images of such happenings I'm about to tell still come to my mind; sometimes in dreams, some other times as a reminiscence, so vivid, so present. They are fed by a story of that day; a story told by my grandfather whenever he has the chance. Sometimes when we are gathered for this or that reason, in a holiday, a birthday celebration or a family reunion, he happens to tell the same story we all know by heart. However, I feel I know more than the rest, undoubtedly because I was there. It seems my grandfather got terribly shocked by what happened and you will clearly understand the reason of such eventual state of mind. It was shocking to me as well, but, not back then; the shock developed with the time. As I grew older I began to understand that what we lived couldn’t have been natural whatsoever and that no rational explanation exists to justify the horrid things we saw.
36-40, M
