Joaquine: Short Stories and Poems

The waves crashed against the Pier as the sun set over the Pacific. The wind blew and the sea lions sung the last song of the day. The seagulls fished their food around the green garbage cans. The black trumpeter with his colorful hat played and the lights flickered on.  People zoomed by the lost children that held their hands on the red benches with their red cheeks and matching shorts. The carousel circled and circled as they glanced from side to side. The boy with his blue eyes held the hand of his sister as he continued to scan the sea of strangers that laughed too loud and ate colorful candies. “She will come back for us soon.” He said stretching his neck to try and peek over the crowd. His sister nodded as her big green eyes looked up to him. He wore his favorite red baseball cap, the one with the roaring lions and the one his father gave to him before he passed away last winter in middle of December. His father said it was an early Christmas present. It was a cold morning wi

The incense lifted into the dark and stormy night and the fire burned under the tent where the Monks counted the rosary to get rid of their worldly desires and once again be reborn. Minutes turned into hours and their faith remained awake while their ghostly desires whispered and taunted in iced hushes that shivered them and turned the candles wild. The darkness turned into a misty apparition that iced their resolve and cold sweaty hands held the rosary, chants and prayers crawled to a stop as the fire died and the human desires unrelentingly awaken the images of a warm bed and food were reborn along the taunting laugh of the shepherd girl: free and wild. She with her milky body that danced on top of the iced grasses outside the monastery as the Sun set her in fire and accentuated her naked figure and turned her wild blond hair into a hallow of light, the Virgin Mary reborn. Hard under their tunics the Monks held on to their rosaries, transpiring they climbed to their

The Shallow Canal Water splashed as the sole of our feet crossed the shallow canal that slowly descended the skirts of the ancient mountain with its snowy crown that ruled the innocent minds of our ancestors and the forest that it protected. The fresh air filled our lungs and we leaped forward into the forest where prey and hunter danced to Death. Ceremoniously we presented our offers to the ancient Sun that stood as our omniscient guardian. Protector of the realm that brought swift demise and death to the creatures of the darkness. The face of our innocent children shone as the Sun rays caressed the shallow canal in the heated summer and they carried forward with their echoing laughs as they played in the protected tree glove where parents watched the games of the innocent and where time stopped as the splashing water of the shallow canal soaked their cinnamon hair. But, a midst happiness Death lurked not far. It came out of blinding sky with its ancient wings spre

La Calle de Los Muertos She with the half worm infested face marches, among others, holding her long stick-candle, It is her only guidance in the world of the living. Her once long black beautiful hair, Now hangs along her face like some rusty copper wires. She half laughs, with her toothless mouth, remembering how long she spent in front of the mirror combing and cleaning every imperfection that her face showed. She continues the march of the dead. The heavy chains around her feet drag along the dusty road. She cannot remember how she got here, one moment she was singing her favorite tune on the car, and the next she was walking among the other corpses. It is an endless march. She thinks, but now she feels like it is almost the end. Just like when you feel you have almost arrived at your destination. The night seems brighter, The wind feels fresh and calm, And she feels her dead beating, or perhaps is just her old human way of explaining things. She feels her legs we

Cat Town: Part I “Tell me not who I was instead tell me who I am. Because who I am is not who I once was.” Dusk bathed the Town in that colorful orange smell of the ending of the day and the warm arrival of a clear night. A starless night, but clear or so clear. The cars zoomed quietly tired drivers with food in their minds drove calmed as the Sun rays set over the mountains. This was the time when our nightly companions came awake. With their stretched pawns and jaws they crawled their way out of their hiding places. The Kings of the night licked themselves and their supernatural noses captured the essence of their fellow friends and enemies alike. Also, the delicious smell of cooking meat and the opening of trashcans as their human servants deposited the delicious food for the Kings. The offerings for the mighty like gods of old. It was Cat Town after all. The human name of the town did not matter, when there were more felines than humans. A secret that the K