420hamlet
420 Hamlet
420 años de Hamlet /
420 historias cortas de
420 palabras cada una /
Terminando en el año 2024 (420.2)
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Y I N & Y A N G
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Día 107: "Una historia donde un atrapasueños sea símbolo de guía espiritual"
"What a piece of work is a man, how noble in
reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving
How express and admirable; in action how like
an angel, in apprehension how like a god: the
beauty of the world, the paragon of animals—and
yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?" - Hamlet.
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Atrapasueños- Raul Victoria III (#107)
A mis 5 años, regresando de un viaje, mi papá me regaló un atrapasueños. Lo colgó en la cabecera de mi cama y me dijo que me protegería de mis pesadillas, así podría dejar de preocuparme por lo que mi mente pudiera llegar a inventar al dormir. Esa fue mi primera noche sin sueños. El místico protector no solo se quedó con mis pesadillas, también atrapó todos mis sueños, y yo me acostumbre a dejarlos ahí. Era más sencillo. Todas las preocupaciones y ansiedades dejaron de existir, no había nada que me empujara en ninguna dirección...y me llevó a una muy buena vida.
La espiritualidad me hizo sentir protegida, y me dio un camino que seguir. Primero me adentré en la magia de la naturaleza. La de los cristales y sus energías, las piedras y su fuerza, el agua y su vitalidad. Después llegué al yoga; a crear conexiones con mi cuerpo, mi espíritu y el de cada cosa que me rodea. En ello encontré mejores hábitos para el comer, dormir e incluso respirar. Mi comprensión de la belleza del mundo era casi incomparablemente profunda. A lo largo de todos esos años me casé y tuve dos hijos que crecieron en una casa llena de amor. Mi atrapasueños todavía colgaba en mi lado de la cama y mi espíritu era pleno. Pero la vida no se detuvo y…en algún momento, las cosas dejaron de ir tan bien.
Cambios en mi ambiente y en las personas que me rodeaban me llevaron a sentirme perdida. A sentir la tragedia de tener una vida plena, pero sin nada que provenga del interior. Del mundo exterior yo lo entendía todo: en los árboles notaba su dolor, en el agua su proceder, en la gente su profundo sentir, pero, en mí, en el mundo interior, no sentía nada. Conectando con los demás obtenía su completa honestidad y ellos, en cambio, no obtenían nada de mí. No había nada en mí que ofrecer. Fue el punto más bajo de mi vida.
Hasta que lo vi.
En mi cabecera, grande y desgastado, contenía un tesoro. En él estaban, desde hace ya varios años, atrapados todos mis sueños, y yo, al fin, llegué a necesitarlos. Lo arranqué de la pared y lo partí a la mitad con mis manos. En una explosión salieron volando por toda la habitación una infinidad de ilusiones de todo tipo y momento, pegándose en cada rincón. Al fin era momento, de dejar de atraparlos y esconderlos, para ahora liberarlos y perseguirlos hasta alcanzarlos.
420 palabras.
Instagram: @thevictoryville
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Día 106: "Una historia donde las Polaroids representen la memoria de un personaje"
"O, that this too, too sullied flesh would melt,
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew,
Or that the Everlasting had not fixed
His canon ’gainst self-slaughter!" - Hamlet.
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Polaroids- Raul Victoria III (#106)
I find no familiar faces around me. These do not tell tales I’ve lived through. It isn’t my life. How could it be if I don’t remember any of it? I think back to my first memory, it’s of waking up inside this room. The best day of my life, I can’t decide if I have even lived more than this one. The worse one? I can see something: a blur, a punch, some people murmuring around me…no images though. Maybe I can find the image here, in this gallery of polaroids surrounding me.
I stand up. They are everywhere. The walls have them one on top of each other, sometimes all you can see is a corner. On the ceiling they aren’t as tight together, but the empty spaces seem to be a consequence of gravity. The floor is the most whimsical, the pictures seem to be creating a pathway for me to step on, like they were placed to be observed as you walk around. All the doors and furniture are filled with them too.
There are pictures of everything. Some have people and are quite normal, group pictures of happy gatherings, some pictures of couples, I’m there mostly, with a woman I can’t recognize, probably my girlfriend, wife? I don’t know, if I see her, I must ask her all about this. She seems to be the author of the pictures too, being invisible in most and, when she appears, all seem to be selfies.
The less people in a picture the more I seem to enjoy it. Lone people in what seem to be modern portraits of their true lives. I see a man eating a melting popsicle getting his clothes completely ruined. I see a girl who, in a literal blur, seems to be falling face first to the ground after a speedy race with a dog, it even makes me smile. And then there are all the snap moments of earth itself. A ripe orange hanging from a tree in a green field. A stoplight with all the colors on at the same time and the cars doing their best not to crash in a chaotic intersection. A group of hairs in a huge ball from what was probably a cat. It’s beautiful. Nothing sparks my mind or gives me back my own life. It might be forever gone.
But they give me something better. The excitement that comes with knowing life is amazing and I get to live it all again from scratch.
420 palabras.
Instagram: @thevictoryville
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Día 105: "Una historia donde un arociris represente la promesa de mejores cosas por venir"
"O, my offense is rank, it smells to heaven;
It hath the primal eldest curse upon ’t,
A brother’s murder." - Claudius (Hamlet).
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Time Keepers IV- Raúl Victoria III (#105)
Finally, you broke your watch. It was bound to happen. We were on our collision course and things break when you crash, especially as hard as we did. Nevertheless, my truth can’t be the only truth and I don’t know the reality of these events. Although my memories disagree with it, here’s your version of how…
I broke my watch.
Well, it wasn’t my hands that broke it, but my actions. You gifted me the watch on a normal dinner some years ago, back when we used to dine together. I really missed you at dinner, I still do. The first two whole months I held hope, went home, cooked, and waited for you to arrive. Sometimes you let me know beforehand you weren’t, but it wouldn’t stop me, I had hope. Through many lonely nights of storm, I hoped you’d come, and we’d share in love as we did before. It never happened.
On the third month I started staying later at work. Some guys wanted to have dinner together and we made it a thing. I let you know of course, and it seemed fantastic, less loneliness for me, meant better things for us, it used to at least. These dinners became normal as they started to happen more often. First it was Mondays, then Fridays too, after, we had Wednesdays and, before we found out, it was truly every day that we were eating together. I discovered my coworkers were fun and that a few beers during the week couldn’t hurt anybody. I was wrong.
That’s when I met her. She was…like a rainbow and the pot of gold at the end of it all at once.
It had been raining all night and morning when we finally got out of work that day. We went to our usual spot, but, inspired by the now unfamiliar sunlight, we decided to stay outside. Apparently other departments had done the same on this sunny day because, three tables from us, human resources were enjoying the heat too. We waved them over and they joined. I didn’t even notice her at first. We just hung out and had a fun time. But then, she asked for the time. I looked at my watch and, as I looked up to tell her, the golden sun passed through her crystal earrings, creating a rainbow directly on my chest. She noted the time and said her goodbyes. But, as she walked away, I was deeply hypnotized by the rainbow which followed her around.
420 palabras.
Instagram: @thevictoryville
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Día 104: "Una historia donde una flor marchita represente la partida de la belleza"
"Her death was doubtful,
And, but that great command o’ersways the order,
She should in ground unsanctified been lodged
Till the last trumpet." - Priest (Hamlet)
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Time Keepers III- Raul Victoria III (#104)
When I got home it was pouring outside. The short way from our driveway into our house got me damped wet. I walked inside knowing it would make a mess, ready to clean it afterwards. I saw my meal prepared, with a note telling me how long to heat everything in the microwave for, and flowers on the table. Nothing huge, no bought flowers, these were flowers you saw during your day and collected for me. I smiled. I loved you.
I took the tiny bouquet with me and, before preparing any food, or cleaning anything, I went to our bedroom. You were asleep. Outside, the wind was knocking on windows, the rain was smashing against the floor and the lightning exploded in a thunder of war. You were asleep, I gave you a soft kiss in your beautiful, smiling, sleeping face and you didn’t wake, nothing could disturb you. I put the flowers on my bedside table, got my pajamas and towel, cleaned up and, tired, rid the house of the water path I’d created. Finally, I went to the kitchen and ate the delicious dinner you’d made for us. I sat down for a moment on the couch watching some TikTok’s. The rain’s lullaby cradled me to sleep. When I woke up, I was covered in a blanket on the couch and a note on mi hand said:
“You look pretty when you sleep”.
I woke up early to work, you woke super early. We used to have our afternoons together, but I had just started to miss them, and now, with my broken chronometer, I started to fully lose track of time, so badly that we had even missed a night. No time had been for us in an entire day and night, we had been, for the first time in so long, alone. And it would only get worse.
The whole month it kept raining, and I kept missing it. I was training: when we weren’t physically training, we were physically relaxing, so we were mentally training; when we weren’t mentally training, we were mentally relaxing, so we were mentally bonding. That’s how we build up a team. We swept the entire competition and kept preparing daily for the next one, we did it continuously for weeks, and then months.
Unable to keep track of time, I couldn’t tell how much went by. When we arrived to the final competition of the season, it was summer vacation, and the girls were happy and healthy. Finally, a true break. We finished early, so I returned home early…and you weren’t there. In our room, the flowers still laying at my bedside table, had wilted. I had forgotten them, and they were dying. At some point in the night, you came into bed and hugged me to sleep. The storm raged on.
(...)
Instagram: @thevictoryville
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Día 103: "Una historia donde un cuervo en el alfeizar presagie tragedia"
"We fat all creatures else to fat us, and we fat ourselves for maggots." - Hamlet.
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Disculpe que lo Moleste...- Raul Victoria III (#103)
“¡Hola! ¡Muy buenas tardes!” una voz habló desde donde el cuervo estaba parado.
“¡AY CABRÓN!” por poco me zurro del susto. O el maldito pájaro estaba hablando o yo estaba perdiendo la cordura.
Era la segunda vez en el día que el pájaro se venía a parar en mi ventana. Un maldito cuervo gigante, o al menos más grande que cualquier otro que yo hubiera visto en mi vida, se quedaba parado en el alfeizar de mi ventana, me buscaba mi mirada, o al menos mi rostro, y entonces comenzaba a graznar interrumpiendo mis 10 horas de televisión diarias. Sus graznidos subían y subían de volumen además de velocidad tanto que tuve que ahuyentarlo a gritos y aplausos. No pareció asustarse, ni preocuparse, pero se marchó volando.
Ahora había regresado, y en lugar de graznar, hablaba.
“Disculpe que lo moleste señor…” con los ojos tan abiertos como mi boca noté que me había caído de nalgas hasta el suelo, “…y el susto también” y ya no había duda, ese monstruo abría la boca y una voz salía de ella. “Pero quería hacerle una pregunta,” empecé a arrastrarme hacía atrás, “¿ya conoce usted los seguros de muerte?” y me detuve de nuevo.
“¿Seguros de muerte?” le pregunté.
“Así es ¿señor…?” el pájaro esperaba que yo terminara.
“Emm…Martínez”.
“Señor Martínez, ¿conoce los seguros de vida cierto?”
“Así es” me comencé a levantar para seguir esta conversación.
“Bueno, un seguro de muerte es lo mismo, pero al revés. En el seguro de vida usted paga para tener dinero que dar a sus amados en el caso de su muerte. Tome asiento por favor” me invitó el cuervo.
“Aja…” y acerqué una silla a la ventana.
“Bueno, en el seguro de muerte usted recibe beneficios durante toda la vida y sus seres amados pagan en el momento de su muerte” dijo y casi podría decir que sonrió, “¿podría abrir la ventana?” yo asentí, abrí la ventana y cuestioné:
“Creo que no comprendo…”
“Señor Martínez,” continuó entrando en mi casa, “¿nunca ha sentido que su vida está incompleta? ¿Nunca ha pasado una tarde solo y sin nada que hacer viendo la televisión por horas y sintiendo como su cuerpo lentamente envejece? ¿Nunca ha recordado los sueños que tenía de joven y volteado a su alrededor para sentirse como un verdadero fracaso?”
No pude ni asentir.
“Bueno, para eso son los seguros de muerte, tome nota,” y de su plumaje soltó un bolígrafo engravado que cayó en mi regazo. “Cada que usted sienta que la vida está estancada, un cuervo aparecerá con una oportunidad. Cada que sienta que su vida es aburrida, un cuervo aparecerá con una aventura. Cada que sienta decepción por lo que perdió en esta vida, un cuervo aparecerá con logros completados para usted” ya no tenía nada de raro que mi vendedor fuera un ave.
“¿Y cómo lo pagaré?” y me preparé para anotar.
“Esa es la mejor parte, usted no tiene que pagar nada. Ni tampoco sus hijos, ni sus nietos, ni nadie que usted pueda reconocer” contestó caminando de un lado a otro de mi escritorio.
“Entonces, ¿quién?” comenzaba a sonar todo muy bien.
“Su linaje, alguien que jamás conocerá ni siquiera por nombre o mención. Alguien tan separado de su genética que incluso usted y yo tendremos más en común” y volvió a sonreír, había algo frio en su sonrisa, tal vez era la blancura de su pico, nunca había visto un cuervo negro con el pico blanco...
“¿Entonces sería mucho después en el futuro?” pregunté interesado.
“¡Muchísimo después! Mientras tanto usted, señor Martínez, disfrutará de una vida sin muerte, una vida completamente activa, una vida completa y sin arrepentimientos. Incluso, una vida digna de ser recordada, si así lo deseara usted, y así será hasta que llegue su momento de descansar en paz” y un contrato cayó como una pluma frente a mí.
El bolígrafo ya estaba listo, mi vida ya estaba muerta, y el futuro de la humanidad también.
No dude en firmar.
(…)
666 palabras (420).
Instagram: @thevictoryville
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Día 102: "Una historia donde el sonido del trueno a la distancia aluda a la tormenta de conflictos que se aproximan"
"Soft you now,
The fair Ophelia.—Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remembered." - Hamlet.
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Time Keepers II- Raul Victoria III (#102)
Then, I broke my chronometer. The girls were all getting prepared for a big race next weekend. We were busy. From the sun rising in the cold, to the setting in a finally refreshing warmth. We were thirsty and tired; the girls were training like heroes. Suddenly it was eight at night and I hadn’t arrived home. So, you called.
“Hey hun, is everything well?” you asked concerned but unworried.
“Oh baby, I’m sorry!” I immediately realized what had happened.
“Don’t worry about it…” you were genuine.
“We’re just here training with the girls, say hi girls!”
“Hi girls!!!” all the girls responded in unison.
“Hi girls” you said to them, they didn’t hear you of course.
“I lost track of time, I’ll be there, but go ahead, eat without me” I urged you.
“I can wait…”
“Eat and rest…” we interrupted each other in kindness.
“I ca…”
“I’ll arrive, eat and shower, and then I’ll wake you”.
“I…”
“I’ll wake all of you” and you finally stopped.
“I shall eat and rest” you agreed.
We both laughed, we were good, life was well, and we loved each other. I called the girls for one last exercise, my brave girls reluctantly agreed. We readied and set ourselves, I whistled and started the clock…
Ashley ran directly towards me.
We crashed with fast acceleration, great job there Ash, I’ll give you that, and smacked ourselves all the way to the fence. And. It. Hurt.
These things happen sometimes. An imbalance due to being tired, physically, or mentally, or simply the low light we work underneath off, a trip and fall, anything. We checked ourselves, we felt everything. In the end we were fine, it was only pain, but we would be alright. Ash would probably still compete next weekend. We got up and gathered our things, laughing about it already. I found my chronometer on the track’s floor, it was broken, I could notice it working still, but the glass was so smashed that I could not see through. It was a big cloud of white cracks making all behind invisible. The girls murmured:
“Hey Ash, I think it’s gonna rain, wanna ride?”
“Yeah, can we go to DQ on the way?”
“Don’t eat too much girls!” I yelled from a distance.
“Yes coach” they were dedicated.
“But enjoy it very much!” I was nice.
“Yeah coach!” they knew it.
“See you tomorrow” I loved them.
“Byeee” I like to think they did too.
The girls were right, it was about to rain. I could hear the distant thunder on the fields. All the girls left, I got in the car and got back home, as rain started to fall.
(...)
Instagram: @thevictoryville
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Día 101: "Escribe una historia donde un reloj roto sea símbolo de una relación"
"For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause." - Hamlet.
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Time Keepers- Raul Victoria III (#101)
First, we broke the clock. It seemed like nothing at the time. Of course, in retrospect, it was the end of them. When we moved in together, we expected to live with nothing, no money, no belongings, nothing. Then, a tragedy blessed our lives. As my great-grand-uncle unexpectedly passed away and, through a series of connected inheritances, all his state found its way to me. Suddenly we were moving into a perfectly located city old mansion with ungodly old furniture, decoration, and smell. It was home. For quite a while we lived in it and enjoyed our little lives surrounded by a movie horror set. Oh, we were terrified of it, but we suffered it together and in love, so nothing ever hurt. Then, our lives started getting better. The money was more, the work hours less and our freedom of all choice started to shine. So, the house began to change. New furniture came first, as did new installations, the decoration got modernized afterwards and then the whole style. Renovation after renovation we changed the entire thing. In the end it was just us, the house of Theseus, and the clock. The generational clock from a corner of my unimportant family legacy. It wasn’t a hard choice. The clock was exiled from out home. We got a cart, struggled to place it on it, tied it tight, and attempted to move it down the stairs. The cart could hold the weight, but we couldn’t. It slipped from our fingers and rolled downstairs breaking in a variety of ways. We stood in shock for a moment, holding our breaths, and burst out laughing. Still cracking jokes and smiling, we took the clock out and left it there, the renovations were complete. The house was finally ours. Life was perfect.
And it doomed us.
Perfect lives are not suitable for humans. We can’t thrive in perfect conditions, there aren’t challenges. It leads to satisfaction, which leads to laziness and disconnection, which leads to separation, which leads to death. So, humans find and create its problems, even if only as a survival instinct. But we are also problematic and problems in ourselves. Take your attention from life outside, where no issues are left, and you start to notice the problems within. That was the beginning of our end, and it wasn’t our fault, it almost never is. That night we made love and fell asleep with smiles on our faces. But the clock had been battered and our time together was up.
(…)
420 palabras (420).
Instagram: @thevictoryville
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Día 100: "Escribe sobre la belleza femenina"
"O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven;
It hath the primal eldest curse upon 't,
A brother's murder." - Cladius (Hamlet).
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La même place- Raul Victoria III (#100)
Nuestras narices unen nuestros cuerpos en la punta. Mi cachete reposa en mi mano mientras la otra acaricia su cadera. Ella cubre su vientre con una mano y con la otra explora delicadamente mi rostro. Mordiendo mi labio, veo cada relajada respiración que toma, su pecho elevarse ligeramente y sus ojos cerrarse poco a poco en cada exhalación.
“Ça va?” me pregunta cambiando de posición y cerrando los ojos, alistándose para dormir. Yo no sé cómo contestar. “Pourquoi est ce vous ete embarrassé?” me sorprende la pregunta.
“Emm…” le sonrío, “creo que te estaba viendo y pensando en lo hermosa que eres y, tal vez, me sentí…menos. Como si alguien se fuera a enterar de que no te merezco, por ser…insuficiente” concluyo.
“Lo siento. Je ne voulais pas vous blesser” me da un beso en la nariz y regresa a su posición.
“No te preocupes, no me heriste, es mío…pero ¿cómo lo notaste?”
“Quand vous êtes embarrassée, vous mordez vos lèvres” me responde.
“¿En serio?” le pregunto.
“Cuando salimos y sentías tu ropa pequeña no dejabas de revisarte en los espejos y prácticamente estabas masticando tu labio” esboza una sonrisa dormitando.
“¿Cómo…cómo notaste eso?”
“Si vous me regardez, qui je regarde, moi?” dice con el feroz y dulce relámpago verde de sus ojos ahora abiertos.
“¿Me ves de regreso?” le contesto tocando mi frente, no sé que más decirle.
“Exactamente” con una sonrisa me sostiene la mirada hasta que dice, “Et quand vous ne savez pas quoi dire, vous touchez votre front” dice y se acerca con un abrazo.
“¿Ah si?” me río.
“Cada vez. Me fascina…saber que algo te dejó sin palabras” se burla de mí.
“Pues quand vous êtes troublée... vous respirez par la bouche” le compito.
“¿Cuándo me has visto preocupada?” pregunta como si fuera una imposibilidad.
“¿Todos los días antes de ir a ensayar?”
“¡Cruel!” finge estar ofendida.
“No, ¡real!” terminamos riendo las dos.
“Ahora no estoy respirando por la boca” comienza.
“Y yo me dejé de morder los labios y tocar la frente” termino su idea.
“Debemos estar cómodas” dice volviendo a intentar dormir.
“Yo siempre estoy cómoda contigo” le digo juntando de nuevo nuestras narices y cerrando los ojos.
Lentamente nuestras respiraciones se relajan y nuestras sonrisas se borran conforme nos vamos quedando dormidas. Juntas. Nos conocemos como iguales. Cuando yo la observo, ella me observa de regreso. Cuando yo la entiendo, ella me entiende de regreso. Estamos en el mismo lugar. Exactamente el mismo lugar. Somos una misma persona y nos amamos profundamente.
420 palabras.
Instagram: @thevictoryville
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Día 99: "Escribe sobre la belleza masculina"
"By and by is easily said." - Hamlet.
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