Turbio

Es una joya en forma de don. Para algunos tiene un valor inmaculado, para otros es desapercibido, a unos les asusta y otros quizá, solo no lo pueden entender. A mí me inquieta, tanto como lo hace un…

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No A

Here lies the first test of my writing skills using this wretchedly limited repertoire: twenty five letters persist where one is extinguished.

My linguistic desires led me unrelentingly to this moment, which is likely the most difficult duty I ever did set out to perform.

Bound for success? Possibly.
Will I stop? Nope.

Holding tight to form, I employ this method of representing sounds through written or printed symbols, continuously, for your enjoyment.

How much written content must I produce before quitting: one hundred words or one million? Trekking into unexplored territory, I dither pointlessly, eschewing writer’s block with every ticking second.

“Eye for eye, whole world blind,” the boy muttered to himself in broken English. Why did this thought suddenly enter into his mind? Nobody knows.

(This is silly. Who in their right mind is going to peruse this nonsense, completely shifting their routine on some fine evening in mid-June?)

“Order in the court,” the boy whispers to his friend Beth. She giggles, returning the quickest of quips.

“Court session.” She replies, beginning the following second-word-becomes-first-word contest to see who is the most clever.

“Session beer.” Beth is perplexed by how he knows this term. She remembers her folks uttering this expression only once throughout her entire childhood.

“Beer before liquor.” She broke the rules here, but the boy will permit the fumble for now.

“Liquor license,” he retorted.

“License to kill.”

Two strikes, thought the boy. “Kill yourself.” Things turned morbid quite suddenly.

“Knock it off, Jeremy.”

///

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