microrrelato/microstory

Apenas se colaba un halo de luz por la ventana. Ya estaba decidido. No había nada que hacer. La copa temblaba en su mano. Un último trago le ayudaría. En la izquierda, el cañón bailaba caprichoso con el crepitar de la lumbre. Cuando se llevó la copa a los labios, apenas sintió nada, estaba vacía. Instintivamente se acercó a la mesa y abocó la botella. Casi se sale ensimismado como estaba observando el fluir del cobrizo líquido. Allí vio vida. Se llevó de nuevo la copa a los labios. Lentamente, saboreando el momento como pocas veces lo había hecho. Últimamente bebía con fruición, por inercia, como tantas otras cosas, había perdido el gusto de saborear una copa como tal, con el momento, con la vida. Ahora estaba saboreando ambas cosas. Irónicamente sus reflejos mentales reaccionaron: “Nunca pensé que mi alcoholismo me salvara la vida”...

Fernando García.

Hardly a halo of light streamed through the window. It was decided. There was nothing to do ... The cup was shaking in his hand. A last gulp would help him. On the left, the cannon was dancing with the gun crackle of the fire. When he took the cup to his lips, he barely felt anything, it was empty. Instinctively he approached to the table and doomed the bottle. It almost goes absorbed as he was watching the flow of the liquid copper. He saw life there. He took back the cup to his lips. Slowly, tasting the moment as he rarely had done before. Lately drank with relish, by inertia, like many other things,he had lost the pleasure of enjoying a drink, with the moment, with life. Now she was enjoying both things. Ironically their mental reflexes reacted: "I never thought befote that my alcoholism could save my life"...

Fernando García.