ALWAYS WHERE DECEMBER (Christmas Carol)
HAPPY HOLIDAYS!
My Christmas present, in story form .
DECEMBER WHERE IS ALWAYS This life disgusts me. The routine makes me unbearable. Always the same, year after year. When I arrived, I was fascinated by this world. Everything was new, different from what we had known before. The house that I was fortunate it was one of the best placed, next to river. The landscape, with mountains in the background, snow at any time of year, it seemed idyllic. I loved opening the window in the morning and feel the smell of wood burning in fireplaces, the smell of roasting meat, cold in the face and hands. The villagers were always friendly, welcomed me warmly and I soon became one more perfectly adapted to the quiet life. Each brought something of yours, to be pulling. A sheep, chickens. And soon I also had a well at my disposal. It was a surprise as well. One morning I woke up and there it was, in the middle of the small garden surrounding my humble farm. Yes, over the years this has become a farm, with pigs and everything. Around here everyone calls me the farmer.
At first, I say, everything seemed fine. I even fall in love with the miller. A girl plump and pleasing, that I revealed their secrets in the barn that his family built behind the old mill. Oh, the miller. He married last year with the baker in town. Business things, I repeat. Says me missed, and from time to time remember the old days among the sheaves of hay, and even if there are few secrets to discover us. But not like before.
Nothing is as before. The kids, my farm that once roamed happily running around and screaming, now have fun otherwise. They painted on the facades, stone lights adorning the windows, break the ice covering the river and gives them to shit in the most unexpected. It pulls down his pants and, Cisco. It all started when the boy came, from a region northeast of a faraway country whose name I do not remember, and ordered fashion, it seems somewhat traditional in his homeland.
Neither the soldiers, who used to go down and around town are upset and in hanging around here. Do not leave the castle. I always loved the castle, an imposing, presides over the hill at the edge of town. With its round towers, battlements perfect, his play of light and water. They say the king, who has great power, hates children. Rumored to have many enemies who will not leave his fortress for fear of encountering one of them. I do not know if this is true, but parents use his name to frighten their children when they misbehave.
River this year is cloudy. Before he was famous, the river was called Silver. The ice cream was a layer of silver, bright and beautiful as the night full moon. The frozen sheets, as thin, looked like paper, so fragile that threatened to shatter or crumple at the slightest movement. I used to spend hours on the bridge, watching the cold, shiny surface of the river, watching the ducks did not dare to cross to the other side, looking to shore up banks washers walking down, with her spotless apron and baskets clothing at the hips. Now the rivers are dirty. It becomes impossible to wash clothes, women complain, and you want to drink or fish. There was a very famous song that talked about it, "but look how they drink The fish in the river", and no longer remember how I was.
All rot and fashions change. In recent years everyone has given up the mountain and take the firs. They put them in their homes and decorate them with ribbons and colorful balls. Some people put lights. For children, they say. I, the truth, I am not amused. Again I gave to plant palm trees in the road. The following year they were gone.
last few days very strange things are happening in town. Several pastors have disappeared without trace. For no apparent reason, no reason for it. His sheep have fled to the forest and at night without comfort balan, silencing the howling of wolves. Everyone is afraid. Recently, the stars shine in a special way and say that lies ahead the arrival of a comet. Every day at noon, a week ago, the bells sound house without anyone touching them. Children come to the door and sing to the rhythm simple and catchy song that nobody knows where they have taken, "Campana sobre campana bell and a ..."
The innocent Bautista says he lost in the bush and there appeared an angel who told him marvelous events. From that day through the streets mounted on a sheep, brandishing in his hand an olive stick waving like a flag. "I am a prophet, Gabi told me the angel" it says, and repeats something about the arrival of a savior who will redeem the world. Poor fellow has lost his mind completely.
These strange phenomena coincided with the appearance of outsiders. A very cute couple, she was pregnant, about to give birth. They look legit. He is a bit strange, is averse to the pigeons go crazy when he sees one. That said, I do not know. I think a good man. She has something special. A virginal aura combined with a strength of spirit out of the ordinary. As if touched by the gods. His arrival has sparked some commotion. The shepherds have come down to see them, the neighbors bring gifts, even the soldiers were snooping, asking questions. He is a carpenter, I am told. Presented without more, riding on a donkey, with little luggage. They have settled in the old abandoned barn on the outskirts, a place where the oxen and mules. All eagerly await the birth. They say women will be children, they understand these things.
The castle is an unusual stir. Three Wise Men have chosen our town for a visit. The rumor has spread in recent hours. They say they are guided by a star. I do not believe these rumors, but who knows. They also say that one of them has skin jet black as coal. Other reports are kings and have magical powers. Apparently camel ride and have crossed seas and deserts to arrive here. They are accompanied by an entourage of pages with boxes filled with gifts: gold, frankincense, myrrh ... The people are very imaginative, they believe anything they say.
I'm sick. Every year the same. Every December the same legends, the same rumors. And in the end, nothing ever happens. This village will never be famous. This Bethlehem in which we develop our presence will remain, for ever and ever. Sometimes I get the impression that I've lived it. That I am doomed to repeat the same thing every year, around this time. I wonder what ever it is summer here, why the children never grow up, why time seems to stand still. I would like out of here, meet other worlds. But I feel trapped, as if he were punished to live in a shoe box and out until mid-December. When I comment these feelings with my neighbors, they just shrug and look at me with condescension, as if he were crazy.
Maybe this year is different. Maybe a child is born and visit us some wise men. They say the girl out of accounts on the night of Dec. 24.
Today 
El manifiesto de Abla es el resultado de la r 
