The Boy from Idoya

Reader Logo by Lisa Marie Basile




Today I ran to the barn from the little cortijo and back. And again, to the barn from the little cortijo and back. My knees were bleeding and there were little pieces of pottery stuck in bumps between the bones. Some people were crawling up from the hill down towards the town. I could hear them praying. Some of them were weeping. I could smell their blood.

"Get me the book, hijo. Por favor, por favor," my mother begged. She was on the floor between the window and the door. Her wrists were fat. I could see them from the insides of her white shirt. Her bloodshot eyes were little and beady, and they looked like the kind of amulets she kept inside her skirt pockets. They watched me as I left the room. I felt their burn inside my back, the stars she shot as I turned from her.

Read More at the Front View