Casas de novela

Estoy tomando notas* para describir la casa de Anita, la protagonista de mi nueva novela, y me han surgido estas preguntas.

• ¿Ella vive con sus padres? ¿sola? ¿con compañeros de piso?
• ¿es un piso o un apartamento? ¿es grande, pequeño?
• Si es grande, ¿es acogedor? Si es pequeño, ¿es coqueto o agobiante?
• ¿Es nuevo o viejo? Si es nuevo, ¿es confortable? Si es viejo, ¿es deprimente?
• ¿es una vivienda estándar, con decoración a la moda, o llena de personalidad? ¿Refleja el carácter y los gustos de la protagonista?

Pretendo ir paso a paso y desarrollar una descripción que le dé carácter al lugar donde ella vive, y al mismo tiempo ella se vea influenciada por su entorno, y cómo se relaciona con él.

Esto me recuerda a la trilogía de Millennium, de Stieg Larsson, tan vapuleada; me gustaban las descripciones de los pisos de Lisbeth, porque eran un reflejo de su personalidad y su estado de ánimo, y acababan teniendo personalidad propia, hasta convertirse en otros personajes.

Ahora mismo recuerdo «Rebeca» (solo he visto la película), «Casa tomada», un relato de Julio Cortázar, y «Ventana secreta, secreto jardín» de Stephen King.

¿Qué casas «de libro» os resultan más atractivas? ¿Cuáles os han ayudado a vivir una historia más intensamente? ¿Cuáles creéis que se funden mejor con los protagonistas?

 

Ocurrió en mi cocina (mini relato rescatado)

Estoy de pie en mi cocina y pongo la tetera a hervir. De pronto veo que un gato me está mirando desde fuera, apoyado en el alféizar, y me extraña, porque yo no tengo gato. Tampoco los he visto por el barrio en mucho tiempo.

 

Reboot de algo que publiqué en enero, para refrescarnos estos días

A veces hago Fanfics

-You know what? Fuck it all. We are going down swinging. – She picked a CD from the space between the front seats and chose one she had found, only female rockers in it. They listened to Janis Joplin, Hole, Alanis Morrissette, No Doubt, and Patty Smith. They played it three times in a row during the following four hours, but they didn’t want to sing along to it. Until Lux began to mumble “Because the night”. At first she was quiet, but then she started singing aloud, turned the volume up and opened the windows.

Come on now try and understand / the way I feel under your command / take my hand as the sun descends/

And in that moment, Megan followed her.
They can’t touch you now, / can’t touch you now, can’t touch you now / Because the night belongs to lovers/Because the night belongs to love/Because the night belongs to lovers/Because the night belongs to love

And finally Sue went along, from the bottom of her heart.
With love we sleep / with doubt the vicious circle / turn and burns / without you I cannot live
forgive, the yearning burning / I believe it’s time, too real to feel / so touch me now, touch me now, touch me now

-This is adult car here, please shut the fuck up or you will get us all eaten alive…-said Mike

Lux flipped the finger out of the window.
Because the night belongs to lovers/Because the night belongs to love/Because the night belongs to lovers/Because the night belongs to love

Lux wouldn’t remember it well, when she tried to recall it months later. She saw a huge, oxidized metal plate laying on the ground, before her, and rapidly thought of breaking the car at once, but then realized something.

-Hold on to yourselves! I can’t stop or the car behind will hit us!

The spikes blew off the tires and she lost control of the car, which started spinning. She tried to control it twisting the wheel in the same direction, as her brother told her once, but it didn’t work. After three rounds, they stopped. They couldn’t hear a noise.

-Are you good? -asked Sue

-I am. -said Megan.

-Let’s get out of here, I’m heading to the bushes. -said Lux.

-Why? -asked Sue.

-Because this is a spiderweb and we are the flies.

She left and heard the first shots. She hid into the bush and waited, breathing fast. There were screams and more shots, and she started feeling bad, because she must had waited for the others. But she was so scared she couldn’t think in those terms. She then thought she might be more useful if she wasn’t caught, but it seemed like a stupid excuse anyway.

-You are alone, bitch. You are alone again. -she unlocked her desert eagle and swallowed saliva.

The noises stopped and she waited. She only heard a walker moaning in the distance, and some branches creaking around.

She didn’t give in, and she didn’t know why. She waited until she heard a dog barking close to her, and then the first raindrops hit her face. And she got out from her hiding place, and she fought. She shot, and cut, and she got beaten, and cut, and bitten by a dog. A dog so big it looked like the ones on the horror books she read at home when she was fourteen. And then she got knocked out.

(Basado libremente en )