Never More

The sky was dark grey. From time to time, some deafening noises could be heard, followed by a sudden blinding light provoked by the lightnings. Heavy rain battered against his body, so his clothes weighted more, making his purpose of fleeing more difficult. The path was bordered by trees, whose branches were naked, whose roots came from the floor and invaded it. His heartbeats echoed in his ears. He could even feel his pulse.

«You promised».

His feet were numb and he fell on the floor. A moan let out his lips. He could not help starting to cry, mixing his tears with the rain. He could feel how the rain soaked his clothes, how mud stuck to his body, how the wet soil penetrated into his nostrils. He felt his throat burning due to the lack of air. He put his hand on his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart out of control due to hear that voice again. He wanted to get up while he looked around, trying to focus beyond the rain, trying to look for the person who had talked.

The sound of something metallic being dragged on the ground sending shivers down his spine. He felt cold. And he knew that it was not because of the rain. Little by little, he turned back. At the beginning, he did not see anything until, after a lightning, he could distinguish a figure in the distance that was dressed with a black tunic and his face was hidden.

It was in that moment when he heard a caw. He looked ahead again, looking that raven that was just in front of him, looking at him with its black eyes. He was paralyzed and his throat was dry. For some moments, he felt like if those black eyes had hypnotized him, until the sound of that metal being dragged could be heard closer. The raven cawed again and then, flew, leaving him all alone while the sound of death could be heard over the sound of the rain.


«Why do you flee?»

The fear invaded his soul, so he stood up and started to run. He did not want to look back, he did not want to see what that thing, that followed him, was. He ran looking ahead, realizing that a fine mist started to appear, obscuring the horizon. He stopped and put his hands over his head, falling on the floor again, in front of the lake’s edge that put an end to the path. He could see how the water was dark grey.

For a moment, he retained his breathing, waiting to hear that sound, waiting to feel the same cold freezing his body. However, he just listened to the sound of the rain. He closed his eyes, crying in silence. What happened? What did that monster mean?

He opened his eyes, being aware of his own reflection in the lake. He moved closer, seeing his dry hair that was on his forehead, his gaunt face, the blood’s trail on his cheek, more blood in his mouth… Blood? He opened his eyes, his body started to tremble. He put his trembling fingers in the surface of water, to the exact point where his face was and, he realized that his hands were stained with blood. He gasped when he saw both hands stained of the scarlet liquid. His eyes looked around, looking for an answer, but he only saw darkness in that stormy day.


His entire body trembled. The tears fell from his cheeks while his heart beat faster. He tried to shout, but no sound left his mouth. He tried to run, but his legs did not respond. A lightning lighted up the place and, some images about a lifeless body, stained of blood, came to his mind. He saw something metallic stuck in that body, he could even smell the blood and the stench of death.


He started to feel short of breath when he looked at the lake again, while his eyes focused on his reflection. A reflection that gave an image that he did not know: since when had he had those marks that looked like scratches under his eyes? Since when were his eyes so dark that looked like black? Since when did he smile, licking his lips for savouring the blood?


He shouted. He let that the heartbreaking pain that he felt deep inside escaped through his throat. He let that the pain and the confusion took the control over him. He did not understand. Was it real? He listened to the raven’s caw again. He could see in the reflection how there was a cycle of ravens flying over his head. Then, he knew it. He knew that the only monster was him.

«Finally you realised».

He turned back, watching the figure with the black hood just in front of him. He could not see the face, but he could see indeed that his hands were pale and that, in one of his hands, took a rusted axe. As he could, he stepped back, trying to escape from that laugh so familiar, getting into the lake.

«You cannot run away from me».

And, that was the moment when something grabbed him, he slipped on his back in the lake and he was dragged inside the lake. He tried to escape, but he couldn’t. He could only see how the surface of the water was farer, how darkness devoured him deep inside and his lungs burned due to oxygen deficiency. He felt arms around him and, the last thing that he saw was that black hood, which mixed itself to the darkness that surrounded him.

«Remember that you said that we’ll always be together».

And he remembered. He remembered being cuddled by those same arms many times. He remembered happiness and laughs. He remembered his broken heart as well. He remembered an axe. He remembered seeing the body of the only person that he loved lying on the floor.

«I’ve come to take you with me».

He felt that his conscious abandoned him while the air escaped from his lungs turning into bubbles. Would he be able to be free from the torment that he felt deep inside when death used its scythe?

«Never more».



«Merodeadoras noctámbulas»: only Luis García Montero’s quote is saved

«”THIS IS THE BEST BLOG TO PASS THE TIME!” Well, no one believes that. And, surely, “Bibliosía” will be a review about the worst  books ever written… The editor’s taste seems not very refined».

★★✩✩✩ By Celeste in Whinging Times.

«The blog Merodeadoras noctámbulas is offensive related to the good taste. The publications are ridiculous and meaningless, and the members want to look like renowned women of letters. Special attention deserves the disgusting section called “Mil y una noches”, whose editor boasts about a great undeserved self-esteem while her mind is still in the kindergarden in order to learn, fortunately, how to write before trying to show her creations to the world».

★✩✩✩✩ Por Mavichan in The Quibbler.

«Merodeadoras noctámbulas offers fresh ideas with good intentions. Thanks to the great variety, the reader can choke with the morning coffee due to the great reasons that it offers. Maybe the section “Inexperiencias lunáticas” is the reflection about that inexperienced beginner (because of the stupid tone), but without a doubt the hard work will be rewarded».

★★★✩✩ By Lunella in The Daily Prophet.

«A good blog is like a cake: excellent presentation, taste that leads to the sin and could be addictive. Well, all these things cannot be found in the blog Merodeadoras noctámbulas. It is the meaningless taken to the extreme. Special attention deserves the section “El Rincón del Cuervo”, because it could be said that Homer Simpson has more creativity than the editor who is taking charge of this and, obviously, needs therapy».

★★✩✩✩ By Rivaëlen in The Daily News.

«Merodeadoras noctámbulas is the best blog that I have found in all my life surfing the Internet. Special attention deserves the drawings that appear in each publication, they are worthy of Museum of Prado due to artist’s great skill. This is a wonder which you must not miss. By the way, I would pretend to be sarcastic».

✩✩✩✩✩ By Tinykittysoo in Brujo en Guerra.

«If you are looking for a feelings’ map or the ultimate guide to surviving corrector’s leash, then Merodeadoras Noctambulas is your place. Among its oddness, “Poeta averiada” will try to mix poetry in odd days and makes it an erotic festive comedy».

★★★✩✩ By Neis in The Daily Prophet.