class e book of short stories
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Bachillerato de Bellas Artes U.N.L.P.
STORIES OF YOUNG PEOPLE
English Project: Class e-book of short stories, written by my 3rd year English
Teacher: Mara Cecilia Carattoli
Thank you, my dear 3rd year students, for your effort and creativity in writing these stories.
Thank you again, for helping me become a better teacher every day. You are my best teachers.
Gracias, mis queridos alumnos de 3er ao, por su esfuerzo y creatividad al escribir estas historias.
Gracias de nuevo, por ayudarme a ser una mejor profesora cada da. Ustedes son mis mejores maestros.
Contents Sugar Skulls ...Page 4 Written by Nicols Romagnoli, Franco Villoldo, Jano Morales Lopez and Valentino Petrecco. Illustrated by Nicols and Franco.Technique: tempera Tale of Revenge ....Page 8 Written by Dante Villegas, Malena Abait, Wayra Ramirez, Alexis Torales Vega,Matas Cherry and Lino Salamanca Palmioli. Its Just a Dream...Page 11 Written by Valentina Perdoni The Unexpected Disappearance.....Page 13 Written by Azul Suarez, Diana Gomez Ramos, Indira Reeynoso, Sofa Cabrera and M. Victoria Lovera Fallen in Combat .....Page 14 Written by Homero Glorioso Ceretti and Manuel Rojas
Sugar Skulls My four grandparents are buried in the same cemetery. To be more precise, in the same grave, one above another. That's why on Day of the Dead we have a large family gathering to visit the grave of our ancestors, but also take time out to engage in recreational activities. He agreed that in November last year, I received a suggestion from a friend to go at that time to an old hacienda is now Morelos hotel. He was the manager and he assured me that my whole family would go nicely as fun, rest and good food in the region were secured. We arrived in the evening to the property which had extensive pools, play areas and gardens that strangely looked deserted. No employee came out to meet us until an elderly woman who greeted us appeared. It was identified as the smiling housekeeper told us that the facility would be for our use only because there were more guests. Immediately we settled in our rooms, which were in what was the largest house of the Hacienda Beltran. Later, Mrs. touched door to door to notify that dinner was served, so we made an appointment in the rustic dining room, where we taste a rich and fresh jerky Yecapixtla Tlacoyos bean fillings. After dinner, the lady invited us out to the garden to light a campfire and when we were all around the pyre, they related the story of the old Porfirian Morelos haciendas, many of them, as we were, it specializing in the production of sugar. Just when I commented that the state had about 40 sugar estates, suddenly an old man's voice was heard saying: "37 to be exact." Startled, we all turned around to the place where the voice came, and saw a man wrapped in a serape, crouched, cutting the grass with scissors. He sat up and said, "Good evening, I'm Jerome, the gardener, but everyone calls me Don Jero. The man came to light the campfire and we saw his battered face and starving body. He said then: "Yes, folks, it had 37 estates, they were held by 18 wealthy families."
As if we were all under a hypnotic trance, listening to the old man continued, "sugar and its derivatives, such as cane alcohol and liquor, were very profitable products. But all that said lamentacin- progress ended when the rebels overthrew in 1910 to Don Porfirio ". His story was interrupted when the main gate was opened and we saw the lights of a car. It was my friend who was going to monitor our stay. I stepped forward to greet him and tell him about the mysterious gardener who, when we turn to the fire was gone. The face of my friend broke down and said, "he did it again". To my surprise, he confessed: "there is no gardener, he is a ghost, Don Jeronimo Beltran, the owner of the Hacienda, who violently died a century ago, along with his wife, to defend the property of the Zapatista forces."
With great detail, he recounted the fatal outcome of Don Jero, but asked me not to say anything because he needed the job and the appearances were driving vacationers and staff. I returned to my room startled, basting the strange events since our arrival; but also with the dilemma of telling the improbable story to my family or remain silent with the expectation that no more supernatural events continue to occur. Hardly settled to sleep, but at dawn, I was awakened by a noise. I looked out the window and into the darkness of the night I saw Don Jero, back, sweeping the leaves of the garden; then he turned, slowly began to move towards me and as he approached I could distinguish his face disfigured and bloody ending plague on the glass to say, "get out of here." Suddenly I closed the curtains and, terrified, I knew we had to leave that place as soon as possible.
Tale of Revenge
It's been 12 years since that fateful day. One day when my wife was killed by the cold hands of Jack Dooplers blood, a gangster who has dominated the city of Luxembourg with smuggling of weapons, drugs and women. The person I killed five days ago. My name is John Smith, I used to be a private detective who specializes in finding thieves and thugs who would work for Jack Doopler; every time I caught one, I questioned him for getting information so we could catch Doopler and bring him to justice. Or so they thought. What they really wanted was to kill Jack, since he was the one who took away my beloved wifes life in front of my eyes; five days ago I killed Jack Doopler with my own hands, as he did with my wife. Day 1: Calmy in my flat i was torturing one of the Dooplers henchmen when I heard someone knocking on my door; with my hands bloody and full of saliva and mucus I opened the door and saw a woman; she was a beautiful blonde with blue eyes with a smile capable of i conquering any man, his face a horrible feeling of sadness and regret, which I did not notice because I was mesmerized by the majesty of her slender body, her turbant breasts, her undulating hips, her firm legs and her beautiful blond hair falling over her face which she picked as an innocent girl. Awkwardly I asked her - Who are you and what do you want? - To which she replied - Wanna know how to get back at Doopler? -. I quickly closed the door in her face and went to wash my hands; when I finished I let her come in without caring about a half-dead man in my room. As soon as she sat down I asked who she was and what she knew of Doopler, have to which she replied that she was his wife. I must admit for a moment I hesitated whether to kill her or not, but then she confessed she recently found out what her husband had done and committed heinous acts to the city and its people, so she asked me to help her face her husband and bring him to justice. Day 2: Its 02:25 pm, 22 hours have passed since the last time I saw Dooplers wife, Christine Douglas; during our evening I told my story with Jack and she confessed hers to me. Before leaving she gave me some papers and bank accounts she had stolen from her husband's desk, including locations in all black markets, drug factories, bars and strip clubs where he
deposited and saved part of their finances and transactions, also several vessels and containers in which there were shipments with weapons. The night fell and i confirmed that the information Christine provided me was not false, now it only takes a little time and my thirst for vengeance will be reached. Days 3 and 4: With Christines information I have been able to get shipments of Dooplers weapons; I have removed all his money and destroyed his drug cartels throughout the city, so now i only need take to care of him in person. In recent days I have heard that the great Jack Doopler is desperate and has been abandoned by most of his subordinates, the police are after him and he can barely survive by hiding in his old drug factories. Then I started to get around when someone knocked on my door, it was Christine; I opened the door and I saw her. Desperate and with a face full of tears, kneeling on the ground begging for mercy before me, she asked me not to kill her husband. At first I did not understand why the person who had given me the information I used to achieve my revenge accumulated within me for 12 years ; suddenly prevented me from the same vengeance. Then I went crazy and hit her. Screaming, crying and blooded by my heating her, she began to beg for mercy for her husband and herself, trying in vain to convince me not to kill him, that sh