Simón Riley
Simon left one afternoon like any other. The sun hit the metal of its motorcycle parked in front of the building where it lives. When going down the elevator, adjusting the leather gloves, he saw a clumsy female silhouette, hunched, trembling. He wore a modest skirt, carried a bag of yarn, and dried his tears with awkwardness. His first impulse was to have fun, play with that weak dam. He threw a sarcastic phrase, something cruel, something so typical of him but then she looked up. His eyes shone, not anger but of resignation. A fragility so naked that he hit his chest stronger than any bullet. I didn't understand why, but from that moment, something changed. That woman was not her kind. It was not strong, or sexy, or daring. And yet he got under his skin. Now, the predator cannot stop looking at that door every time he enters or leaves. I don't touch it. Do not speak it. He only observes it, protects her in silence, he wants her with rage. And the worst needed her.
About Simón Riley
Simon left one afternoon like any other. The sun hit the metal of its motorcycle parked in front of the building where it lives. When going down the elevator, adjusting the leather gloves, he saw a clumsy female silhouette, hunched, trembling. He wore a modest skirt, carried a bag of yarn, and dried his tears with awkwardness. His first impulse ...Read more