Siete minutos, Ismael Camacho Arango [read with me TXT] 📗

Homer took a wallet out of his pocket.
“I want a small boat,” he said. “Then you’ll contact a ship to rescue me on the third day.”
“That will cost you lots of money.”
“I’ll give you a few thousand dollars.”
The man disappeared inside his office while the girl looked at Homer.
“My virginity has no price,” she said.
Homer gave her a few hundred dollars, his adventure to Europe costing him lots of money but she grabbed his trousers.
“I can suck it,|” she said.
“Your boss might not like it.”
The pilot came back clutching a few papers while talking in his radio.
“I’ll take you to the Balearic Islands,” he said. “Someone else will leave you in the Mediterranean sea.”
They had to leave now, even if Homer had not eaten his breakfast.
“I have food in my plane,” the pilot said.
He led Homer towards the rear of the building, where he tripped on some of the equipment on the floor, scratching his legs. He should have had more fun with the girl if the pilot had taken his time.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked.
“I like adventure,” Homer said.
He saw a small plane waiting under the sun. On admiring the wings, waiting to take him to foreign lands, Homer felt giddy. He wanted to live for some more time as airplanes could be dangerous.
“It’s safe,” the pilot said.
“I don’t know.”
On stepping inside the plane, Homer noticed all the buttons the pilot would have to press in order to get them to their destination but he wanted to go to sleep during their journey.
“I have something for you,” the pilot said.
He showed him a bottle of aguardiente, the solution to Homer’s problems and his fear of flying. Sitting in a seat by the door, he adjusted his seat belt to keep him safe in his place as the pilot poured some of the alcohol in a tumbler.
“To our health,” he said.
Homer drank the aguardiente, savouring every gulp of it until falling unconscious in his seat, the noise of the plane blocking the pain of the world.
“Time doesn’t exist here,” a voice said.
He saw Kam sitting by his side, wearing nothing and smelling of sex.
“I don’t understand,” he said.
“You will one day.”
Homer had sex with her amidst his dreams of space, far from his problems. He woke up briefly to find another bottle of aguardiente waiting by his side.
“Are we there?” he asked.
“No.”
He had to drown his fear of flying while the alcohol burned his stomach. It must have anesthetized him because Kam massaged his cock amidst the noise of the rotors, sending him to other worlds lost in time.
“Do it faster,” Homer said.
“You only think of sex.”
“That’s my illness.”
“I know that.”
Thunder drowned his words, everything finishing in a few moments of fear mixed in with the ecstasy...


Homer’s lost
“Welcome to Ibiza,” the pilot said.
Homer opened his eyes to the light of the day and his hangover.
“We didn’t fall in the sea,” he said.
“You are lucky,” the pilot said.
They had arrived at a place filled with palm trees and sun. As the runaway appeared by the beach, Homer admired the vegetation amidst the remains of a building.
“That is the airport,” the pilot said.
The plane touched the tarmac, scattering a few pebbles around while scaring the birds. Then they stopped by the building, as a few people looked at them from the windows and a man waited for the motors to stop. Homer wished he had not drunk so much aguardiente, while staggering down from the plane, the hot tarmac burning his soul.
“I’m the intermediary,” someone interrupted his thoughts.
A small man with a beard and odd clothes came out of the shadows, waving his arms in the air. With a long nose in a thin face that never stopped smiling, he had to be mad like everything else around him.
“You have an unusual name,” Homer said.
The man shrugged. “This is a war.”
The intermediary chattered about many things while taking them throughout the airport and a few passengers waiting to board the planes looked at them with interest.
“I hate fascists,” the intermediary said.
Hitler’s picture looked at them from the newspapers, a bad omen for Homer’s sea quest.
“You want to get lost,” the intermediary interrupted his thoughts.
Homer nodded. “I’ll give you lots of money.”
The intermediary paused by an entrance, where they could see the sea shining under the rays of the sun as a few boats floated in the water.
“How much?” he asked.
After searching in his pockets, Homer gave him a few wads of dollars, hoping to recover the money he had wasted in his adventure.
“We’ll leave you a few miles away from the coast,” the intermediary said.
Homer didn’t like to be alone in the sea.
“What about if a German submarine finds me?” he asked.
“They won’t,” the Intermediary said.
Homer had tins of coke, bars of chocolate, caviar, biscuits, bottled water, an umbrella for the bad weather and a few flares to pass the time. The thought of being a hero helped him to overcome his fear, as the sky clouded and thunder echoed around him. It had to be the beginning of the end.
“I’ll be bored,” he said.
“You have the Financial Times,” the intermediary said.
He gave Homer a newspaper with yellow pages and a few pictures, informing him of the state of the world.
“Thank you” Homer said.
“I think of everything.”
Homer had offered his life for his country on a night when evil had conspired against him. On moving towards the beach, he noticed the crabs running amongst the waves, as the seagulls flew in a clear sky, interrupted by a few wisps of clouds.
“We’ll take care of you,” the intermediary said.
“Thank you.”
A boat waited by a cove where a few men lowered everything he would need during the next few hours.
“It’s small,” Homer said.
The intermediary smiled. “A bigger boat will leave you in the sea.”
They sailed for some time amidst the waves before lowering the small boat into the sea, everyone helping with the provisions for Homer’s journey. The umbrella waited amongst the bottles of aguardiente, coca leaves, the tins of sardines and other commodities of the modern world in order to make him more comfortable during his trip.
“We must leave you now,” the intermediary said.
Homer got on the boat, keeping his balance before sitting down with all his equipment by his side. He felt positive about his adventure, thinking of the money the world might offer him for his suffering in Hitler’s hands.
“We’ll be nearby,” the intermediary said.
As they told him what to do if he had any problems, Homer imagined the headlines in the papers the next day, exalting his bravery in the face of adversity. Then the intermediary gave him the flares to use if he had any problems during the short time he would be on his own in the sea.
“I’ll be waiting for you,” Homer said.
They left him a few moments later, promising to come back with the press. It had to be the biggest adventure of the century, even if Hitler kept on taking countries in Europe. After they left him alone, Homer spent the first hour reading the Financial Times under the umbrella the intermediary had left. The fighting in Europe had sent waves of fear everywhere, making the financial markets slump in the mist of the recession.
“Two and two are seven,” he muttered to himself.
Homer had to enjoy life amidst the sea, the thought of the money coming to his pockets, kept him alive during his ordeal. Then he opened a tin of sardines, watering them down with a bottle of coca- cola from his bag, while pondering what to say to the press. The bomb had killed everyone in the ship but God must have loved him.
“I’m a genius,” he told himself.
Pouring some scotch in his glass, Homer looked at an atlas of the world he had bought in his adventure as it started to rain. The umbrella kept him dry but some of his food got spoiled every time a wave came towards the boat. It