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

must be the end of the world, he thought as the sun hid beneath the clouds.
Homer had to be in the route to another Latin American country, while Cesar played with his cards and another president waited for his arms. Then he noticed a man smiling at him amidst the waves.
“No one can walk on water,” Homer said to himself.
The roar of the sea answered his concerns for his sanity, when the man looked like Jesus Christ in one of those paintings father Ricardo had in the church by the market in another life.
“Go away,” Homer said.
He had to be strong in the face of the hallucinations caused by his hangover. As a shark appeared, Homer hit it with his oar but then a barracuda came to his aid. Homer made the fish go back to the depths of the sea after hitting them on the head and time went on forever. Jesus Christ had deserted him once more amidst the dangers of his imagination.
“I am thirsty,” Homer said.
Those words held no meaning in a place full of salty water, as he remembered the aguardiente under his seat. After drinking some of it, the stars guided his vessel in space until the rays of the sun brought him back to reality. Then out of the water emerged a U225 submarine, commanded by Lieutenant Fritz Wise.
“Help me,” Homer said.
“Are you a friend or foe?” the Lieutenant asked.
“I don’t know.”
He gave Homer some salted fish for his hunger after doing the Nazi salute. The mirage made him float in a sea of chit as his stomach rumbled and a light shone in front of his face. A voice said: “Homer, my son.”
“Who is calling me?” Homer asked.
“It’s your father who lives in heaven.”
After a moment of silence even the sea went quiet.
“Heavens and earth will end but my words will go on,” the voice said.
An angel brought him an amphora full of coca cola, the best drink in the world. The sea became a skating ring as Jesus Christ danced with Maria Magdalene and the Virgin with Saint Joseph, the waves fighting with each other to get custody of his body. The other Homer had to rescue him from hell instead of fighting in Olympus for a girl called Helen.
Night came over the world, the sea turning into a black hole of death and desperation for a lost soul in the way to hell. Homer ignored the lights shining around him, mirages of another world he didn’t understand when he needed to go home. Fumbling inside the bag he had brought in his adventure, he found the flares the intermediary had given him. The sailors had taught him how to send up the flares when he had been in the Caribbean Sea, as he ignited one of the things with his lighter and the sky exploded in a multitude of colours.
“It must be Armageddon,” Homer said.
After spending most of the night throwing water out of the boat with a bucket he had found under his seat, he had gone to sleep with his head on the bucket by the morning.
“I don’t want to die,” he said in his dreams.
Then his soul left his body in a moment of madness, when he saw himself from the air, the tree of life appearing by his side.
“There are no trees in the sea,” he said.
Homer saw his backyard amidst the waves, Kam showing him her teats tanned by the sea.
“You must drink this,” she offered him a glass of sea water, rich in nutrients and salt.
“You won’t die,” she said.
“Liar.”
The girl wanted to avenge the death of her friends in the jungle as Homer hated the taste of sea water.
“Help me,” he said.
A boat appeared from beyond the abyss of time. At first it seemed to be empty but then a few men looked at him while saying something, reality becoming entangled with his dreams.


Rescue
As a man appeared by his side, Homer told the hallucination to go away.
“I’m the intermediary,” he said.
Homer kicked and punched him, while a few men transferred him to another boat.
“We want to help you,” they said.
The intermediary injected something in his arm, shadows sending him to the abyss of hell, where ghosts chased him through the waves until everything ended in tragedy.
“Mr. Homer,” a voice said.
On opening his eyes, he found himself inside a cabin, the intermediary sitting by his side.
“We thought you had died,” he said.
The intermediary offered him a spoon full of medicine for whatever illness he had caught in the sea, while Homer struggled to talk.
“It’s good for you,” he said.
Homer needed his speech to sell his merchandise and hated the Intermediary. Then a beautiful girl with big brown eyes and a short skirt, appeared at the door.
“Are you Homer?” she asked.
“Mmmm,” Homer said.
After sitting by his side, she held his hands, her essence enveloping his soul like a very expensive perfume.
“I have heard all about you,” she said.
Homer found his voice amidst his erection.
“You must be a princess,” he said.
“Oh, no,” she said.
“Take me to your king.”
She smiled. “I’ll do that.”
She muttered words of encouragement while rubbing his chest, letting him glimpse part of her breasts where nature had made her beautiful. The letter F embroidered in her blouse, welcomed him to explore her nipples amidst the luxuries of her body.
“My name is Fifi,” she interrupted his thoughts.
Homer had never met a Fifi in his life, even if the name fit the beautiful woman by his side.
“Everyone knows you didn’t die,” she said.
“Who is everyone?”
“The world.”
“That’s good,” Homer said.
On remembering his soldiers at the mercy of the bombs, his eyes clouded, tears threatening to run down like a river. It had been a terrible time, when he had lost his men amidst scenes of panic. Then he studied her teats through her dress.
“Why they didn’t use the boats?” she asked.
“They were on fire.”
“My God.”
He kissed her hands, his lips getting up her arms where her breasts waited for his caresses.
“I love you,” he muttered.
“We have just met.”
He felt her body, the rays of the sun fighting with each other to reach her heart in a wonderful moment.
“I remember my men shouting amidst the noise,” he said.
“You are a hero.”
Homer sucked her teats, as she ran her hands through his face and his body wanted more of her.
“You must get better first,” she said.
He cried in her arms, the roaring waves reminding him of the tragedy lost in the confines of his mind. Fifi let him go between her legs, moans of pleasure escaping her mouth as fresh blood ran down the sheets the intermediary had put on the bed that morning.
“It hurts,” she said.
Homer felt like a conqueror whose goal had been to find the recesses of her body, hidden from the world since her birth. After reaching the peak of his pleasure, he rested in her arms, remembering that other country amidst the noises of the market. He wanted to tell her everything about his life from that first moment in the backyard, when the ants had drowned in a pool of mud.
“I have been to the jungle,” he said.
“It must be beautiful,” she said.
“And full of mysteries.”
Sitting down on the bed, he showed her a picture he kept in his pockets, where a child smiled at the camera from the depths of time. He didn’t know how it had withstood the sea but God must have kept it amongst the tragedy, as she dried her tears and the intermediary interrupted the scene, a pink towel wrapped around his body.
“You must be feeling better,” he said.
“Homer nodded. “It’s all thanks to Fifi.”
Then he joined them on the bed, his semen healing her soreness while Homer rested by their side.
“I must be dreaming,” he said.


New York
Homer’s strength returned under Fifi’s love, as they talked about their lives in the outside world before his tragedy.
“I used to sit by the tree