Narrativa impresionista. Lecturas. Ejercicios, improvisaciones de impresionismo.

  Decided one the day a tortuga, with a quick and quick decision,  to leave  from the bone of his turtle shell. In the heart of the sprawling, concrete jungle, there lived a man named Larry. He was an average Joe with a penchant for the peculiar, a trait that separated him from the mundane lives of his fellow city-dwellers. Larry had a secret, one that no one in the towering apartment complexes around him knew: every night, he transformed into something else entirely. Not a superhero, nor a creature of the night, but a creature of the daybreak. His apartment, a tiny sanctuary on the 15th floor, was a cluttered menagerie of feathers, seeds, and a solitary, oversized turtle shell. The shell wasn't just a quirky decoration; it was a gateway to a world that existed only in the quiet moments before dawn. Larry had stumbled upon this peculiar artifact during one of his many flea market expeditions. The vendor, a wizened old man with eyes that sparkled like ancient coins, had assured him that the shell was a rare and powerful talisman. "It grants the wearer the ability to transcend the boundaries of the ordinary," he'd whispered, his voice thick with the mystery of forgotten lands. Intrigued and slightly skeptical, Larry had bought the shell on a whim, and it had sat untouched in his apartment for weeks. Until the night the moon had hung low and full, casting an eerie glow through the cityscape outside his window. That fateful evening, unable to shake off a restlessness that had gripped him like a vice, Larry had approached the shell with trembling hands. He'd studied its intricate patterns, the grooves that told the story of a life long past, and made his decision. With a deep breath, he lifted it over his head and felt it settle around him, the edges conforming to the contours of his body like a second skin. A sudden jolt of energy shot through him, and the room swam in a sea of light and shadow. The concrete walls of his apartment blurred, and he was standing in a vast savannah, the smell of dew-kissed grass and the distant call of a nightingale filling his senses. The transformation was painless yet profound, as if his entire being had been unfurled and reassembled into something new. Larry looked down to see his legs, no longer the sturdy pillars that supported his human form, but sleek and muscular limbs that ended in sharp claws. His arms had become powerful wings, and a tail flicked behind him, balancing his newfound weight. He was a tortuga, a creature of myth and beauty, born from the bone of the turtle shell. The savannah stretched before him, an endless tapestry of greens and golds, punctuated by the silhouettes of towering acacia trees. The air was cool and crisp, and the world felt more alive than it ever had in his human life. Every blade of grass whispered a secret, every insect that flitted by held a story waiting to be told. The tortuga's eyes took in the grandeur of his new surroundings, and he felt a strange kinship with the creatures that roamed the land. The first few nights as a tortuga were spent exploring this alien yet exhilarating landscape. Larry discovered that his new form came with an unparalleled sense of freedom. He could run faster than the swiftest gazelle, leap higher than the most nimble antelope, and glide through the air with a grace that would make the most skilled falcon envious. His shell, once a symbol of his solitary existence, now served as both protection and a source of power, allowing him to navigate the world with newfound confidence. As the weeks passed, Larry grew accustomed to his nocturnal adventures. He'd slip into his shell at the first light of the moon and emerge in the savannah, leaving the worries of his human life behind. The creatures of the night accepted him as one of their own, and he found a strange comfort in their silent companionship. He felt a kinship with the owl that hunted with stealthy grace and the hyena that laughed in the moon's glow. One evening, as Larry the tortuga lounged by a tranquil watering hole, a sense of unease prickled his scales. A scent of danger lingered in the air, something primal and fierce. He scanned the horizon, his sharp eyes detecting a shadowy figure prowling the edge of the clearing. It was a leopard, its fur a mottled canvas of nightfall, eyes gleaming with hunger. Larry had always felt safe in his shell, but the predator's gaze sent a shiver down his spine. The leopard approached with the confidence of a creature accustomed to ruling the night. Its muscles rippled under the moon's soft light, and Larry knew he had to act swiftly. He took a deep breath and focused, willing the shell to grant him a new ability. To his astonishment, the shell's patterns began to pulse with an inner light, and he felt a surge of power. With a roar that shook the acacia trees, Larry shot forward, his powerful legs propelling him at a speed that left the leopard in a cloud of dust. The predator, caught off-guard, gave chase, its eyes never leaving the tortuga's retreating form. Larry's heart pounded in his chest, the beat echoing in the shell's hollow cavity. He pushed himself faster, his lungs burning with the effort, the wind rushing past his ears like a tempest. As the leopard closed the distance, Larry felt the shell's power surge again. He leaned into the turn, his newfound agility allowing him to dodge and weave through the underbrush with astonishing grace. The leopard's snarls grew closer, its paws pounding the earth with a relentless rhythm. Larry knew he had to outsmart the creature if he were to survive. He spotted a narrow ravine up ahead, too small for the leopard to follow. Without a second thought, he leaped into it, his shell scraping the rocky sides as he descended. The leopard skidded to a halt at the ravine's edge, peering down into the darkness. Larry could see the beast's silhouette, its tail twitching with frustration. He allowed himself a moment to catch his breath, his heart still racing in his chest. The shell's power pulsed around him, a warm embrace that seemed to whisper, "You're safe." He ventured deeper into the ravine, his senses on high alert. The air grew colder, and the ground beneath his clawed feet grew slick with moisture. He could feel the earth's heartbeat, steady and calming, as he descended further. The walls of the ravine closed in, the moon's glow dimming to a faint silver ribbon above. It was here that Larry discovered the shell had granted him not just speed and agility, but also the ability to navigate in the dark. His eyes, once limited by the shadowy veil of night, now pierced the gloom like twin spotlights, revealing a hidden world of scurrying critters and nocturnal blooms. The scent of the leopard faded, replaced by the rich, earthy smell of the ravine. He followed the path of a babbling brook, the sound of its flow a soothing balm to his racing thoughts. The water was cool and invigorating, and Larry took a moment to drink, the liquid trickling down his throat and filling him with vitality. As he drank, he felt the shell's power wax and wane, a gentle reminder of the balance between his two worlds. Deeper in the ravine, the air grew denser, carrying with it whispers of ancient wisdom. Larry's curiosity piqued, he followed the sound until he reached a cavern, its entrance obscured by a waterfall's veil. He ducked under the cascading water, feeling it cleanse away his fear and the dust of his escape. The cavern was vast, illuminated by a soft, bioluminescent glow from the fungi that clung to the walls. The air was thick with the scent of age and secrets long forgotten. At the center of the cavern, an ancient tortoise, larger than any Larry had ever seen, sat upon a pedestal of stone. Its eyes, ancient and wise, met Larry's, and a silent understanding passed between them. The tortoise spoke in a language that seemed to resonate within the very fabric of Larry's being, a tongue of the earth and the stars. It told him of the shell's origins, of a time when humans and mythical creatures lived in harmony, sharing the gifts of transformation and protection. Larry listened intently, his heart swelling with the weight of the tale. The tortoise spoke of guardians, individuals chosen to wield the shells of the ancients and maintain balance in the world. Each shell held a different power, tailored to the soul it chose. The shells were not mere artifacts but living legacies, born from the very essence of the creatures they represented. The ancient tortoise explained that Larry's shell had once belonged to a great hero, a tortuga whose valor had protected the savannah from the ravages of darkness. Now, it was his turn to carry on that legacy. A tremor of excitement rippled through him. He was not just a man in a turtle's form; he was a guardian of the night.

By Carlos del Puente