Hoxe publicamos no noso blog os catro relatos gañadores do concurso organizado polo departamento de inglés en colaboración coa biblioteca.
O martes 14 de xuño, no segundo recreo, faremos entrega dos premios e diplomas na nosa biblioteca.
A MOMENT OF
I stare in my
reflection at the mirror: Am I ready for this? Do I look insecure? Should I
brush my hair again? Will I fit in? ... But most of all, I need to know, when
will I stop doing this to myself?
I put my make
up on and smile. No more thoughts for now; I´ve spent the whole summer
wondering if I was able to start at a new school, make new friends, move on… Am
I? Anyway, it doesn´t matter at all. I need to do it, I can do it. Let´s go for
I get ready
to go while I listen to my favourite song. I´m feeling confident about this,
and I like it so much. I take one last minute remembering everything about my
old life and then I let it go for good.
I´m about to
enter the class. I take a deep breathe and open the door: It´s time to start a
new story… And to end this one.
Elena Ramírez Estraviz (3º ESO A)
Arip Mav, our protagonist, got up in the
middle of a thick fog. She couldn´t see anything but she wasn´t an easily
frightened person, so Arip Mav started to walk. Few minutes later she found a
tombstone but there wasn´t any name in it, the woman looked around and saw
other eight tombstones which formed a perfect circle. Suddenly one name
appeared in the first tombstone and Arip Mav could read "Cc".
Excuse me -said a voice behind her. Arip Mav looked around and saw a
skeleton in front of her.
- Who are you? -asked the woman.
- Who am I? I am Cc and this is my tombstone. I´d like to go to bed
before the night ends.
- Who are the others?
- Who does the tombstones belong to?
- Of course -laughed Cc-. You can´t remember them, right? Let me start
with this -said and point at the tombstone which was on the right -This is yours.
You died a long time ago... Arip Mav- and the name of the woman appeared in the
Arip Mav woke up on her bed in the middle of the night and looked
around. All was in darkness. Suddenly someone switched on the light.
- What is the matter? -asked Ryettmah one of her roommates.
- Nothing. It was... only a bad dream.
- Yes -said Ryettmah ironically-, that was the last "terror story´s
night" for all of us -said and looked the other two roommates, who were
sleeping-. You can´t sleep after it.
María Rodríguez Vizoso (1ºBac F)
There was a boy who lived in a small village.
There the people were so poor that spent hours thinking about how to get
something to eat. Poverty and sadness were everywhere. The boy was the only who
didn´t see life from a negative point of view. So everyone called him the
The dreamer boy used to say that having dreams
was the best way to be alive. His main dream was to see the sea for first time.
When people asked about his interest about the sea the dreamer boy always
answered: "I have heard old sailor stories since I was a little boy. So I
want to know the sea where such amazing things happened".
A few years later, the dreamer boy became an
adult. He had no time to dream because he had to get money to feed his family.
But this was a very difficult thing: there was any job that he could do in that
Looking for the best way to solve his problems
he took an important decision: he was going to leave his home village to find
another place rich enough to find a job. He hadn´t enough money to buy a ticket
plane so he crossed the region on foot. A few days later, he arrived to a coast
village and got into an old boat with about fifty passengers.
This was how the dreamer boy was able to see
the sea for first time in his life.
Lidia Arribí Bouza (3º ESO B)
LIVING OFF THE MEMORY
It’s never been told I’m a faint-hearted, in fact, though many people consider me a
shrinking violet, I’m quite a courageous person (you’ve always known it). But lately,
fear is coming out of the blue, and it’s all because of you. I reckoned I’d already
mended my soul and I took for granted that your absence would stop hurting with time.
Actually, in some way it has, but currently I have to cope with the presence of your
living memory and that makes me fall to bits.
One day I told you the lie that I’d go wherever and whenever you wanted to go, and
now I’m telling your ghost the same, though this time I’m not tricking anyone. All those
tiny details in my life make me think of you and it’s like an addiction that kills me while
I’m living a fairy-tale fantasy.
I try to give up dreaming and sometimes I’m on the brink of achieving my aim, but
every so often a hidden post script reminds me again of you. Maybe I’ll run out of time
eventually and that spine-chilling nightmare will come to an end, but at the moment,
I’m eager to tie up all the loose ends and find what prevents me from starting from
scratch. However, I keep answering the question with my lack of willingness, because
forgetting you requires sheer power, and the truth is that my messy heart still refuses to