A look inside…

It’s time to find you a new home. Claudia walked to a nearby, abandoned mausoleum with broken doors and tossed the urn inside. The ashes spilled out on top of moldy plaster, growing weeks and a decaying lead-topped casket.

Chapter One, Claudia’s Revenge

Some years later, when eternal prosperity seemed to have returned to Buenos Aires, a local university wrote a commemoration about the revolution, that grew “into a tumbling sea of noise that disquieted the morning peace and rattled teacups off the drawing room table.”

Chapter Three, Eternal Pledge

The unknown number of feral cats that live in the Recoleta Cemetery enjoy the milk and food left by well-wishers, but chiefly reside there to live among the dead. The cats hear their sighs, share their secrets, and learn the true history of Argentina.

Chapter Two, The Sins of Enrique

That hot cup of warmth, whose sips became balms of forgiveness, hope, peace among the guests, whose memory remained among them but grew dim over time as it wasn’t repeated and thus could not be nurtured for others, stayed with Rocio, being the one thing she’d love to impart to the living if she could.

Chapter Four, Clear Accounts and Thick Chocolate

Enrique spent the next few days wandering the streets of Buenos Aires. He went to the cemetery and strolled around, the first time that he was able to enter since his future death there. He was ignored by everyone, even the cats.

Chapter Five, Enrique Revisited

Enjoy this excerpt from The Recoleta Stories:

Rocio Agnes Dominguez despised the day of her death. She hated it. She despised the day the horses galloped over her, ridden by soldiers faithful to General Rosas fleeing their lost cause. She knew when that horse, head down, oblivious, pitched her body into the air, when she struck the adjacent soldier, hurtled away, flipped over, then bounced twice off the ground like an under-inflated ball, that she would die. The hooves of those other horses that crushed her rib cage into the lungs, puncturing them six times, that dug her face into the ground with skull-crushing force, only proved the point. A closed coffin funeral was the obvious choice as even her grandmother, superstitious as she was about a spirit leaving only by an open lid, vomited and fainted when she saw Rocio’s body. Rocio, now removed by centuries, still contemplated this, the moment the military stallion—fearful and furious, snorting, ragged, sweat soaked, with that beautiful white spot between his eyes, the rest of him brown, as she recalled—stampeded through her. When it did so, she threw the peppers up into the air. And as she flew high, she saw them rise higher than she, then gazed numbly at puffy white clouds floating in that deep blue sea of a sky before bouncing off the adjacent soldier’s left shoulder, hitting the ground, and, resigned to her last memory while among the living, tasting dirt.

She hated that day.

Chapter Four, Clear Accounts and Thick Chocolate

To order The Recoleta Stories, use one of the links above for Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or Atmosphere Press, or contact the author directly at therecoletastories@gmail.com. for a signed copy.

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