Karilin Berrios
Stories (10/0)
Heroes Will Rise
Obi ran as fast as he could, the satchel in his hand held tightly; the bottle within, heavy with its contents. He knew better than to take the Hauna Trail at this time of night, but when his grandfather got ill suddenly, he didn't put thought before action and left the hut in a hurry, to make it to Coney in time; theirs was the only apothecary that closed late. It was also the only one that would serve his kind fairly, and the only one that sold kroff and pear leaf tincture. Pear trees were rare in Flerus City, save for one farmer's plot on the outskirts of Coney Borough, where they grew in threes.
By Karilin Berrios3 years ago in Fiction
INTERVIEW WITH THE MAKO
Okay, I’m ready. Which… Which camera? Right here? Ehem… Oh, hi, there! Yeah, I’m… pretty much a shark. Shortfin mako species. Yeah, nothing too fancy. I’m blue-gray and white. I have these gills right here on my side, they’re pretty useful. I swim around, find some squid, eat it. That’s my life, in a seashell.
By Karilin Berrios3 years ago in Fiction
Faith and the Las Vegas Baker
Joe’s Slice of Heaven, the napkin reads. We used to come here every Sunday. I wanted to visit once more, before living on the streets sends me rolling on a bus, never to return to North Las Vegas. I don’t have much, but I can spare some cash, for a memory.
By Karilin Berrios3 years ago in Fiction
There is a Barn in the American Dream
I was fourteen years old, when Luis Muñoz Marín became the Governor of Puerto Rico for a second time. Back then, we were a people trying to heal the scars of a colonial past; borincanos, as a race, were suffering from a deep identity crisis. First, we were Taínos with copper skin, traveling in canoas and eating cassava bread out of mud bowls. Then, we were a Spanish-conquered people who shared the drudge with black slaves and became mulatos; we drove bulls in yokes and walked miles up hills to eat cuchifritos from wooden dishes at abuela’s house. Almost a whole century later, with the American occupation, we became a widely mixed race that, contrary to what our History teachers taught at school, did not consist of Taíno, Spanish and Black, but of Taíno, mulato, black and gringo.
By Karilin Berrios3 years ago in Fiction
Nowhere Here But Outside
NOWHERE HERE BUT OUTSIDE. The words were scribbled in bold, large letters on the church wall, sprayed in black paint. Some dead animal’s blood had been smeared beneath it. The stench of putrid, raw meat told the hours since the Calvari had visited the holy site.
By Karilin Berrios3 years ago in Criminal
The Draw
It happens every year. You switch, you feel, you change, you make. You never really know what you’re going to get—or who. Last year, I got Gertrude Silverback. She was motherly, soft, and generous. I made seventeen patched blankets that year and sold them for half a silver coin. The year before, it was Mr. William Woodchuck. I became very strict and formal and made my best money doing sales. Thirteen silver coins that year.
By Karilin Berrios3 years ago in Fiction