Siete minutos by Ismael Camacho Arango (the little red hen read aloud TXT) 📖

woman prayed to the Virgin Mary.
“I’ll see you in the church tomorrow,” the bishop said.
“Thank you Excellency,” she said.
“I have written a letter to be read for a few weeks in all the churches in the city,” the bishop said.
Homer admired the bishop, a man of integrity battling to save humankind from hell, while everyone waited for his words.
“Dear children,” the bishop said.
“Our flock has been invaded by the wolves the scriptures talk about as atheists and sinners lead the herd God has given me.
“You have witnessed my efforts to kill these wolves, but the earth throws them out in big numbers every day. These atheists are the antichrists the scriptures talk about.
“Assassins without any faith kill men, women and children. Our churches have been filled by orphans and poor widows who ask the heavens for retaliation to punish the sinners just as he did with the Egyptian children some time ago.
“You must be afraid of his anger and repent of your sins. If the Devil appears from the abyss, the angels can also come from the heavens. God hasn’t abandoned us yet.
“A foreigner called Homer has dedicated his life to help the widows and orphans of the violence. We need the solidarity of God’s people to win over the darkness doing the most despicable sins against the poor.
“I’m asking you to send money to our Episcopal palace, as our real country is up in heaven or down in hell for sinners. Perhaps they didn’t help their poor brothers and sisters.
“You’ll have God’s blessing for every million pesos you give to Homer for his mission on earth.
“His Highness, Pomponio, bishop of the city.”
The letter had a good effect. Homer received many times the money he had spent in the houses, even if the bishop had to reprimand a few priests who wanted a percentage of the earnings. Jaramillo shared some of his money in order to keep the press quiet about the lack of toilets and other things in the widow’s housing while Homer looked very well in the pictures. The mystical breakdowns of Saint Theresa might give us an idea of Homer’s face before the cameras in those moments of ecstasy.
The citizens filled millions of petitions asking for social solidarity as the governor with all his cabinet marched to the Widow’s Houses, failing to notice the absence of toilets, water or electricity.


Amelia’s wishes
Homer had to attend a party that afternoon to celebrate the widow’s housing, a chance for getting more money for his charity even if he had to endure people talking about nonsense for hours. On looking at his image in the mirror, his green eyes looked back at him. He had to convince his audience of his mission on earth as Miguel appeared by his side followed by Amelia.
“Good morning, Mr. Homer” they greeted.
Miguel poured orange juice in a glass, while Amelia prepared Homer’s breakfast.
“You must eat, Uncle Homer,” the child said.
“It’s good for your heath,” Miguel said.
Homer ate the egg, before mixing it with the toasts and leaving yellow streaks in the plate.
“I saw your picture in the papers,” Amelia said.
She showed him the newspaper they had bought in their way to the shop. Homer attends a banquet today, it said across the front page of El Pais, where the governor and other personalities had been campaigning to raise money for the widow’s housing.
“Have you found your widow?” Miguel asked.
Homer shrugged. “No.”
Amelia followed the letters with her fingers, her eyes widening at the amounts of money promised by some people to the cause.
“You are rich, Uncle Homer,” she said.
“That’s the widow’s money,” Miguel said.
Amelia forgot about it as she marched around the room at the rhythm of imaginary music. The child went around the table a few times, chanting to herself.
“She wants to join the army,” Miguel said.
Homer had been thinking of the widows and his words didn’t make any sense. She could become a lawyer or an accountant instead of being a soldier.
“I’ll pay for your university,” he said. “The army is for men.”
Sitting in his only chair, he discussed her education while Miguel checked the boxes of coca stored against the wall. She had to learn how to conquer the world like he had done since his birth.
“The army is the best university,” Amelia said.
She marched around the shop, talking to herself.
“One, two, one two,” she said.
“It must be her age,” Miguel said.
“I hope so,” Homer said.
He thought of a way to convince the country of his intentions with the widows, who needed to lead normal lives in the world.
“This is my speech,” Homer said holding a piece of paper.
“I am the apostle of the oppressed,” he said. “Because I love my people.”
Amelia listened to his words. One day she’d remembered them as the world collapsed around her in an explosion of colours.
“I like it, Uncle Homer,” she said.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t you have anything else?” Miguel asked.
Homer looked hurt, as if those first words had not been the best.
“I have them in my diary,” he said.
On looking at his reflection in the mirror, he pushed some strands of hair back. He had to sound convincing to the world.
“They have to believe me,” he said.
“Yes, Mr. Homer,” Miguel said.
“One, two, one, two,” Amelia said.
Homer got ready while the sun shone through the cheap curtains he had found in the market.
“Two and two are seven,” he said.
Amelia shook her head. “Two and two are four and everyone knows that.”
“I see,” Homer said.
“You don’t know anything,” she said.
“You’ll be late for your party,” Miguel said.
“Can I come?” Amelia asked.
“It’s for adults.”