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

Indian climbed on one of the animals, leaving Homer all alone amongst the sellers but he had to climb on a mule to get to the jungle.
“Can’t we take another bus?” he asked.
“You won’t have any more coca,” he said.
“Mmmm,” the Indian said.
“Can’t you talk?”
“Mmmm.”
The mule remained calm amidst Homer’s suffering every time he fell down and the sellers applauded. He had to get on the animal if he wanted the heads.
“Tamales,” someone offered.
Homer smacked his mule for all the times she had left him on the ground, without caring for his soul.
“You must be dumb,” he said.
After putting his leg up, he managed to climb on the animal as the Indian moved along the road.
“Wait for me,” Homer said.


The jungle
The adventure had started, the soil turning into a mass of trees at the edge of the world. The Indian’s village had to be amongst the trees. After galloping for some time, they went past grassy fields and the insects annoyed him to death as big ants roamed the ground. They had to be poisonous like everything else in the land he had seen in his nightmares, but then a river sneaked through the jungle in the way to n the horizon.
“I can’t swim,” Homer said.
“Mmmm.”
The Indian tied his donkey to a few bushes, before kneeling down by the river with a fishing rod in his hands. The man had come well prepared for his journey back to his homeland but then Homer heard the sound of drums, faint in the beginning before getting louder until they echoed everywhere.
“What is that?” Homer asked.
The man muttered something while concentrating in the river where big fish swam under the current, the sound of the water crashing over the boulders drowning that of the drums. Homer waited for a miracle, the river taking him to other lands lost in time where he could get all the heads in the world. Then the rod tightened, a fish hanging at the end of the line bringing him to reality.
“Bravo,” Homer said.
The man smiled. “Mmmmm.”
“You must learn my language,” Homer said.
“Mmm.”
“That is called a fish.”
“Mmmm.”
“Fish,” Homer said.
As the Indian cleaned it with his knife, the scales mixed with the grass where small animals had to take them away to their homes. Then he made a fire with some matches he had in his pockets, the smoke rising to the sky like a signal to the clouds.
“How many heads do you have?” Homer asked.
They could be under the foliage or inside a hole in the ground. The Indian served the food in a few palm leaves he had found somewhere in the jungle, as a sacrifice to the god of hunger.
“I want my heads,” Homer said.
He had come here to find a treasure amidst the trees. Homer ate the fish he had seen alive a few moments before, while thinking of all the money he might make in New York. Then he brought out some aguardiente he had in his bag.
“We must drink to our business,” Homer said.
The man ignored his words, before opening a tent he had in his bag for his trip to the wilderness. Night had come to the jungle, the sun turning into a ball of fire before disappearing behind the trees and the light went away. Feeling exhausted after riding on the mule the whole day, he lay down in the sleeping bag the man had put in the tent.
“We must awake early tomorrow,” Homer said.
The Indian went on clearing the mess they had made on the floor, before attracting some more insects to feast on their bodies. Homer must have gone to sleep, because he had strange dreams of monsters chasing him through the night, the Darkness greeted his senses wherever he looked, as a cricket sang in the darkness and he ran through the fields with no clothes on.
“Help me,” he said.
The wind answered his words. Homer had run throughout his home during his childhood dreams, when his mother had to take him back to his bed. The doctor had given him some tablets to take before going to bed and Father Ricardo had blessed him with holy water but he still wandered about the shop or anywhere else he might be. Homer heard the river rushing through the world of his nightmares, when he rushed through the horrors littering the jungle floor.
A thousand insects illuminated his path along the shores of a strange world, bringing him memories of hell. That food he had eaten before going to sleep had to be drugged or the aguardiente had given him bad dreams.
“I want to go home,” Homer said.
“Do you talk to yourself often?” someone asked.
Homer saw a child coming towards him in the moonlight. It had to be Jose.
“You are here,” Homer said.
“I might be.”
“What do you mean?”
“You have to find her,” Jose said.
Following his pointing finger, Homer saw dark shapes under the moonlight. On moving towards them, he found huts with conical roofs but no one seemed to be around on a night of desolation somewhere in time.
“Where is everyone?” Homer asked.
“They have gone,” Jose said.
“I don’t understand.”
The child disappeared, as Homer found a hammock hanging inside one of the huts. He had to awaken from his dream before the Indian ran away with the heads, the sound of his own breathing disturbing his reality. At first he thought ghosts had come to get him, but then a girl holding a candle in her hands appeared by his side, her teats trembling every time she moved in the gloom.
“Help me,” he said.
The darkness quivered at the sound of his voice, while the candle dissolved in drops of wax. Then the girl did something extraordinary as she kissed his chest while getting inside the hammock but Homer had never had such a wonderful dream.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Mmm,” she said.
“No one talks in the jungle,” he said.
He felt her pubic hair darker than the night, as the drums drowned his senses and she muttered something in his ears. He pushed into her vagina until his soul dissolved in the best orgasm of his life, when the darkness acquired a certain beauty.
“Thank you,” Homer said.
“Mmmm,” she said.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Kam,” she said.
“You understand me.”
“Kam,” she said.
Homer heard her muttering more things in her language.
“I have waited for you all my life,” he said.
“Kam,” she said.
“I know.”
He promised her eternal love in the kingdom of the shadows but she had to adore an idol baked in a town of ghosts. She sucked his cock, running her tongue along his balls until his sperm flowed along her breasts. Homer didn’t want to awaken from the dream she had brought him, lost in a world of happiness where nothing mattered as the horses had their grass by the river and the insects feasted in his flesh. I have to be in the tent, he said in his dreams but Kam moved besides his body. Then a candle brought light to the shadows.
“Welcome to our world, Mr Homer,” a voice said.
Homer saw the Indian standing before them.
“You speak my language,” he said.
“The Gods led you to us.”
“What Gods?”
“The ones who live in heaven,” the Indian said.
“Why don’t you let me go?” Homer asked.
“You are sick.”
“I’m not.”
“You must prove it,” the Indian said.
Homer fell back inside the blankets, where the girl waited for his caresses.
“You must take our potions,” the Indian said.
The girl sucked Homer’s cock, interrupting the conversation.
“She cares about you, Mr. Homer.”
“Does she?”
She worked on him until the semen flew through her face once more.