Siete minutos by Ismael Camacho Arango (most read books of all time txt) 📕

of life,” Homer said.
“The tree of life?”
“Jose called it that way. He was my invisible friend.”
Homer drew Jose’s face with his freckles and curly fair in a piece of paper she gave him, telling her about the times he had played with himself amidst the garden muck.
“Jose is eternal,” he said.
Homer tasted her lips full of the sea, while arousing her with his caresses. Then he kissed her teats, bronzed by the sun during their journey back to America, when their relationship had flourished amidst the waves.
“I love you,” she said.
“That’s good.”
Homer went inside her, the statue of liberty holding its torch towards the sky in a bit to stop the end of time.
“Do it faster,” she said.
“Bitch.”
“Aaaaa.”
“I like virgins.”
Their love session ended, as the intermediary had cabled the authorities about Homer’s return to life and the city wanted to celebrate in style.
“I hear thunder,” Homer said.
“It must be fireworks,” she said.
Resting in each other’s arms, they thought of the celebrations waiting for them on their arrival at New York. It had to be the best party the city had known for some time, amidst the recession caused by the war.
Homer practiced his best smile for the public in front of the mirror as she wiped her sins in the shower, hoping to keep his sperms within her uterus forever. Then the intermediary appeared at the door, looking smart in his military uniform.
“We must disembark,” he said.
Fifi came out naked, arousing everyone in the room before finding her best dress in the wardrobe. After Homer had zipped her black frog with the sequels, she made sure her black hair looked neat for the press.
“It’s our moment of glory,” Homer said.
She nodded. “I think they love you.”
She kissed him for a last time before following the intermediary towards the deck where everyone cheered, blinding them with their camera flashes.
“Hurrah to Homer,” everyone said.
“I’m glad to be back in the city,” Homer said.
The journalists crowded around him, a girl wearing a mini skirt offered him a bouquet of flowers and the world went mad.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Why didn’t you go down with the ship?” the journalists asked.
“The life jacket wouldn’t go away,” Homer said.
“That’s strange,” they said.
The journalists fought with each other to take his picture, a nice end to his adventure when his money would grow in the bank.
“The girl must be your girlfriend,” they said.
“I’m married,” he said.
“That’s interesting.”
After posing a few more times, they gave Homer millions of dollars for his bravery in the sea. On looking at his purse bursting with money to put in his bank account, his hear bit faster, adrenaline running through his veins for the best idea he ever had.
“Thank you,” he said.
“We must thank you,” they said.
On driving through the city, confetti fell from the tall buildings, as crowds of people welcomed Homer back home, even though his men had died in the name of freedom. Fifi had offered her virginity for his sanity during the hardest time of his life after the tragedy.
“You are my hero,” she said.
Homer kissed her as the car went past the Empire State building, the noise of his supporters echoing everywhere while Uncle Hugh opened a bottle of champagne he had brought for the occasion.
“We must toast to our hero,” he said.
They toasted to Homer’s adventures in the sea and to the city where his soul had wandered during his childhood, the noise of the fireworks echoing in the confines of his soul.
“I miss my men,” he said.
“Is it the sailors?” she asked.
They had arrived at the hotel, where members of the public mixed with some of the reporters, celebrating the hero’s return from the tragedy. We love you, said in the posters adorning part of the walls, before the police helped Homer to get in the building.
“You must go up to your room,” they told him.
Homer didn’t understand why he had to fear the public, if they loved him.
“The sea is more dangerous,” he said.


Fifi in love
Homer defies the sea, said in the New York Times the next day, the battles fought in Asia and Europe meant nothing to the world, whilst Homer’s star rose above the earth. Fifi wrote a chronicle called: Alone between the sky and the sea. It won the first prize in international journalism and the peace prize. The journalist article of the writer Fifi was translated to all the languages and dialects of the world, giving a good account of Homer’s suffering in the hands of the sea.
He had never felt better, spending their days in a cloud of ecstasy with Fifi by his side. As they toasted to their love in a bar at the top floor of the Empire State building, tiny people moved through the streets, drops of rain making everything wet. On sharing the beauty of the world with the woman he had found amidst his fame and fortune, Fifi had come to his life after his brush with death, but Lola belonged to his past along all the other women he had..
“I dreamed of you while sleeping on my boxes,” he said.
“Why did you sleep in boxes?” she asked.
“I’m an eccentric,” he said.
“I see.”
Fifi listened to his confession of passion in another place, where he had loved her inside a hut.
“You look like her,” he said.
“Are you sure?”
As they kissed amongst the crowds of people looking at the city below them, they must have been together when the world had crumbled around their feet in his nightmares of the end of time.
“Make a wish to the god of heights,” she said.
He nodded. “I love you.”
“Make your wish then.”
She kissed him, the clouds in the horizon becoming a gateway to distant lands, while Kam remained amidst the mysteries of the jungle.
“Once upon a time I wanted to be the richest man on earth,” he said.
“You’re a millionaire now.”
“I used to live in a cellar with my dog,” he said.
She shrugged. “I didn’t know you had a dog.”
“And then I married myself.”
She thought it was a joke but Homer looked serious.
“It’s all legal,” he said.
He found a document inside his bag, confirming his marriage to himself in El Baratillo. Fifi had never heard so much nonsense.
“Father Ricardo married me,” he said.
“He must be mad.”
“I helped him repair his church,” he said.
“At first you met me in the jungle and then you married yourself.”
The sailors had brought salted fish and he had kissed himself at the start of a new life when he wanted to be the richest man on earth.
“We had a party afterwards,” he said. “Amelia played with her dolls.”
“Amelia?”
“She’s Miguel’s daughter, the man who worked in the shop.”
Uncle Hugh had visited them from beyond reality as his invisible friend intruded in that other life he had beyond time.
“What happened to the widows?” she interrupted his narrative.
“Then rain flooded their homes,” Homer said.
“I’m sorry.”
Homer’s bad luck chased him around the earth.
“I was born under a dark sun,” he said. “My mother had me during a solar eclipse.”
He pictured the sun in space, its flames engulfing the earth in a vision of hell as dark clouds gathered outside the building, a storm threatening to mar their day of glory.
“I love you,” he said.
“You must say that to all the girls.”
Homer made another wish to the gods of heights before the end of time, the rain ruining a perfect day amidst the heavens and the city hid beneath the storm. Then thunder roared about them, bringing to life all those fears they kept in their souls, the ground shaking amidst his fright.
“Let’s go,” he said.
“Don’t worry.”
Holding his hands, she comforted his fears of the end of time, according to Lola’s mother predictions and his own memories of other lives he must have had.


The meeting
Fifi took him to the