short_story3

Malena Salazar Maciá

Who has not in their mind compulsively played out over and over some real-life event. That is the premise of Malena Salazar Maciá's story "Endless Inn". Is it fantasy or reality? You must decide.

Malena Salazar Maciá was born in 1988 in Havana. In 2015, she was awarded the Premio David de Ciencia Ficción for her debut novel, "Nade". Her second novel, "Las peregrinaciones de los dioses", won the Premio Calendario in 2017. Her fiction has appeared in "The Ansible", "Mithila Review" and "Selene Quarterly Magazine".

We are pleased to present "Endless Inn".

Endless Inn
by Malena Salazar Maciá
Translated by Toshiya Kamei

The traveler woke up under the canopy of a tree. He didn't remember his dream, although it had left a metallic taste in his mouth. Even so, he must keep his course. He picked up his bundle and let his legs lead him down the path to an inn right on the edge of a cliff.

He hesitated for a moment beside the path. He lacked possessions, and his pockets had been empty for quite some time. But his stomach, a cruel creature, growled at the smell of food, and his mind craved the distraction that the merriment of a party would bring. Determined to forget his sorrows for a while, he headed down to the place of rest. When he arrived there, he saw an old man taking a nap in the doorway. Above him, a wooden sign, in a flowered lemniscate, announced in clear letters, "Endless." The old man looked up and smiled.

"Welcome to Endless Inn, where our deepest desires come true. You'll have time to fulfill them. Or remedy them."

The traveler accepted the invitation. He touched his marten hat and went into the inn where he was received by a joyous wedding party. He took a table and asked a young blonde girl for the best dish on the menu. The traveler sighed. She looked like Helena. The rhythm of the music marked the speed at which wine and beer were consumed. Laughter, screaming, and dancing. Beautiful women were stomping on the tables. He sighed again. They reminded him of Helena. The young girl brought him pork, bread, and wine.

"It's on the house," she said and joined the hubbub.

He climbed onto a table next to the bride, who wore a lemniscate-print skirt and a garland of flowers. The traveler sighed. The bride looked like Helena, dressed for Spring. Squeezed into her lace dress, she was seducing him from her table. The bride, Helena, yielded her body to lust indiscriminately. She had no qualms about loving betrayal.

The traveler moved closer to the table where the women danced. He hopped effortlessly onto the table. He kissed Helena under her skirt, making her moan with pleasure. With jiggling fingers, he traced the curve of her buttocks, buried his face against her chest, sucked in the aroma of a female in heat. And in a movement that felt like déjà vu, the traveler drove a dagger into the woman's thighs and ripped her apart, entranced as he felt the red liquid of death on his body.

Then the blade came at him, piercing his guts with fury. Because the bride was not Helena, but another girl who belonged to some other man. The traveler fell with blood in his mouth. His mind crumbled in a vacuum that filled everything.

###

The End

[Home] [About Us] [Stories] [Story 1] [Story 2] [Story 3] [Story 4] [Story 5] [Story 6] [Story 7] [Editors] [Contact Us]