The Hen-Killer

Dear Sir:
I daresay that you've been killing my hens. No matter what you say, I've seen you. I only want to know the reason for this such an odd attitude since you don't want them for eating but for the simple pleasure of killing an inferior creature, am I wrong? Don't worry, I have plenty more hens and chickens on the fields, so I am not going to ask you to pay for the ones you have killed. Hope you answer me soon.
Best regards,

Helen Schwartz

Dear Helen:
I'm still astonished by your letter. How is it possible that you could see me? I thought I had taken every precaution needed to avoid being seen. I'm not going to lie because it is obviously useless. Yes, I am the one who has been killing your hens. I feel so ashamed now. But don't blame me, it is far much stronger than me. I am seeing a specialist but I still can't go to bed without the urgent necessity of killing a hen, and since you are the only one in the neighbourhood with a henhouse I see myself obliged to attack it. I am so sorry and I swear it will never happen again.

Charles Robinson.

Dear Charles:
Now I'm the astonished one. I did not know hen-killing was considered an illness. What has the doctor told you? I'm eager to know if there's a way I can help you.


Dear Helen:
The psychiatrist has told me that it is a hereditary pathology which normally occurs in South America, which is completely reasonable since my mother's father was from Colombia. It can be cured by not being alone and by feeling supported, which for me is impossible as I have nobody who loves me. Don't worry about me, I have promised you I will never touch one of your hens again.


Dear Charles:
Don't be silly! I'm completely more concerned about your health than about a bunch of feathers. It's so sad to be alone, I understand how you feel. But you know what? I promised you I'd help you, so why don't you come next friday afternoon to have tea? I think there's a lot we can chat about and it's a good way of keeping ourselves some company. What do you say?


PS. I will lock the henhouse up, you know. To keep you -and my hens hahaha- safe.

Dear Helen:
Are you being serius? I would love to! I'll be there without thinking it twice. Thank you a lot.


Dear Helen:
Thank you for the tea and the short chat. I would have liked it to be a little bit longer but, well, this is how I am, I cannot contain too much, you know. I'm sure you did not expect my last hug. Believe me, it was full of love and gratitude. It's a shame you won't be able to read this. I'm leaving the town this afternoon, and this is not my real name so don't bother in looking for me. Lastly, let me tell you something about hens.
What is a hen but a simple little indefense and lonely animal? It could run but sooner or later you'll catch it. It could cluck as loud as it wanted, but it won't be hard for you to shut it up by just placing the palm of your hand, only one, on its tiny head and then closing your fist and twisting your hand with a sudden move. But be careful, there's a high probability that the animal might still be alive and it would start running all over the place with its bended head. You have to know how to kill a hen. The most important thing is to deceive it; to make it believe that you need its help.
Loves you,


Santiago Tombión.

2 comentarios:

Tin dijo...

Es una idea muy buena...re loca jja
muy creativo...y la forma en q lo plasmaste (a traves de cartas)me parecio altamente original... Te recomiendo traducirla, traductor... asi esta al alcance de todos...
Me hizo acordar a Borges...q hace q lo inreal sea creible y posible...
me ha sorprendido sr Tombion
atte. Srta Salvo jaj

Locia dijo...

Jajaja, me gusto el final.. es raro, no se.. esta bueno..
Un saludo, Sasantia!