It has been said that "all roads lead to Rome." Well, this one doesn't. Some time ago I wrote a post on my entry for Fnac's mini-story contest. Well, they've finally chosen the twenty finalists out of the over 5,000 entries. Mine is not one of them. Not that I ever expected it to be, but it was fun to dream about that fabulous trip to anywhere in Europe that they're giving away as a first prize. Oh well, Rome will have to wait.
But still, it's disappointing to think that my story will be lost forever somewhere in Fnac's virtual wastebasket. So, I'll share it with you. It's in Spanish, but there's a translation at the end:
En todos sus años como comisario, Martínez nunca había visto nada igual. Ya iban siete muertes por librofagia esta semana.
¿Cómo había empezado todo?
Nadie tenía muy claro de donde había salido la absurda idea de que las pastillas hechas de cenizas de libro tenían beneficios para el que se las tomaba. Seguramente el bulo empezó por Internet. Que si las pastillas hechas con libros eróticos tenían efectos afrodisíacos, que si los problemas personales se solucionaban con las de libros de autoayuda. Menuda chorrada.
Pero la gente se cree todo lo que lee en Internet.
Miró al hombre que tenia delante. Un escritor de poca monta. Buscó inspiración en los grandes autores. En su lugar encontró la muerte por una perforación gástrica, después de tragarse una caja entera de pastillas hechas con el Quijote.
Martinez siempre había sospechado que el Quijote podía ser mortal, pero no de esa manera.
In all his years as Chief of Police, Martínez had never seen any thing like it. This was the seventh death by bookphagy this week.
How did it all start?
Nobody was really sure about the origin of the absurd idea that pills made with book ash are beneficial to those who take them. The rumor must have started on the Internet. That pills made of erotic novels have aphrodisiac effects, that personal problems can be solved with those made of self-help books. What stupidity.
But people will believe anything they read on the Internet.
He looked at the man in front of him. A would-be writer. One who had searched for inspiration in the great authors. Instead, he found death by gastric perforation, after swallowing a whole boxful of pills made with Don Quixote.
Martínez had always suspected that Don Quixote could be deadly, but not quite in this way.
Okay that's my best go at translating it. Doesn't quite work as well in English as it does in Spanish, and makes me really appreciate the work of all those translators out there. Some stuff just does get lost in translation, I guess.
At Scrivel the humor never needs translation, just a crazy mind.