Open Time Passageway

By Ereo Gravempath

It is the preamble to the novel Obituary of Darkness.

The path to the cemetery is open, where the forgotten wanderer walks with his cage of time, behind the mountain underground... towards the bloody clouds.

This work is a collection of stories, some of which have won awards and have already been published. A little-travelled walk, towards deep emotions that stir the entrails in an unsettling way, along the path that advances inexorably through the cemetery of time.

Written during the same period 1998-2018, all the stories retain a uniform theme, based on time as the central title of the work, with a background of gothic plot and different predominantly dark colours.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ereo Gravempath
• Release date: Jan 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005552268

Ereo Gravempath

E. Gravempath es el vagabundo olvidado que camina solitario con su jaula de tiempo, tras la montaña bajo tierra... hacia las nubes ensangrentadas. Autor de numerosos relatos y obras de diversa índole, entre los que destacan la novela Esquela de Tinieblas y la colección de relatos Pasadizo del Tiempo Abierto ( disponible en tres ediciones diferentes: versión en inglés, versión en español, versión en español extendida que incluye una colección de sus primeros poemas; dichas ediciones se encuentran disponibles en formato electrónico y en versión impresa).

Book preview

PROLOGUE

The path to the cemetery is open, where the forgotten vagabond wanders with his cage of time, beyond the mountain under the earth...

Towards the bloody clouds.

This work is a compendium of stories of various kinds, written between 1998 and 2018, some of which have won awards and have already been published. An off-the-beaten- path journey, towards deep emotions that move the entrails in a disquieting way, along the path that advances inexorably through the cemetery of time. With a Gothic background style and predominantly dark colours, the tales retain a uniform theme: Time.

The author is currently writing the long-awaited novel Obituary of Darkness.

TALES & STORIES OF PREDOMINANTLY DARK COLOURS

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COAL IS PERPETUALLY BLACK

There’s no need to use complex words if pure ones are enough. Coal is perpetually black. It only shines when it reflects the light that doesn’t keep to itself.

Black is this story I am about to tell. Although I was a witness, I haven’t earned the right to tell it. I've seen the eyes glazed in black of the person coming out of the mine.

I'm writing it down. I come from a different land, so the closest I have ever been to that kind of black is at the MUMI ¹.

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¹ Museo de la Minería y la Industria de Asturias ( Asturias Mining Museum)

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I have seen them come out of the mouth of the mine; men of a land of their own. I have looked at the old photographs of those who were there before, in another time, with the same beginning.

Down there, coal must be black. That’s how I have always seen it; back in my village, in the brazier, and in the kitchen at my parent’s house. I have touched it. It shines and stains. Black out of the mine. Inside must also be black and it must stain as well. Even if it were red, it would still be black, because it’s so dark down there and the seams are so deep. And it has to be dug up, which must be hard. It has to be dug up not only down there but also out here, where things are priced, often without regard to their value. Quite often the Asturianu² sticks to me after my strolls by the Nalón basin, between Sotrondio and La Rebollá.

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² Regional Accent.

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At this last village, I met a humble man who worked hard to earn his bread. He gave it to his grandson, who carelessly left it at the window while playing. And the raven is always hungry. It took a few attempts but the raven got a chunk. The wolf ate the raven while the last one was absorbed in biting at the bun. The humble man wasn’t able to catch the wolf because he wasn’t a hunter, and, anyway, he didn’t like the taste of that meat. The miner agonized, tired and sick of grief more than of hunger, in a graveyard of dead flowers. It was then that the cider was tasteless.

The wolf died of old age among raven's feathers and black incense. It was the spiders that devoured them all alike. Black was the bread, stained by the one who besides being a miner, was a baker, a cattleman and a farmer; black the raven who only has his feathers; black the wolf like its jaws and blacker still the spiders that have eight legs and black poison that doesn’t absolve or distinguish in their biting. There have always been damned shifts for good people. Black is the smoke from the trenches, burnt in defence of what is righteous while the march does not cease. Black is the ground I walk on and black will be the light that illuminates the look of the sinner when the virtuous surrenders.

My friend, don’t let yourself go, whether you are a miner, an engineer or a poet; the rain is black only for those who don’t wash themselves with it.

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VII Minery Micro Story Competition Manuel Nevado Madrid (2011), Special mention.

THE JACKDAW OF THE TREE OF FEAR

The jackdaw perches on a branch of the tree of fear in front of the window, on the other side of the fog. It came to fill its gullet with frosty tears until the twilight of yet one more day.

She, with her downcast gaze and full of sorrow, rushed to the other window, where sometimes the silence brought back the light. She saw her reflection as a child on the window pane and watched it until dawn. Still, the fog didn’t let the heat of the sun pass through. All of a sudden, she went outside and standing next to the tree screamed as loud as she could, but this didn’t scare the jackdaw off. Then, the old woman that she was now, with a strong blow stunned the jackdaw.

Instantly, it fell on the frosty grass while its feathers turned white absorbing the fog and the cold.

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Micro Story Competition against Gender Violence. Department of Social Services, Women and Equality of San Javier Town Council (2015). Shortlisted.

STARING AT THE DUSK SKY

I stare at the dusk sky, where the bloody clouds blink as the leaves of this late autumn fall in the vineyard, breaking the rays of sun. The smell of wet soil and ripe fruit feeds the silence, until the crack of dawn illuminates again the vineyard lines that seem to lead down to the sea, where calm devours tranquillity. And I stare again at the dusk sky…

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Autumn Sun Micro Story Competition I (2016). Shortlisted.

A VAGABOND IN THE FOG

I felt like a frustrated vagabond wandering in the fog, dodging the brambles at dusk, as the silence thundered through my memories… Until I heard you arriving, lying in mud and ice puddles. The crispness of the wet leaves made me feel that I could once again forgive myself. I looked up into the sky, carved a water shaped circle on the screen and since then I watch it every day. I've known ever since that we still had a reason to love each other. Yes.

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Micro Story Competition Mundo Escritura, La Lupa; 80 words; theme: give me a reason to love you. Finalist.

THE MASTERPIECE

Once upon a time there was a man who no one knew if he was an educated man. He spent entire nights thinking. Mulling over how he was going to do it. Crawling around all day in the embrace of a