War
The man of rudimentary intelligence went out to hunt far from his inundated plain, at the start of the day in a primitive age.
He guided his steps to a canyon of volcanic origin, inhabited by tense dragons and deformed and lazy birds.
He chose, during the trajectory, the most solid stones, to arm his sling.
He emitted screams with the greatest strength, using his hands as a loudspeaker.
Another man appeared, dressed in a sheepskin coat and ready for the fight. He was vociferating from the top of a hill. His face was lost in the forest of hair and beard.
The combat lasted, without being decided, for an indefinite amount of time. Trickles of blood were painting the face and chest of the rivals.
A woman cautiously falsified the defender’s foot and precipitated him from the heights. She was avenging herself for an abject submission.
The victor takes her under his authority and imposes upon her shoulders the sum of the plunder. He guides her towards the plain through a brief slope.
He is unconcerned for the overwhelmed back and the bloody feet of the captive.
Las formas del fuego (1929)
{ José Antonio Ramos Sucre, Obra completa, Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1989 }
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