MY STORIES

  THE CANCELED WEDDING      Two months before his wedding with Anne, Alan Berwick found her corpse in their bedroom. The blood had stained his hands and dyed all the bed sheets: she had been killed with a sword by someone and he had to solve her murder immediately! A few weeks later the lieutenant Ronald Hatherwood arrested him as the main suspected of the case. He spent three fortnights and a half inside a cell of the police station sharing that quiet and shadowy room with his wife’s killer without knowing who was that outrageous man. Afterwards that time the judge initiated the legal proceedings and asked him to visit her as soon as possible and ordered to Hatherwood to bring the evidences of Mr. Berwick’s incrimination. Peter Stone drove the patrol car and took his friend to the court. It was in the middle of Huddersfield and they had a traffic jam sooner arriving at the building where Diana McMillan was drinking a cup of tea and eating a piece of cake with the

THE COTTAGE       Mr. O'Connor had killed his wife that cold and windy night of October in their cottage near York. When his fellows called him at 3 a.m. explaining what had happened while he was in his bedroom sleeping with his girlfriend, he dressed up quickly and went out of his house without kissing Anne because of the emergency. Alan Berwick had borned in the suburb of Chelsea on 1991, three evenings before Christmas. He had a chestnut-coloured curly hair and a brown eyes. He was tall and thin… Alan was very tone up because of his status inside North Yorkshire Police; he needed this physique because he worked as a superintendent. He drove his patrol car through a motorway from Sheffield to Harrogate within thirty minutes and a half and when he arrived at this town, he parked the vehicle in front of a little house which was situated in the main street of that small but welcoming village. Mr. Berwick knocked the door and a policeman opened it asking him

 Benvolguts lectors, A mi m'agrada acabar bé les narracions, per aquest motiu, no us estranyeu si els protagonistes que tenen una estreta amistat en aquest conte des del primer moment, es besin al final de la història. Espero que us agradi i disfruteu, Phoenix of the Literature AMISTAT A TÀRRACO        El general de la quarta legió, anomenat pels seus soldats el Penques ja que a cada problema trobava una solució estrafolària, però de nom Amphion Severvs Titivs, estiuejava a Tàrraco tot i el seu origen romà. Amanda, una dona de família patrícia, estava regant les flors del seu jardí mentre esperava que son pare la cridés per anar a dinar un ànec al forn amb arròs al curri i patates fregides acabades de fer i sa mare tornés de fer uns encàrrecs per a la família de l'emperador August. Tornant cap a casa, Amphion s'aturà i l'observà durant uns instants; els precisos perquè Amanda el pogués veure i saludar. S'intercanviaren uns quants m

RETORN MELANCÒLIC L'11 de maig de 1968, vaig tornar al lloc on havia viscut gran part de la meva infància. Havia canviat tant que no sabia del cert si estava perdut: edificis en runes, cotxes accidentats i gent passejant per un carrer que per a mi era desconegut. Una dona amb mirada indiferent, orgullosa de si mateixa, s'apropà cap a mi i em digué amb menyspreu: "Fuig d'aquest barri o aviso el guàrdia que hi ha allí!". Vaig mirar a banda i banda però no vaig poder veure a ningú. M'havia descobert aquella senyora? Ella potser no, però en qualsevol cas, jo sí: es tractava, sens dubte, de la filla d'un tal Moritz (un general de l'exèrcit alemany que havia capturat, malauradament, amb les seves tropes d'allò més altives, arrogants, poderoses i egoistes, amb els tancs de la divisió 23 i uns míssils proporcionats pels Estats Units, la capital francesa: París). Havia canviat tant fins aleshores! No sabia què fer... Em vaig asseure e

Avui escric aquesta entrada especial perquè vull recomanar-vos el blog d'un dels meus millors amics... Bé, és una amiga que he fet a la selectivitat i compartim moltes coses en comú.  Es diu Aina Lorenzo i li agrada llegir. La seva pàgina és principalment de recomanacions literàries però també publica alguns escrits seus i cançons que li agraden dels seus grups preferits. L'adreça és happy-readers.blogspot.com.es i us convido a entrar perquè difrutareu endinsant-vos en un món ple de caliu en aquesta vida que moltes vegades se'ns és feixuga de viure-la. Moltes gràcies per a fer aquest blog tan emotiu i especial!  Enhorabona!

MRS.CLARK’S DEATH My name is Alan Smith and I am the great-great-grandson of the United Kingdom’s prime minister and private detective named Harry Smith. I am a twenty six years old man and I work by Scotland Yard as a police inspector. I have a wife called Nicole and two child: one boy and one girl. Their names are Andrew and Cassandra. I was borned in London on December the 31st, 2001. My parents are scottish and they are named George and Lilybeth. I am tall and thin. I have a brown courly hair and a brown eyes too. Under my nose I have a moustache and under my chin, I have a bit of beard. I am a shy person but I have five friends. Four brothers: two of them are famous and they are named Viktor and Anne who were borned in Germany and their surname is Leichter. Viktor is a writer and Anne is a thief who robbed three million of pounds in a bank near Edinbourgh. The other two aren’t famous but one of them helps me to investigate some cases. His name is Peter Stone and he has a bea

MRS.McGREGOR’S MURDER Harry Adam Smith was a police inspector who works by Scotland Yard. He was born on 1901 December the 23rd in Glasgow. He was tall and thin. He had a long brown courly hair and a brown eyes too. Under his medium-sized nose he had a bit of moustache and under his mouth and chin he had a bit of beard too. Inspector Smith had a wife named Jane. The marriage were living in a small house near Inverness. They had two shy teenagers: Arthur was a seventeen years old boy and his sister Mary was a fifteen years old girl who was wonderful and magnificent. When a man knocked the door that evening, I opened it. The foreign was called Charles McGregor, my brother-in-law who lives in Manchester and works as a baker. He said me that his wife was killed by someone in the street, two days before Christmas. “I will investigate the murder” I said him. “But I can’t promise it. If the commissary accept the case , I will help you... Ok?”. He was in silence three minute