Dear friends, I leave for the goodness of your readings a tale of terror. It is actually a microfiction that I have translated into English.
It's an intermission while I prepare a post that has me a little bit on my head!
I'm grateful.

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<h4><img class="irc_mi" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/1/25/132342598_f49f57748b_z.jpg?zz=1" alt="Resultado de imagen para carretera y nieve" width="471" height="353" data-iml="1553122939750" /><br/></h4>
<p><center><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/torrelodones/132342598" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Source</a></center></p>

<h4><center><img src="https://steemitimages.com/640x0/http://adncabrera.vornix.blog/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/Separador-Lechuza-2-1024x26.png" /><br/>A dream in the snow</center></h4>
<center><img class="aligncenter" src="https://steemitimages.com/640x0/http://adncabrera.vornix.blog/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/Separador-Lechuza-2-1024x26.png" /></center><br/>
My tears are frost. My bones, ice.
In my dream you are. Naked in the snow. A stain spreads under your very white body. Are you asleep?
He comes in the night, I know. His eyes are puddles. He wants to eat.
"You are so soft," he says.
Awake.
It's late. I get ready in a hurry and go to work.
A layer of snow covers the state. While I'm driving, I try to accept that I have to tell Dr. Oviedo about my dream. She will insist on antidepressants, but I don't want to. The pills are the admission of my defeat. She will insist on working on those feelings, finding the knot in the story of Marta and my father (could you tell her mother?). Work the memories (He touches my hair. He caresses my neck. He murmurs something and leaves his palm there, where I lick warmly. I get agitated, traveling through my own dream).
My father's workshop smelled of cedar... Memory brings me its silences, almost permanent after Marta's suicide (she was able to sand a piece of wood for days without talking to me). The warmth of her hand in my mouth (You are so soft...). Oviedo would insist... (I feel like an empty sack of secrets, of history)
No.
Wake up.
My tears are frost. My bones, ice.
A dark spot burns in my throat. It spreads across my chest and suffocates me.
I see myself: naked, pale skin on the field of blood-tinged snow.
He comes, I know. His eyes are puddles. He wants to eat.
"You're so soft," he says.
I mutter lost in my own dream. Very low.
I say "Mother", maybe.

<center><center><img class="aligncenter" src="https://steemitimages.com/640x0/http://adncabrera.vornix.blog/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/Separador-Lechuza-2-1024x26.png" /></center><br/></center><center><strong>Gracias por la compañía. Bienvenidos siempre.</strong></center><center><center><img class="aligncenter" src="https://steemitimages.com/640x0/http://adncabrera.vornix.blog/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/Separador-Lechuza-2-1024x26.png" /></center><br/></center><center><center></center><center><strong>¡Libertad para mi país!</strong></center>
<center><center><img class="aligncenter" src="https://steemitimages.com/640x0/http://adncabrera.vornix.blog/wp-content/uploads/2019/01/Bandera-deshilachada-150x135.png" /></center><br/></center>
<center><center><img class="aligncenter" src="https://steemitimages.com/640x0/http://adncabrera.vornix.blog/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/Separador-Lechuza-2-1024x26.png" /></center><br/></center><center></center><center><center>Soy miembro de <a href="https://steemit.com/@equipocardumen">@Equipocardumen</a></center>
<center>Soy miembro de <a href="https://steemit.com/@talentclub">@TalentClub</a></center>
<center><img class="aligncenter" src="https://steemitimages.com/640x0/http://adncabrera.vornix.blog/wp-content/uploads/2019/01/Footer-navideño.-Todos-los-proyectos..png" /></center><br/></center></center> <br /><center><hr/><em>Posted from my blog with <a href='https://wordpress.org/plugins/steempress/'>SteemPress</a> : http://adncabrera.vornix.blog/2019/03/20/a-dream-in-the-snow-a-horror-story/ </em><hr/></center>