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eBook, 2019
Current format, eBook, 2019, , Available.
eBook, 2019
Current format, eBook, 2019, , Available. Offered in 0 more formats
The saddest day of my life was when the doctors, in a voice colder than an ice floe, told me that my mother had terminal cancer and that, at most, she had a year to live. Or maybe less. The world came to me. I cried bitterly, it was the being I loved most. I loved her. He adored her. "Is there no chance?" He asked them. None, "they answered. It was an injustice. And so I had to save her. And if medicine was unable to work the miracle, I would try it with fabulation, with imagination, with fantasy. So I started writing a novel. This novel. In it I am a child who lives with his mother in a village from which he goes in search of the king —representation of cancer— to kill him. And when he finds him, he joins his entourage and tries to kill him once, twice, hundreds of times, all of them unsuccessfully, while his mother gradually turns off. "It seems that even literature has a logic that cannot be escape », I thought defeated shortly before putting the end point to the novel, although, to give me encouragement, I remembered that most fiction stories usually reserve a surprise in their last chapter. Most ... but not all. Or if?
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