A shooting gallery with real bullets built as a maze of mirrors. Carlos del Puente Stories

 A shooting gallery with real bullets built as a maze of mirrors.

Raymond, a man whose name had the weight of a forgotten fairy tale, stumbled upon the twisted streets where Liothan lived, his eyes would narrow his eyes against the glow of neon who danced in the rainwater puddles. The city was a canvas of shadows, every alley whispered the secrets of its grim past. His brothers, Harry and Harry, Doppelgängers of a past era, continued behind him, their steps identical to themselves echoed in a vacuum.

The parents of the trio, a couple of peculiar in -laws, had always been a puzzle that no one in the neighborhood could resolve. His house, a monolith of discord, hovered on the block of the city, a silent sentinel of the oddities inside. Strange uncles and aunts, characters torn from the darkest pages of Grimm, which enter and leave the life of the brothers, leaving a trace of whispers and eyebrows raised in their path.

The rain sponsored the pavement when they approached the "Labyrinth shooting gallery", a place where reality blurs with the absurd. This was not an ordinary shooting gallery. It was a twisted reflection of the deepest fears of the mind, built by a crazy genius who had stumbled with the plans of the fourth dimension. The air was full of tension, as if the universe fabric stretch tense, ready to break with the slightest provocation.

"Remember, chaps," said Harry, the tallest of the twins, "attentive to the plan, regardless of what the mirrors say." His words hung in the air, a mixture of humor and horror.

"But what happens if they show us the truth that we are not ready to see?" The other Harry asked, his voice trembling like the leaves of a tree in a ghostly breeze.

Raymond stopped, his hand on the door handle. "The truth, Harry is often more strange than fiction," he said, his gaze reflects the surrealist world that awaited them. "And in this place, we are all only characters in the nightmare of another person."

With a deep breathing, they entered the labyrinth, their reflexes extended before them as an infinite line of Doppelgängers. Metal noise in metal pierced silence, a sinister sinister of chaos and confusion. The mirrors whispered secrets, the walls moved and the floor felt that it was alive under their feet.

Its neighbors, a variety of oddities in themselves, observed from the shadows, their faces have a tapestry of doubt and intrigue. The whispers became stronger, the thickest air, while the brothers disappeared in the labyrinth. The city of Liothan, with its peculiar geometry and the even more peculiar inhabitants, waited with breathing contained the result of this twisted story.

The central theme of his search was a mystery that none of them understood completely, but they were all forced to unravel. It was as if his own existence depended on the hidden revelation in the heart of the "shooting gallery with real bullets", a place where the lines between fantasy and horror, science fiction and reality, blurred beyond recognition.

His trip would be full of echoes of the Psychopathic Infames. Every step they took was a dance with the absurd, each of the reflexes a look at the disturbing similarities of their own souls. But as they ventured deeper, one of the Harrys began to doubt. He did not see a reflection, but an aberration. A version of himself that was not quite well, which did not belong to this strange tapestry of life. And so, the stage was prepared for a story that would put the head of the city of Liothan, a story in which each turn and turns in the labyrinth reflected the tumultuous conflicts of the heart. The wheel of fate had begun to turn, and it was not known where it would take them, or what dark secrets would reveal.

At the time Harry entered the labyrinth, his reflection was divided into a madness kaleidoscope, each whispering sweets for his deepest fears. It was both hunted and hunted, the victim and the perpetrator in this twisted shadow game. The mirrors extended their psyche to their point of rupture, reflecting scenes from their past that had buried deep scenes that now danced before their eyes alive. He could feel that the walls approached, the air full of aroma of their own doubt and sweat.

On the other hand, Harry, the twin with a trembling voice, found himself in a world where the maze of the mirror labyrinth gallery reflected not only his fears but his most intimate desires. Each step carried him further from his brother, further from reality, and closer to a kingdom where he was the teacher of his destiny. The walls whispered sweet promises of power and control, and was tempted to delay, to explore the depths of this seductive illusion.

But as they ventured more deeply in the labyrinth, the reflexes became darker, more twisted. The laugh of his childhood games resonated through the halls, now dyed with a sinister advantage. The mirrors no longer reflected their faces, but the faces of the infamous criminals, their own characteristics that become those of the psychopaths they had studied in their youth.

Raymond, the eldest, felt the weight of his name by pressing him. He knew the history of Liothan, the stories of the fourth dimension that had infiltrated the city's very fabric. He was the only one who really understood the seriousness of what they were about to face. He observed how his brothers were attracted to his own personal infernal landscapes, his reflexes a twisted dance of doubt and desire.

And as the mirrors whispered, the walls began to breathe, the air full of aroma of the ozone and the electricity of a storm about to break. The floor moved under his feet, a living entity that seemed to have his own mind. The echoes of their steps became stronger, a cacophony of doubt that threatened to drown the voice of reason.

In the heart of the labyrinth, where the lines of reality were erased with the dark ink of the imagination, they faced their greatest challenge so far. A choice was before them, one that would determine fate not only of themselves, but of the entire city. Hug the absurd and follow your reflections towards madness, or fight the current and find your way back to the truth.

The mirrors became darker, the most insistent whispers. The shadows grew teeth and the walls had eyes that followed each of their movements. However, in the midst of chaos, an appearance of order arose. A pattern in madness, a path that only those with a pure heart could discern. It was a path full of danger, but he was the only one who promised to escape the diabolical claws of the labyrinth.

With each step, the brothers felt the pull of the universe, the thrust and the pull of destiny. The air became colder, the most attenuation, when they approached the center of the maelstrom. And there, in the eye of the storm, they would be face to face with the truth they were looking for, a revelation that would shake the foundations of their world. But as they approached, the whispers became stronger, the most insistent mirrors. It was as if the labyrinth itself was trying to prevent it from being forward. The reflexes became more grotesque, more monstrous, and the brothers felt that their sanity began to escape.

In a moment of clarity, Harry, the tallest of the twins, turned to his brothers. "We must unite," he shouted on the rumble of mirrors. "We can't let the labyrinth destroy us!"

Raymond nodded, his staunch eyes with determination. "We are stronger than the sum of our fears," he said, his voice was a lighthouse in madness.

And with that, they squeezed their hands and advanced, united against the attack of the reflected labyrinth. The reflexes became more frantic, the most threatening shadows, but the brothers did not hesitate.

His trip was not just a search for truth, but a battle for his souls. 

By Carlos del Puente relatos,