"Why are we doing this?" He complained about Tim, his eyes will narrowed his eyes against the obvious neon lights of the convenience store. His mother, Janet, sighed strongly, his tight hand in the shopping cart.  "Because we are without milk, Tim," he said, his voice a mixture of tiredness and soft fun. "And your father needs it for your cereal tomorrow."  "But why tonight?" He persisted, his voice echoed on metal shelves full of canned products and snacks wrapped in plastic. "Couldn't I wait until morning?"  "Well, I could," Janet admitted, "but your father also forgot to buy it this afternoon. Now, help me find the milk."  Tim put his eyes blank, his squeaky sneakers on the polished linoleum while he was still behind his mother. The store was disturbingly calm, the only sounds of the distant buzzing of the refrigerators and the occasional ding of the sliding doors that open and close. It was a peculiar dance of normality in the strange world they had stumbled.  The halls extended forever, each one a mirror of the last, full of elements that seemed to change and turn in Tim's peripheral vision. He couldn't help feeling that they were sailing for a maze designed by a madman with an inclination for packaged foods. The air was full of plastic aroma and artificial aromatizers, a smell that seemed to cling to its clothes and hair.  While Janet was looking for the elusive milk gallon, Tim's gaze went to the wall of the caramel bars. Each one called it with a sugar and chocolate song of a siren that lived consecutively in each of the city's sources, promising a brief escape from the worldness of its night. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that dinner had been a disappointing issue of rancid and pickled sandwiches too much.  "Mom," he ventured, in a hopeful voice, "can we get some sweets?"  His answer was an "we will see" not compromised, that Tim knew that it was a code "not if you do not start helping me now." He sighed and directed his attention to the shelves, his eyes scanned the rows of dairy products. The world around him was a surreal tapestry of everyday and inexplicable objects. Imagination, milk cards float in the air like a flock of paper birds. Another shine from another world. to the corner store to which he was used to. Isole, sound is a marked contrast with the seriousness of the situation.  The cardboard stopped moving, floating at the height of the eyes. The lid opened and a single drop of perfect milk formed in the air before splashing on the floor. Tim's eyes put themselves wide. They were not alone in a convenience store; They were in the middle of a world where the mundane and the extraordinary coexisted, and tonight, they had found a revelation that was as simple as deep: being among the entities revealed was living in a world where nothing was really hidden. And he was about to get much more strange as his story was developed.  Tim observed how the content of the milk cardboard began to spill in a slow chamber waterfall, every drop that shone under the light of the store's neon. The drops became larger, merging from each other until they formed a white river that flowed through the halls under the surprised look of the ordered products. He looked at his mother, who had stopped in his search to observe the phenomenon with a bewildered expression. "Well, this is new," he said, his voice a mixture of surprise and renunciation. "It seems that we are getting more than we expect tonight."  Tim's brothers, the beautiful and Larry twins, who had been exploring the opposite hall, came running, their eyes light up curiously. They had felt the change in the atmosphere, the sudden drop in gravity that seemed to attract their souls.  "What is happening?" Linda asked, his voice dyed with emotion.  "I think milk is trying to tell us something," Larry offered, his eyes never left the river growing.  Tim's mother lifted an eyebrow in floating cardboard. "I guess we should listen."  The three children followed the river, the neon lights reflected the waves of milk, throwing strange shadows and dancing on the floor. The river became wider and more deep, its sound is now a soft bubbles when it began to flow around its ankles. It was like walking through a cloud, cold, wet and completely strange.  When they approached the rear of the store, the river became a pool, and a single intact cupcake sat on a small floating island made of wafers. The view of that caused Tim's stomach growing harder.  "What's that?" Whisper.  "It looks like the Holy Grail of the Spins," Larry joked, his hand has already reached it.  But before I could grab it, the lights flanged and the store began to tremble. The undulating milk pool and a face left its surface, looking at them with a mixture of anger and accusation. It was the face of a man, distorted by the liquid, his bulky eyes and his mouth in motion, but no sound came out.  "What do you want?" Janet asked, his constant voice despite the trembling in his hands. The face became bigger, the milk pool climbed until it was almost at its waist. The children clung to the car, with very open eyes of fear.  The mouth of the man moved again, and this time, they heard his words, echoing the store as a ghostly song. "You have disturbed the balance of the accounts of the cash register. You must go immediately."  The brothers exchanged nervous looks. This was definitely not in the script of his usual errands. But Janet, always the pragmatic, breathed deeply and took a step forward.  "We feel it," he said, his firm voice. "We are only looking for milk. We will leave as soon as we find it."  The face contorted, the milk stirring around it. "Find what you are looking for, but be careful with the cost," he warned before sinking into the pool.  The lights stabilized and the pool backed away, leaving only the floating cake as proof of the encounter. Janet grabbed a gallon of milk from the shelf and handed it to Tim.  "Come on," he said, his firm voice. "We have had enough adventure for one night."  As they rushed to the box, the twins whispered with enthusiasm what they had just seen. But Tim couldn't help feeling a sense of restlessness. They had stumbled upon a world of secrets, and if they liked it or not, they were now part of that.  The ATM, a woman with hair made of licorice, barely looked at them while paying for the milk and left. The sliding doors separated with a ding, and they went out at night, the surrealist world of the store vanished behind them.  "What was that?" Tim finally asked as they approached their car.  "I don't know," Janet replied, with a tight voice. "But it is clear that we are no longer in our world. And I am not sure that we were ever." The car, a sensible sedan, had become a giant metal snail, complete with a spiral housing and antennas made of bright sticks. Janet looked at him, blinking a lot to make sure he was not hallucinating due to lack of sleep. "Well, I guess we are walking home," he said, his voice tied with a humor that did not reach his eyes.  Tim and his brothers looked at Caracol's mobile, their agapes mouths. "This is great!" Larry exclaimed, already climbing the shell, his face lights with childhood joy. Linda did the same, her curiosity overcame her fear.  "Come on, mom," Tim urged, extending his hand. "We can't leave it that way."  Janet breathed deep and placed his hand on Tim's. "Well," he sighed, "but if your father asks, say that we decided to take the panoramic route."  When they got on the snail, he began to move alone, the antennas stirring in time with their laughs. The shell was surprisingly spacious, full of luxurious seats and a mini refrigerator equipped with their favorite drinks. The windshield was a giant eye, flashing occasionally to clear the condensation of the outside world.  The streets that knew so well had become a canvas for the surrealist. The trees bent at impossible angles, their leaves whispered secrets when they passed. The cars had become floating jellyfish, their lights flash as bioluminescent tentacles. Even the moon had put a couple of sunglasses, looking at them with a knowledge smile.  As they approached their neighborhood, the snail slowed down, the houses around them became increasingly transparent. Tim could see their neighbors go to their night routines, but they were all doing it in slow motion, as if they were trapped in a giant and strange snow balloon. His own house seemed normal from the outside, but when they crossed the door, they found themselves in a room where gravity had decided to take a break in their emptiness. Everything was attached to the ceiling, including furniture and cat, which now floated serenely on a sea of ​​cushions up.  "Welcome home," Janet said dryly, his feet floated awkwardly. "Let's take this milk to your father before the house decides to become a giant game of Jenga."  His father, George, sat at the kitchen table, with his head in his hands. He looked up upon entering, his expression a mixture of relief and confusion. "Thank God you have returned," he murmured. "I can't find my socks anywhere."  Tim looked at his own feet, realizing that he was also without socks. He shrugged. "It's a thing tonight, apparently."  They placed the milk on the table, which remained stubbornly attached to the roof. George extended his hand, his arm stretched like a silly putty, and the gallon rolled out of the air. "Well," he said, his voice full of resignation, "at least we have milk."  As the family settled in its new reality upside down, television went to life. They were local news, the presenter's mouth moved in silent and exaggerated movements. The subtitle at the bottom of the screen said: "Breaking news: the world as we know has turned."  Tim looked at his family, floating in the room of his own creation. "I guess we are not the only ones," he said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.  His mother nodded, his bright eyes with a strange mixture of emotion and fear. No, "she said. "But we could be the only ones who know what it means to be really 'revealed as the reels of the old photo cameras in a black abyx. "And with that, they all breathed deeply, ready to face what the surrealist world had reserved for them below. The gallon of milk hovered in the center of the kitchen, the lid unscathed with a lazy grace. The white liquid began To flow up, creating a waterfall that challenged all logic. same in this absurd universe. Mundano had become an astonishment? hook a bowl of the roof closet with a grace that challenged the lack of gravity. He held it under the flow of milk, filling it to the edge. "Well, at least breakfast is tidy," he joked, giving George.  Her husband took the bowl, her expression a mixture of bewilderment and renunciation. "I guess we should get used to this," he said, taking a tentative sip. The milk was cold and refreshing, the flavor unchanged by the strange turn of the events. "It could be worse," he reflected, "we could be out of coffee."  The room was silent for a moment, the only sound of spoons tinting against bowls while eating their floating cereal. Then, as if it were on the signal, the lights flicked again, and the TV, which had been playing an episode backwards of a kitchen program, changed to a news channel. The voice of Anchor, now audible, spoke of strange events worldwide. "People report floating objects, animals that speak and trees with fruits that shine in the dark," said the presenter, his voice a mixture of panic and astonishment. "Experts are baffled, calling it the most widespread and inexplicable phenomenon in registered history."  Tim felt his heart accelerating as he digested the news. This was not just his local convenience store or his neighborhood. The entire world had been turned on his head. The twins, still in pajamas, looked at each other with very open eyes, their spoons floated in the air. "This will be the best school day in history," Linda whispered, his voice full of joy.  His mother sighed, his feet returned to the ground while Gravity decided to play again. "We will see about that," he said, his voice full of a determination that seemed to cross the absurdity of everything. "The first thing is the first, let's prepare you two for school."  The children groaned in protest, but Janet was firm. "We can't let this change everything," he said, his eyes on Tim. "We need to maintain an appearance of normality."  Tim nodded, understanding that in the midst of chaos, they needed a routine to hold on. He swallowed the last of his cereal and took his bowl to the sink, the water rose to meet him while washing him.  While preparing for the day, the house continued to play with them. The socks slid like snakes, spitting paste of the tubes with their own mind, and the toothbrushes made a small template at the bathroom counter.  When they finally went to school, Caracol's mobile had become a giant rubber duck, chatting while sliding along the way. The neighbors looked astonished, their own vehicles frozen in the air. The courtyard of the school was a whirlwind of floating backpacks and children trying to play with balls that challenge gravity. The teachers looked as lost as the students, their forgotten lessons amid the wonder of a world that had gone crazy.  In the classroom, Tim took its seat, the chair wobbles as if it were made of jelly. The teacher, Mrs. Puddle, a lady with hair as octopus tentacles, wrote on the board with a chalk that leaned like a rubber duck. The words he wrote danced and twisted, creating a visual symphony that made no sense at all. Tim looked at his classmates, who were doing everything possible to act normally. Some were even scribbling notes, their eyes threw themselves nervously around the room as if waiting for the board to come alive at any time. But the words that Mrs. Puddle wrote remained stubbornly meaningless, turning in ways that resembled a Jackson Pollock paint than to alphabet.  "Class," he began, his tentacle hair greeting with each word, "today, we will learn about the properties of floating fruit." He lifted an orange, which cited in the air before her. "As you know, the world has changed, but education must continue."  The lesson was a drunk fruit flying through the air and the children laughing while trying to catch him with his teeth. Tim's mind wandered, thinking about the face in the milk pool and the world that challenges gravity outside. What did it mean to be revealed entities? Was there a reason for this sudden change in reality, or was it just a cosmic joke?  During recess, Tim sat under the shadow of a tree that now had branches made of licorice. The fruit had been replaced by girls who appeared with each touch, the occasional giggle resonated from those who had discovered the new games function. Larry and Linda were in the middle of an intense debate with their friends about whether the sky was now made of jelly or simply painted to resemble.  Tim could not help feeling a stab of envy because of his ability to accept the absurdity so easily. He was still dealing with the implications, his mind accelerating with the "what would happen if" and "why". Was there a hidden message in all this, or was it only chaos surprised by chance in its long common calm?  The bell rang, and the children returned to class, their laughs became a chattering cacophony when their rubber duck shoes hit the pavement. Tim felt a strange comfort in the rhythm, the absurdity of everything became almost comforting. As the day progressed, surrealism became exhausting, magic was used as a cheap costume at an endless party. The floating fruit had lost its charm, and the novelty of seeing its director, Mr. Whiskers, sliding down the halls in a cloud of shaving cream had become another part of the landscape.  When they got home, the house had been transformed once more. This time, it was a giant sandwich, with its furniture standing out as fillings. Janet looked at him and sighed. "Well," he said, "at least we will not go hungry."  The door opened, revealing his cat, now the size of a small elephant, resting on the couch. He looked at them with a boring expression that seemed to say: "What took you so long?"  The family entered, his heads brushed the roof of the bread, and found his father, George, in the kitchen, trying to prepare dinner. The ingredients floated around them in a chaotic ballet, the knives that made acrobatic feats that would jealous a circus.  "How was the school?" He asked, turning a pancake that hid in the air.  "Interesting," Tim replied, his eyes still very open. "We learned about floating fruit."  George nodded, his expression a mixture of pride and concern. "That's ... wonderful, Tim. But we have to discover what is happening. We can't live in a giant sandwich forever."  The words hung in the air, thick with the aroma of unreality. The family sat at the table, the plates stick to the roof, while contemplating their next movement in a world that had gone crazy.  The television returned to life, the news ticket now said: "President Trum declares that the national holidays for the adjustment of gravity." Janet put his eyes blank. "As if a day free will solve anything."  Tim looked at his brothers, who were already looking at the giant cat with ideas from a new pet. "Maybe," he said slowly, "we should try to talk to someone who knows what is happening."  The family exchanged the appearance, the seriousness of the situation finally sank. They had been living in a capricious dream landscape, but now the nightmare was knocking on their door, and they had to wake up.  And so, with a collective assent, they decided to embark on a search to unravel the mysteries of their revealed existence. Janet, always the pragmatic, suggested that they begin with someone who could have an idea of ​​what was happening: the old store, the old and the old Jenkins man. Known for his wild stories and even the wildest hair, it was said that he had the ability to communicate with the very tissue of reality itself. The house of the old Jenkins man was a walk through the glass. The sidewalks had become a tangled tapestry tangled in Italian tomato sauce, the lamps of the street flanged with the colors of a disco ball, and the mailboxes had grown teeth that broke the mail that passed and bit their hand I tried to take paper cards. The laughter of the children had given way to a cautious silence, with very open eyes of astonishment and a touch of fear.  When they arrived at their home, it rose before them as a castle of gingerbread made of discarded televisions, each screen blinked with scenes from their past. The door opened to reveal man himself, his beard made of cobwebs and his eyes shone with the light of a thousand distant stars.  "Ah, the revealed," he laughed, his voice as the whisper of autumn leaves. "I've been waiting for you."  He took them inside, where the floor was a bubbling jelly cauldron and the walls were full of floating book shelves entitled "The fantasy of gravity" and "the quantum mechanics of quarks and quarks". The room smelled slightly burned toast and smiling dreams under the sun of the long wait.  Tim's heart beat on his chest while taking his eyes to them. The old man sat in a chair made of tangled Christmas lights whose cables were plugged in the cargo device of electric cars, in that time, modern, stroking a cat that was a mixture of smoke and shadow. He leaned forward, his eyes were drilled in his same souls.  "Do you want to know the secret of the dissemination of world's lies?" He said, his voice a whisper that resonated in the room. "But be careful, since with great revelation comes a great responsibility and atrocious despair." The family exchanged looks, the stone weight of their words that settle in them as a feathers blanket. They had found themselves in a universe where the ordinary had become extraordinary, and now they had to navigate their unpredictable currents.  The old man told them a story of a world where secrets were a currency, and the act of revealing them could illuminate or destroy. He spoke of a moment when the veil between the mundane and the mystical became thin, and the whispers of the cosmos could be heard in the whisper of the leaves.  While talking, the TV screens on the walls darkened and the room became colder, the air full of anticipation. The brothers leaned down, his eyes very open with fascination when Janet's hand was squeezed on Tim's shoulder.  "Being among the revealed entities," concluded old Jenkins, "is walking a tightrope between the known and the unknowable. The balance is delicate and a false step could send the world in spiral to chaos."  Tim felt a tight knot in his stomach. "So what do we do?" He asked, his voice trembling.  The old man laughed between teeth, a sound like raging chalk against a blackboard. "You must find the guardian of the secrets," he said, stroking the gloomy cat. "Only they can restore the order of this kingdom of superior review."  "But who is the guardian?" Janet pressed, his voice full of urgency.  "The goalkeeper of the old arrows," said old Jenkins, his eyes shone from mischief, "he knows the question to which the answer is 'milk'."  Tim's mind accelerated, trying to assemble the puzzle that stirred alone at will inside the swarm of the synapses of the nerve cells of his brain. "But the milk's face warned us about the cost of disturbing balance," he said. "What happens if we can't solve this?"  "Ah," the old man nodded, his beard of anti -afflicts cobwebs swayed. "That's where the choice enters, Young Tim. Each dissemination brings a cost, but also a gift. It must decide whether the price is one that is willing to pay."  The room was silent, the only sound of the soft pop of a distant firecracker that echoed through the surreal landscape. The brothers looked at each other, their expressions a mixture of fear and determination. They had stumbled with a search that was as strange as important.  His father spoke, his firm voice. "We will do it," he said, putting his jaw. "We will find the Guardian and we will put the world again to rights."  The old man lay down in his chair, his eyes shone. "Very good," he said, breaking his fingers. "But remember, the way to the goalkeeper is full of danger. He will face evidence that will test his courage, his ingenuity and his own sanity."  The room became darker, and the TV screens became life again, each showing a different scene of chaos and astonishment. Tim could see a world that was terrifying and beautiful, a place where the laws of physics had changed to a rules written in invisible ink.  "We are ready," said Janet, his stable voice. "We will do whatever necessary."  With a smile that was at the same madness and wisdom, the old Jenkins man gave them a map made of sweet wrappers. "The first trial awaits you on the edge of the city," he said. "Follow the yellow brick path and take you to the goalkeeper."  The family was standing, with the staggering legs of the gelatin floor that challenges gravity. When they left, the cobblest street had become a yellow brick path, which extended on the horizon as a tape of hope in a world that went crazy. His first challenge came in the form of a giant chocolate river, the shores full of lollipop trees and a bridge made of licorice. Tim's stomach rumbled before his sight, but his mother's warning about the cost of temptation resonated in his mind.  "We must be careful that flowers have," he said, his eyes in the water. "We don't know what stalks under the sweet facade."  They approached the precautionary bridge or that of concern I don't know. The twins already licked their lips in advance. But when they stepped on the first board, he began stretching and wobbly, threatening to throw them into the river underneath.  "Stop!" George shouted, his hand shot to grab Larry's arm as he slipped. Tim and Linda clung to Janet's legs while she took tentative steps, the bridge groaning under her.  The cat, whose psychiatrist had been entered by some periods due to his manifest schizophrenia, gloomy of the old house he threw himself through the river, his eyes fixed on something in the distance. Tim's heart accelerated when he realized that he was guiding them, carrying them through the tests they advanced.  The trip was long and full of danger, every dance step with the absurd. They met speaking animals that spoke in riddles, a forest of living furniture and a storm made of rubber rubber that chopped as hail. However, with each challenge they faced, they approached, their strengthening ties such as the glue that maintained the united world in this new strange reality. Tim could not help feeling that this was more than a simple search for the guardian of the secrets; It was a trip to the very fabric of its existence. The world covered with sweets that surrounded them was tempting and treacherous, a mirror of the human condition in a kingdom where everything had been exposed.  The Red Mueliz bridge remained firm when they reached the other side, the Chocolate River is now a distant memory. The gloomy cat had disappeared again, letting them face the next challenge: a floating interrogation signs field. Each one turned in the air, whispering in a cacophony of unanswered consultations.  "What do you want?" Linda whispered, with very open eyes of amazement.  "I think they are trying to tell us something," Larry said, getting to play one.  When his finger contacted, the question sign moved away, only to be replaced by another question sign. Tim observed how the field became denser, the whispers became stronger.  "We are approaching," Janet murmured, his eyes on the horizon where he was driving the yellow brick path. "Keep advancing."  The next test came in the form of a peanut butter and giant jelly that talked about its path. He spoke with a damping and pampered voice of bread, asking them to respond a riddle that passes. The brothers looked at each other, their expressions a mixture of confusion and fun.  "What is the only thing you can never have too much?" The sandwich entered.  "Love?" Tim suggested.  "Water?" Linda offered.  The sandwich shook his head. "No," he said. "But you're on the right short path."  Larry broke his fingers. "I have it! Many and gelatin butter!"  The sandwich opened its layers to reveal a mouth full of teeth made of sugar crystals. He laughed between teeth, a sound like the crunch of a cookie. "Good attempt," he said. "But the answer is adventure. Now, I know in your path."  They went through the mouth now open of the sandwich, the bread closed behind them with a satisfactory crunch. The world became darker, yellow bricks that vanished to black.  Tim looked around, his heart accelerating. "What is happening?"  "It is the twilight zone," Janet said, his voice a mixture of amazement and fear. "We are entering the Guardian kingdom."  The final stretch of his trip took them through a desert of forgotten ideas, each grain of sand is a discarded thought. The brothers picked them up, examining the fleeting concepts with a mixture of amazement and sadness. The gloomy cat reappeared, his eyes shone in the dark, which led them to a giant door made of clips.  "This is," said George, his hand in the door knob. "The goalkeeper's camera".  They entered a room full of floating bottles, each containing a whispering secret. The air was full of ink aroma and the sound of one million stories not told. In the center of the room the goalkeeper sat, a being so enigmatic that Tim could not decide if he was made of shadows or the very essence of curiosity.  "Welcome," he said, his voice is a soft whisper of pages. "You have come to look for the balance. But remember, each secret has a price."  The goalkeeper extended a bottle full of letters and swirl numbers. "This is the answer to the question that brought you here. But once you know it, there is no turning back."  Tim looked at his mother, his eyes reflecting the same mixture of hope and fear that his heart filled. She nodded, her decision was made. "We are ready," he said. The goalkeeper handed her the bottle, and as Janet decorchad her, the whispers became a crescendo before dying to a single word: "milk."  The room grew still, the bottles settled around them as a quiet crowd waiting for the phrase. The goalkeeper leaned forward, his eyes locked themselves in Janet. "You have discovered the secret. But do you really understand its meaning?"  Tim felt a strange weight of his shoulders. It was so simple, so mundane and yet, so deep. The answer had been with them all the time, a part of their daily lives, hidden in sight.  "We do it," said Janet, his firm voice. "We know that the most precious things are often the most past."  The goalkeeper nodded, satisfied. "Then you must decide," he said. "Do you want to return to your world, leaving this back? Or stay and become guardians of the secrets?"  The brothers exchanged looks. The surrealist had become his reality, but the comfort of family members called them as a cradle song. They had to choose, and it was one that would shape their lives forever.  Tim looked around the room every piece of the walls, to the bottles full of whispers of the unknown, and felt a strange pull towards the adventure of staying. But then he thought of his cat, Mr. Whiskers, waiting for them at home with his agitated excessively balanced that he had the moment he seemed to go to turn completely, in the quiet comfort of his living room upside down.  "We want to go home," Tim finally said, his strong voice. "We want to share what we have learned."  The goalkeeper nodded. "That's right," he said, his shape vanishes as ink on wet paper.  The room shone and was reformed around. The clip door was put away, replaced by the comforting vision of its own main door. They went out to their world, without changes, but by their eyes, now open to the wonder that lay just below the surface.  His father looked around, baffled. "What happened?"  Janet gave him the empty bottle. "We found the answer," he said, a smile playing on his lips. "And it was exactly what we needed."  The brothers looked at each other, the severity of their adventure was finally established. They had been among the entities revealed, and now they were the ones who knew the secret. But instead of power, it brought them a deeper appreciation for magic in the ordinary.  The world around him slowly straightened, the fruit descending from the trees, the cars that recover their appropriate shapes. The cat returned to normal size, looking at them with a yawn as if everything had been a nap.  They walked back home, the yellow brick road now just a sidewalk full of regular trees. The television screens returned to their usual channels, the news ticket now said: "The gravity anomaly explained: the bewildered scientists." While they were sitting around the table, the gallon of milk now firmly at the counter, shared their story . He found skeptical looks and laughs, but Tim knew that the truth was there, hidden in view like the stars in a Daylit Sky. cereal bowl He knew their lives would never be the same. He picked up the spoons and cleared the table, the weight of his experience remained with them, a silent partner of his laughs and talks.  The next day, at school, Tim found himself looking at his textbook, the words that faded in a meaningless sea. Gravity and geography lessons seemed trivial compared to floating chairs and whispering trees. But he knew that this was his secret, a chest of the wonderful treasure that only they could unlock.  Linda and Larry, in their own classes, faced similar struggles. The mundane had become the exotic, and the exotic had become the mundane. However, while they whispered on their adventure under the appearance of sharing a secret joke, they felt a stronger kinship than anyone they have known.  The outside world had returned to normal, but the brothers saw him with new eyes. They knew that the surreal was just a beat away, hidden in the shadows of the ordinary. It was a secret that united them, a shared understanding that no one else could really understand.  But as the days passed, the brothers discovered that their new perspective brought their own challenges. The whispers of the revealed entities followed them as a shadow, a constant reminder of the surrealist world they had left behind. The laugh at the table became quieter, the least frequent stories, since the weight of his secret became heavier.  Tim tried to ignore the strange looks of his classmates, the way they whispered about the night the milks had disappeared. He focused on his school work, pushing the images of floating cereals and talking about animals to the back of his mind. However, every time I saw an interrogation sign, I felt a longing for the adventure they had.  One night, while they sat in the room to be seeing a show where the furniture came to life, Tim could not help asking himself if his trip had been a dream. "Is it real?" He asked his mother, his voice just above a whisper.  Janet looked at him, his expression full of understanding. "It's as real as you do," he said, his eyes on the screen. "Sometimes, the most important things are the ones we keep hidden, even of ourselves."  His words resonated with Tim, and realized that his experience had changed more than just his perception of the world. He had changed his family dynamics, his relationships and his essence. They had seen the invisible and knew the untouchables.  The brothers began to notice subtle changes in their reality. A sock that slid, a spoon that danced in the drawer, a cloud that looked suspiciously like the old Jenkins. It was as if the surreal was trying to push their way back, to remind them that the line between the known and the unknown was thinner than they thought. And so, they made a pact. They would keep their eyes open to the magic of the mundane, ready to jump into action if the world needs them again. They would protect the goalkeeper's secret with their lives, a silent promise so that the adventure was never over.  As they fell asleep that night, Tim felt a strange sense of comfort. The surreal was part of them now, a secret they carried in their hearts. And although the world had returned to normal, they knew that the extraordinary was always just a beat away, waiting for the moment they would be called to balance the balance once again.  The next morning, the brothers woke up to find their well -combined socks and their perfectly erect toothpaste tubes. The house had returned to the hug of gravity, but the whispers of the revealed entities remained, false echoes of their journey through the vessel. "Today is going to be weird," Linda murmured at breakfast, his spoon floating too much time on his cereal bowl.  Tim nodded, a smile playing in the corners of his lips. "But that's the point, right?"  His mother looked at them, his hot eyes with understanding. "You know," he said, "I think he would prefer a world with a little amazement in him."  And so, they faced the day with a new sense of unity, their steps slightly lighter while walking along the line between the real and the surrealist.  At school, the whispers became stronger, the shadows extend a little more. It was as if the universe itself was trying to whisper its secrets in their ears. Tim was attracted to the quiet corners of the library, where the books seemed to lean, eager to share their stories.  One afternoon, when the library cat pursued a floating paper plane, Tim tripped with an old and dusty volume entitled "The manual of revealed entities." He opened it with trembling hands, the pages joined as if they had not been touched in decades in decades . The text was written in a language that I could not understand, but the illustrations spoke a lot. They were images of his adventure, of the evidence they had faced and the secrets they had discovered. The courtyard of the school at lunch, passing the book between them as a sacred text. Who would believe us? "The twins looked at Tim, who kept the manual open to a page that shows the guardian of the secrets." We cannot tell them everything, "he said," but we can show you beauty in the strange. "And so, they decided to start a club, a society of the curious and the brave. The club grew, and with it, their understanding of the world that surrounds them. They learned to read the whispers of the revealed entities, to see the patterns in The chaos. They became Beacons of Wonder in a world that slowly forgot how to dream.  However, as the months passed and the whispers were weaker, the brothers began to realize that their adventure had changed them. They saw the world through a lens of possibility, where a trip to the convenience store could lead to a dance with the stars.  The manual became thinner with every secret they discovered, every mystery that unraveled. But his link remained strong, a testimony of the power of imagination and the magic of the mundane. And so, they grew up, carrying the whispers with them as a cradle song, a reminder that even in the most ordinary moments, there was always a track of the extraordinary wait for the corner.  For Tim, Linda and Larry, the world was a great place, a puzzle to resolve. And while they looked, the flash of the adventure in their eyes, knew that their trip had only begun.  The days became weeks, and the whispers became softer, the less frequent floating fruit. But the brothers never forgot the lesson they had learned. They saw the magic in the mundane, the stories in the shadows. They observed the world with an acute eye, waiting for the next track, the next secret that was revealed.  One day, as they walked home from school, they ran into a peculiar view: a group of ants that had small umbrella, parading under the color leaves of the rainbow of a tree. The twins looked at Tim, the emotion bubbling inside them as a bottle of soda soda. "We have to follow them," said Linda.  Tim nodded and followed the ants along the street, through the park and towards the forest. The ants took them to a clear, where a miniature town of twigs and leaves had emerged. In the center, a small stage was established with accessories that seemed suspiciously like Tim's missing action figures.  The brothers observed in amazement while the ants began to perform a play by launching their monitoring liquid to the public's OOS, the narrative entered and left reality as a silk thread on a torn fabric. It was a story of a world where revealed entities had once again lost their place, a world that needed balance.  When the work reached its climax, the ants looked up, like feeling their presence. The scenario grew, swollen until it was human size. The brothers put into account, becoming part of the story themselves.  The ants spoke in a language of clicks and whistles and clicks in their stomachs, but the brothers understood them. They had been chosen once again, to help restore the order of the kingdom of the forgotten. The whispers became stronger, the trees leaned down and the stars above waded him as old friends.  The brothers looked at each other, knowing what they had to do. They entered the role of guardians with the grace of experienced artists. They danced with the ants, whispered to the trees and sang the stars, their voices wove a harmony tapestry.  The people grew, the whispers became stronger, and soon, the clear was full of creatures of the world of what was revealed. They observed in amazement how the brothers worked together, their laughter resonated in the forest as the sweetest of the melodies.  And when the final curtain fell, the creatures disappeared, leaving only the memory of their brief encounter with the extraordinary. The brothers stood on stage, the leaves at their feet, feeling humble and empowered. They had found their place in the great scheme of things, not as heroes or saviors, but as custodians of the balance between surreal real. They knew that the whispers would call them again, and when they did, they would be ready.  As they walked home, the world had changed once again. The trees whispered secrets, the clouds painted the sky with their whims, and the pavement shone with hidden stories. However, the brothers felt more punished than ever. They had become part of the very tissue of their universe, the guardians of their wildest dreams.  His mother, Janet, watched them from the kitchen window, a smile of knowledge playing on his lips. He had seen the change in them, the way they moved around the world with a new sense of purpose. The milk was just the beginning, he thought. The real adventure was in everyday life.  The brothers sat around the table, sharing stories of their afternoon getaway. George listened, his eyes full of a mixture of pride and confusion. "You know," he said, "I have always said that life is strange. But you, children, take the cake."  And with that, everyone laughed, the sound filled the room as the warm hug of a lost friend a long time ago. They were the milks, the guardians of the secrets and the champions of the surrealist, and at that time, the world had a perfect and absurd sense.  The brothers continued to share their stories at the table, each one more ridiculous than the previous one. However, in the midst of laughter and stories of floating fruits and giant cats, there was a thread of something real, something deep. They had discovered beauty in the strange, order in chaos.  The television blinked in the background, the news playing in a murmur off. The presenters talked about strange events worldwide, but the family did not flinch. They had become the drivers of the symphony of the surrealist, the masters of the inexplicable.  As the days became weeks, the whispers became softer, the less frequent floating fruit. However, the brothers remained vigilant, their hearts open to the whispers of the world that surround them. They knew that the balance was fragile and that they had a role to play to maintain it.  One night, while they sat on the porch looking at the stars, a fleeting star crossed in the sky. They made a desire, their voices unions in the calm night. It was not for more adventures or for the whispers to return. It was that the force faced the unknown, to be ready for when the world called them again.  And when the star burned, leaving a stardust trail in its path, Tim felt a warmth in the chest. It was the warmth of knowing that they had a purpose, that their lives were part of a much larger tapestry.  The next day at school, Tim noticed something peculiar. The board, which once had been a canvas for meaningless words, now had a message in the perfect and clear writing: "Thank you." It was as if the universe himself had left them a small note of love, a wink to his role as guardians.  The brothers shared a smile of knowledge, a silent understanding between them. They had become part of the world's fabric, weaving their own peculiar brand of order in the tapestry of existence.  And so, their days passed, the eyes open to the magic that lay just below the surface. They knew that the whispers were still there, waiting for the moment they would be necessary once more. But until then, they appreciated the mundane, the absurd and the completely surrealist.  For Tim, Linda and Larry, the world was now a potential recreation patio, a place where the impossible was just a thought. And as they grew up, they carried the whispers with them, sharing their stories with those who listened, inspiring astonishment and astonishment in everything they knew.  His history became a legend, a whisper transmitted through the halls of his school and, finally, the city. They were the milks, the children who had danced with the stars and the domesticated gravity. And although the whispers fainted with each count, the essence remained: a reminder that reality was just a construction, and within each heart, there was room for a little magic.  The brothers grew up, each of them following their own paths, but always with a piece of the surrealist hidden safely inside their souls. Tim became a scientist, looking for the secrets of the universe. Linda, an artist, painted the whispers that he still listened in bright and rotating colors. Larry, the writer, wrote stories that folded the fabric of reality.  And Janet, his mother always seen, knew that his adventure had left an indelible brand in them, a gift from the guardian of the secrets. He observed how his children grew, every step took a wave in the pond of the possible.  The world had changed, and with him, they had also done so. However, the whispers remained, a soft reminder of the night that had entered the kingdom of the entities revealed and returned forever changed.  And in the quiet moments, when the world was still and the stars were out, they could still listen to the soft and comforting buzz of the universe, whispering their secrets to those who knew how to listen. Years passed and the brothers their bodies became adults, their lives intertwined with the threads of the real and the tissue of the surrealist. They had their own families, and told their children the history of starry milk and floating fruit, the house that challenges gravity and their search to restore balance. The whispers had become a family legend, a story of astonishment and responsibility that was transmitted through generations as a relic.  But the whispers fainted over time, the absurdities of the world vanished slowly in memory. However, from time to time, there would be a peculiar event, reminding them that their work was never really done. A bird that spoke in riddles, an rainbow in an unexpected place, a shadow that danced when nobody looked.  Tim, now a renowned scientist, studied the whispers from a new perspective, his laboratory is a sanctuary for those who dared to question the ordinary. Linda, his work of art exhibited in galleries around the world, painted scenes that danced on the edge of the imagination, inviting viewers to look at the world of invisible. Larry, an acclaimed author, wrote stories that folded his mind and tickles the soul, each page a gate to the kingdom of the reverse.  And Janet, always pragmatic, saw his family flourish in the embrace of the extraordinary. She knew that the whispers were part of them, a part of the magic they carried. He was in his DNA, a gift from his midnight adventure.  The brothers often gathered in the old family home, now a museum of their peculiar story. They would sit in the living room, their feet hanging from the ceiling and remembered their youthful getaways. They would laugh at the giant cat and floating socks, with their voices a warm hug that filled the room.  One of those nights, while sharing a bottle of wine that swayed in the air like a buoy in a sea of ​​nostalgia, the whispers became stronger. The room vibrated with a buzz that seemed to resonate in its own bones. The television returned to life, the screen now a swirl of cosmic colors.  And there, in the heart of the whirlwind, was the face of the milk pool, the guardian of the secrets, looking at them with an expression that was a smile and a challenge. He spoke in a language of light and shadow, the words weaving through the room as a snake.  The brothers looked at each other, the whispers are now a call from Clarín. They had been waiting for this moment, their hearts beat in advance. The universe needed them once again, to restore balance, to be among the revealed entities.  They stood up, their bodies felt lighter than the air, and entered the swirling screen. The whispers grew to a crescendo, and the room disappeared around them, leaving only the vast and rotating abyss of possibilities.  And when they ventured to the unknown, they knew that they were exactly where they were destined to be: in the middle of the entities revealed, their hearts open to the whispers of the cosmos, ready to dance with the stars once more.

By Carlos del Puente relatos