Raymond and Harry run into a town where the inhabitants love a sanctuary made of oxidized parts of abandoned cars.

Raymond walked along the dusty and abandoned road, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of life. The sun listed mercilessly over, throwing hard shadows on the broken asphalt that extended in front of him. His partner, Harry, continued closely, cleaning the sweat of his forehead with a dirty handkerchief. Both men were tired of their trip, their clothes made and their low spirits.

In the distance, a peculiar structure began to emerge, protruding from the sterile landscape as a metallic mirage. It became clearer with each step they took, revealing that it was an intricate arrangement of oxidized car pieces, welded in a strange and imposing sculpture. The view was so unexpected, so surreal, that he momentarily stole breathing. The more they approached, the more detailed the sculpture became: an enriched and tangled network of twisted steel and shattered glass, shining under the relentless sun.

The air became thick with a spooky mechanical buzzing, like the echo distant from a forgotten engine a long time ago. When they approached the imposing structure, they saw that it was not only a sculpture, but a living and respiratory entity. The figures moved around them, their hidden faces behind the metal masks built with the grills and headlight protectors. Their voices mixed with the cacophony of the clan metal and the squeaky hinges, creating a symphony of supernatural sounds that seemed to emanate from the core of the sanctuary of the junk deposit.

The villagers looked up from their worship while the two travelers stumbled upon the objects thrown into the ground. His eyes were wide and curious furiously hostile. They set aside to let the newcomers pass, which allowed them to better see the sanctuary. The smell of oil and rubber burned permeated the air, a marked contrast with the desolate vacuum that surrounded them. The sanctuary was not only a lot of scrap, but a place of reverence, adorned with faded tapes and tree branches in old decomposition. It was clear that this was the heart of the village, a sacred space that had been built with a strange and fervent devotion.

While Harry and Raymond looked at a peculiar view before them, they could not help asking what they had taken these people to worship such a strange deity. The mystery of the sanctuary of the junk deposit was only the beginning of what they were about to discover in this desolate but strangely vibrant corner of the world.

By Carlos del Puente relatos