A Beautiful Night
Sofia, Age 13, Basque Country, Spain

It has been a very, very long time since I write in English. I speak in Spanish all the time, I read, I laugh, I cry. When I use each language, I have different views of things, of people and places...

But I shall try to write. To tell a story.

The twenty-third of June was a beautiful night. The air wasn't hot, yet not chilled, the sky black and dark, everyone celebrating the shortest night of the year lighting fires all around the place, as the custom says we should do.

Me and my friends Dani, Irati, Elena and Javi made our own little fire and began to burn Tokio Hotel pictures. We heavily dislike this band, and thought it entertaining to watch them burn, alongside other pathetic musicians such as the Jonas Brothers.
I remember Dani's eyes gleaming with glee, the fire produced by Javi's lighter glimmering against their faces.

Quite childish, perhaps, but simply beautiful.

We laughed, and as we spoke and giggled and burnt, I studied my friend's faces and expressions, reading their looks and admiring every curve of their noses, cheekbones, chins, seeing their long hair dance in the fragile wind, listening to their voices.
Dani is fourteen, soft, thin, even woman-like. He has long black hair, his eyes dark and smiling, always wearing heavy metal T-shirts and tight black trousers full of metal chains, his fingernails painted black, his walk graceful, yet sturdy, laughing in his crazy lollopy way.

Irati is thirteen, very tall, her hair dark and not so long, her eyes black, yet glinting, an eternal grin on her lips, smiles illuminating her full, pale face. She speaks, her words giggles, aways joking, always playing, she is so full of life, so dreamy, in a way.
Javi is a small boy, fourteen years old, thin, very quiet. His eyes are big and golden, lashes long and black, brushing the dry air with every look, bleeding sunlight. He and Elena are in love. His skin is white, hair brown and long, an Iron Maiden shirt pressing against his body, his soul ready to grab a guitar and, along Dani, get lost into music and fly.

Elena, Elena is simply perfect. Thirteen, very thin, her hair a dark gold, eyes big and green. Dressed in black, she laughs, she screams, she shouts... She is my soulmate.

The night grows older, and the fire continues burning... Irati and Javi have to leave, they have to arrive home early. It's only 10.30 p.m., but they go.

Elena feels quite empty.

But we continue laughing. Elena, Dani and I go to a sweet shop and buy a pastry with lots of cream on top. We eat it all together, and then we take pictures of us with cream on our noses. Elena dabs her finger into the cream and pokes Dani on the nose. I laugh. They tickle each other.

Later that night, we stamp what is left of the cream pastry against a statue's face. We think it's so funny...

And we don't even need to be drunk to have a great time.

We go to a park, and another friend, who's nickname is Steel, comes.


He is fifteen. He is lean and tall, his hair is shorter than Javi's or Dani's, blackish, brown. His eyes are of a deep dark brown, his eyebrows are amazing. He laughs quite a lot, yet he does feel cold sadness much too often...

We walk, and he holds my hand, and when we get to the park all four of us lay on the ground and stare at the dark, black night, the sky full of stars, glimmering so, so far away.

And then Steel looks me in the eye.
And then-
then we kiss.

And it is perfect.

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