A lba O liva
Alba Oliva was born in Córdoba on May 13, 1980.
After completing her studies in Fine Arts at the Mateo Inurria School of Applied Arts and Artistic Trades (Córdoba) in 1998, the author acquired a Diploma in Primary Education as well as in Music Education from the UCO (University of Córdoba, 2001). She joined the National Police Corps in 2005 motivated by a strong vocation, without neglecting all her artistic concerns. She is the author of the novel "The color of rhythm" (Editorial Amarante, 2018). Likewise, he has published more than twenty stories in a cultural magazine with diffusion in the United States, a good part of Latin America and Europe.
He has combined his profession as a police officer with the artistic world, exhibiting his collections of oil paintings on canvas in different rooms, showing his short films (for which he composed his music) and, above all, developing literary creativity.
THE DARK ROOM
Marcos was six years old, he always slept with the door open and the nightstand lamp on. It wasn't the darkness that scared him, it was the ghosts. His parents calmed him down every night by telling him that spirits don't exist. But he imagined them at the foot of his bed, watching him, or from any corner of his room. He seemed to feel them. She covered her head with the sheets. And so strong was his feeling that at times he was forced to check that they weren't there, plucking up his courage every time he suddenly poked his head out to make sure.
His fear persisted over the years. In adolescence he was ashamed of it, it was his great secret. Even in college I still had this phobia. And it continued when he went to live with his girlfriend in a modest but cozy apartment. He never told her anything, no matter how much she asked him repeatedly why he insisted on leaving the hall light on and the door open. To drive away potential thieves, he always answered. Let them know that there is someone at home, he clarified.
At thirty-three he realized that it was not about any kind of fear or paranoia. He began to see shadows from his bed, then he heard whispers. The presences from beyond began to become more and more latent. And, strangely enough, he felt more and more calm, as if liberated; he did not feel like a coward. He understood that what had been happening to him since childhood was real, his intuition and his feelings had been revealing that there were entities with which he could communicate, energies from beyond.
He began to communicate. He was able to help some to leave that interface in which they were and lead them towards the light. Others were a bit mocking, they tried to scare him. At first it was difficult for him to deal with these, he soon realized that they could not harm him. At most, moving an object, generating a whisper in the ear, pulling the sheets or something like that.
At the time he decided to help the people of this plane who wanted to contact their loved ones who had already passed away. It had a great acceptance; those who came to him obtained all kinds of details that only these people and their loved one knew, it was impossible for Marcos to have that information.
He felt fortunate to be able to help those here and there, near here.
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"Those who look at the stars" is a police thriller where several cases take place based on real events, one of them being the backbone of much of the novel. The plot moves in a choral story in which six main characters have only one gesture in common: looking at the stars in moments of consternation. The author compares the gradual or sudden connection of the characters with the way in which the stars, nebulae and other objects of the cosmos interact with each other, driven by practically the same laws.
The afterlife, with the narration of several near-death experiences, will be a constant throughout the novel, with all the amalgam of twists that this entails.