Very interesting for me is South American literature like Carlos Fuentes, Julio Cortazar and Mario Vargas Llosa. Especially Cortazars short stories. Here I translated by myself (so the translation is not quite right and the best ever seen 
) a piece of his work. Enjoy it!
How to wing up a clock
There, inside, waits death, but don,Äôt be afraid. Take your clock I one hand, with fingers of second hand take this little thing to wing up and slowly turn. And here opens another dimension, flowers are on bloom, boats go to regatta, time opens like a fan. From it,Äôs air grows, earth blows, appears a woman,Äôs shade and smell of bread.
What do you want more, what do you want more? Quickly put it on your hand, let it pulsate as it wants, imitate it fiercely. Fear will eat it, everything which was available, and became forgotten will cause rusting of clock,Äôs veins, causing gangrene in cold blood of its small rubies. There, inside, waits death, but when we hurry up, we will be there before her, and we will understand that,Äôs no matter anymore.
) a piece of his work. Enjoy it!How to wing up a clock
There, inside, waits death, but don,Äôt be afraid. Take your clock I one hand, with fingers of second hand take this little thing to wing up and slowly turn. And here opens another dimension, flowers are on bloom, boats go to regatta, time opens like a fan. From it,Äôs air grows, earth blows, appears a woman,Äôs shade and smell of bread.
What do you want more, what do you want more? Quickly put it on your hand, let it pulsate as it wants, imitate it fiercely. Fear will eat it, everything which was available, and became forgotten will cause rusting of clock,Äôs veins, causing gangrene in cold blood of its small rubies. There, inside, waits death, but when we hurry up, we will be there before her, and we will understand that,Äôs no matter anymore.
