sexta-feira, 5 de abril de 2013
"It was the last shovelful of earth and I was tired! I dug the shovel in the pile of earth looked to the heavens as if seeking relief. The moon reflected the beads of sweat on the handle of the tool that was instrumental release my agony, the shovel was smeared with blood and dirt ... The desolation of the place even more saddened my heart stained by the pain of malice, the crime he had just committed, afraid of the punishments inflicted by those who did not know my pain - He lied! - I felt the throb inexperienced hand calluses without the practice of effort the legwork asked. I sat down at the ground then it should be holy, because on it rests those who were once great men. Sitting where I was even away could see the shadow of the imposing mausoleum of my family. I was at the bottom cemetery on the east side of his distant entrance, an evil space reserved for indigent care and suicidal, beheld a simple pit that housed that body, was too good for him.
That it was just pulled out the heavy black leather jacket, bought at Arco Verde, whose wonderful finish would be better used for those still living; Besides that could offer some resistance to the insatiable hunger of worms that fertile soil, satisfied smiles. The night cooled abruptly and the work was finished. But what was my surprise when breathless and pale horror saw telltale illuminated by momentary glare of lightning inquisitors feet of earth discovered that one day I called brother! ... "CONTINUOUS in the book: "13 Tales - Of Dreams and Madness" from writer Sidney Leal