Chapter TES (incomplete) novel writing project" fast "(without planning, without revisions, no ... time XD)
hazardous materials along
Upon returning to the office he had come to want to scream or to operate the fire alarm. Everything, absolutely everything, remained the same, as if the people who inhabited pods were empty, a sort of invasion of the Body Snatchers made flesh alien hand especially boring. Elena had just returned from a three-hour lunch, one of the few who probably would not have remembered the work of Burroughes. His hair was tousled and wet, as if the rain had impertinent-door draft of the department, and lip gloss neatly outlined with pink. Came eager to talk but Alicia got rid of it served their interest fake exciting book of geometry, which saldarÃa affront later with a couple of beers.
Conversation with Geroge had fueled his curiosity. It felt nervous, restless, with a knot in the stomach empty the visit as an old friend. One of those annoying school mates that you recognize on the street and walk to your meeting, citing a pathetic smile and five wrinkles on the forehead as unique credentials, as he waits for you to recognize as one of the best things that ever happened in life . The knot in stomach was not a good sign, not a good company. While fixed view on the sinuous curves of a double integral, recall previous situations in which he felt that knot in your stomach. The first had been very young, very little would have said then, usually associated with the loss of something dear.
In particular, he remembered with relative objectivity, the first visit of the eternal void that would be installed in your belly to claim their attention on special occasions and feast. Was very small. In his memory, carefully classified in a tailor Jaona, labeled "childhood memories" shrugged his perspective and felt I was seeing the world through binoculars magnifying fisheye lens. In these confused memories always had an indeterminate age and seasons, days and months, had no meaning. The most exclusive and elaborate were linked to some vague time reference as "before school" or "lunch time" but most were held in limbo dream that was the living room floor of their grandparents. A timeless, unchanging through the years, despite the glossy dark sun struggled to penetrate through the windows of a huge balcony with plants sad in a prison of concrete and rusted bars. In this scenario of dark brown furniture, the essence of dark brown and maroon floral sprinkled with synthetic leather, it was impossible to get a clear picture of what was happening around him, so that the binoculars focused only on the central image, diluting the bottom in a continuous mist of oblivion.
first memory is never context, only climax, and the explosion develops in the long hallway, cold and wet, which flows into the room. An endless corridor, the harrowing journey of a young girl in a hurry to get cold on the hands and the fiery flames pressure on his neck. Do not know what it is, but rather varies in its throat and listen to the wind inside. His mouth tastes, fears and dislikes, but believes that all will cross the threshold to the dark room, so keep running towards it, towards salvation and protection only he knows. Upon entering, anthropomorphic creatures gargantuan dimensions of scrutinizing their indifferent looks, but his lips stop moving. A layer of salt water covering the world, it becomes blurred and more confused than usual, mixing the pain of helplessness, that will never go away, and the physical burning of the Sheath of an orange bic pen, wielded by a stranger, which lowers over and over again, with force, tracing red trails of rage on his neck and back.
Nothing.
watch in silence for just a second to be left to fend for themselves as they return to their inane conversations. This is when the vacuum takes hold of his heart and, without knowing, he knows the meaning of another of those confusing words you've heard on television: cessation.
Like all distant memories time has no meaning and soon the child of bic pen vanishes. her mother is now reviewing his wounds while her grandmother, who was to be caretaker, said he knew nothing of them, who spent the afternoon playing with another child who is weak, already knows she never defends that could have happened at any time. She is silent, standing in the middle of the living room, silent and listening. His brown eyes look at her button intelligently, remembering every word of it, each one of those hypocritical excuses expected to forget, like so many other moments of childhood, aware of his error, but no hint of guilt. Before the reproachful gaze of his mother looks back. As if afraid to be in trouble, a small inflection in his voice gives him the key to appear concerned about the girl. In his head, the baby, can not find words, know how to express anger, pain, disappointment has been treated as a possession to show the lies of someone who has betrayed his trust. Lost in sounds that do not understand, can only clench his fists and think with all his might ... "bad."
