author notes: written and published, after a period of time almost ashamed, just because someone from 5 (-5 days !!!!) birthday and I would be a horrible person if I let you win laziness.
That story should not have a sequel, but I'm burnt out if I never make anything of what I propose to do. I could say that this or chapter will have a sequel, but since nothing is impossible to beat the revolving door, I refrain from saying more rubbish than I have already spoken.
So here she is, Sylvia, who knows what inspiration does not strike me like a bolt from the blue and I can not produce something better, for your birthday: D
I get up, I do a few steps toward the kitchen and then I block.
I sit back down, although I fear that "sit" is not the appropriate verb. I take a good culata, also doing a lot of noise.
She overlooks the living room, a raised eyebrow to emphasize his expression quizzical.
I, however, I have no idea to propose that expression.
I could ask what it means that kiss, but I do not want to know.
I could ask her if he eventually succumbed to the insistence of one of her suitors door to door, but do not want to know.
She asks
- Beer or wine?
I nearly did not answer, I do not know!
Instead, being able to build on part of my brain that controls the lips say
- Beer?
you back to the kitchen, calmly, as if he knew exactly what I'm about to do, although I'm not sure either.
soon I'm sure of not being seen, take the door and I'm leaving. Part of me wants to close it quietly so that she does not know it, but that part of me is rather slow, because when the thought comes to mind, has already slammed the door and I'm falling down the stairs.
My ears whistle and as soon as the chill wind whipping my face, I realize that something is wrong: I'm cold.
I forgot my jacket.
This means that I'll go get it, sooner or later. But not now. Definitely not now.
numb My body reminds me that I had promised a beer, but will have to wait. Now I'm too pissed off to drink.
banish the thought and shrug: I do not want to think about it. I'm going to take my jacket next Wednesday, maybe.
you'll be laughing. He will have seen the jacket, will have realized that they are gone, that I escaped.
will wait next Wednesday and will do so again, I got put in check. I'll have to sacrifice the dignity of bishop or knight of self-love, to get out.
For a moment, I seem to feel the smooth surface of the board under your feet.
Can you really be so stupid?
My sad monologue is interrupted abruptly.
A stabbing pain in my stomach takes your breath and thoughts.
I fall forward, but someone takes it and pushes me against the wall. Bang your head and slide on the ground.
It's all so sudden that I can not even be afraid.
In the mouth I have a horrible metallic taste, my stomach seems to be on fire.
hurts, fuck.
The alley is dark and I can not see who hit me, but they're laughing, and I understand that this is more than one.
shooting forward, combating nausea, and pure ass dodge a punch. Someone hold me arm.
I turn around and strike at random. Para a nose on the way of my fist and I feel it breaking. The noise is horrendous. This is the first time I seriously fight with someone. The adrenaline pumping forced my heart like a bellows, so that I feel as if about to burst.
loser I'd be the first in history to die of a heart attack during a fight. One thing very undignified.
My nose avoids the fate of that of my opponent by a narrow margin, but my eye is not so lucky.
I fall to the ground, while the right side of my world becomes a painful and blinding white.
One of the guys give me a kick, must be the one to which I broke my nose.
Then, the light of a lamp lights up a face and I nearly burst out laughing. Hysterical laughter, which I would like on the lungs and throat, as if struggling to escape.
are pedestrians: the pretenders. Allies against the common enemy.
suddenly seem agitated, they leave in a hurry, someone says something like "has fallen! We were just helping him to get up! "
close my eyes, the healthy and the pulsing as if in a little heart all its own. What a ridiculous situation
.
few more seconds and I will be able to get up and go home. Maybe I'll buy another jacket.
This evening could not really get any worse.
I wrong.
Someone comes to mind and, with the lump in my throat, step up.
Then the agitation gives way to shame.
Catherine is there, squatting on the ground with his hand stretched out still.
- You forgot your jacket. - He says, handing me. It seems as if about to cry.
I'll take it and not knowing what to say, I fucked up:
- I still have that beer?
She stares at me really crying now. I feel the pieces falling separately from the board reversed.
- And a bag of ice, perhaps?
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