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The big house uninhabitable

(inspired Lord of the Flies and The foam days )

Roman crouched against the door with as little noise as possible. It was what he usually did when the crisis came: he stared at the doorframe with a cold eye, focused on the pulse of his heart he felt the beating in his temples and even at his fingertips, under nails. He closed the door after requesting a break to Marylou who was beginning to make her scenes and had simply hoped it would suffice. But it was behind the door, his eyes wet and desolate. Him, he did not know of course, hear nothing, because his breathing became difficult and heavy groans escaped from his throat dry, tired. It smelled like dust bunnies in his lungs, as clusters of sharp stones. Or as water lilies that took all the space.

He heard a popping noise and he knew that it was part of his head that was closed, it was nothing learned. He opened the door of a single gesture Marylou and nearly fell. She Catinat, soft-spoken and sweet, followed him up the medicine chest. Roman took the small tube of eye drops yellow - "+ + hallucinatory ophthalmologist" - and two Propofan in the little green box.

Later, in the kitchen, it smelled like fajitas and decrescendo migraine went away, but Roman was always this strange feeling - the water lilies.

In the darkness of the room, he took his hat for a head cut and his pajamas for a headless body. His eyes always saw things that did not exist, which could not exist. Through the window he saw the bakery around the corner that closed shop. Hot bread, think of warm bread. He burst into tears and found him asleep Marylou like that, sitting at the window, fingers in his ears as if to protect it from exploding, or not to hear the evidence.

He had a little blood on his hands.

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Wednesday fourteen hours. I sat in the auditorium, as always in the background but not too much on the right side. From there I could see almost everyone. The course of Mr. C. began, he made us laugh - as usual, his shoes creaked on the beige linoleum and he apologized flatly, with a small smile, the smile that will eventually know by heart at the end of year.

I liked the course of Mr. C. and especially its title: " literary history of the Middle Ages to the Present. " I imagined myself in a lush jungle, walking briskly with a machete in hand to try clearing everything. It was he who also told us at the first lecture, that literature was above all an adventure. And he was right.

ROMANTICISM I wrote up my copy with my blue pen - yellow with sarcophagi that Marion had been stolen for me at the British Museum. That was two years ago ... London was beautiful. It rained a lot, I speak English and I drank the real Breakfast Tea. A bit like here, you know. And then I thought that after my examinations would go check it out, and then perhaps review Ivy, it would be nice.

I turned my head toward the row left cheek propped in the palm of my hand. There were two three girls side by side, perfect little doubles, each with its own miniature computer - how to say now? Netbook? Behind them, another girl with a long ponytail drank the neck of a bottle of mineral water. Girls next door and whispered behind her. Those in front of me did not speak, his nose in their notes, they wrote very quickly. So fast that I felt that their pens did not touch not even the paper! It was the ten students Erasmus, Finland. Polish and also, I think.

And a little behind, two boys were silent in the din of gossip and rumors of crumpled paper. One stared at her with an impassive air bottle filled with a liquid red cherry, probably of grenadine. The other

scrutinized me with a look unbalanced and incomprehensible. I looked away, uncomfortable.

His eyes were minnows. One brown eye and one green. The same eyes as the cat on campus.

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Vicky Cristina Barcelona

Because of you I have my bandages on every finger nails are bitten more than they should and My skin cracks like a desert that everyone cares

Because of you I have tears on your lips and I do not remember having paid I am ashamed of the salt from my eyes the color of I'm afraid my hair to be in love

My riddle my question I tried to understand the answers to questions I know you tried of the heart by up being I wanted to know what flavor it had to be you Because of you I wanted to know what you ate this morning that you drank the drink that you listened to on the tram I wanted to feel your aftershave on her pillow to watch you shave buttocks molded into a short mouse gray sport I wanted to kiss the corner of a street to hold you against me on a bench in May and the same for all other not months until the end of time finally you like it bothers me not to drink tea and drunk to lazy to Greece Te make love on a couch and fall on the dusty floor have It's a bad wake up dream is not it's a nightmare I'll wake up My heart is shaking like maracas is beautiful spain you tell me the new I want to travel you are my my basket my airplane wing my little cargo ship my my my hat my lotto number my mess my one and only my favorite canary my my my husband Tsar you my my me me me look what you do to me because of you

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They came to love for the second time and they do not always speak. Lili reached out to the bedside table to grab a cigarette. She squinted, because she did not put his contact lenses. Alex liked to see her like that, unsteady in his fog of her own, she looked vulnerable with his eyes glassy. Lili struck a match, pretending to ignore the insistent gaze of Alex. She, she felt like a mole and do not see how myopia was something charming. She waited for one thing: laser surgery, zou; and why she was saving already for a little while. Every day it filed its loose change in his big piggy bank shaped white pig. When the pieces were falling over each other, it was clonk clonk , and sometimes felt that Lili was the pig who awoke from a long sleep, cranky groin. Remembering this, she smiled, and two large white trails of smoke out her nostrils.

Alex looked at her again and searching for words. Why do not you love me anymore? seemed so pathetic, it was like a kid begging for candy. He knew by heart, and he knew she did not need to say these things. His eyes lost their sparkle, his smile his mouth and taste. Nothing was the same.

Lili rose to open the window and crushed his cigarette in the ashtray on the desk. It was an ashtray they had bought together in a gift shop in New York. Alex remembered the trip as if it were yesterday: the MacDonalds bigger than a station concourse, toy stores in Times Square, squirrels Central Park ... And yet it could be yesterday, because yesterday she still loved me, he thought helplessly.

On the ashtray, there was a large apple very red, like a loving heart.

Lili sat on the bed and turned to Alex. She finally opened his mouth and he held his breath. She slipped, broken voice: "Alex ... I'm sick. I ... It may be serious. Very serious, even. " And Alex looked at her, terrified, and he thinks only one thing, only one. He wanted to tell him he would have preferred she no longer loves him, ultimately.

It was so sad that her eyes were dry.

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sleep-November 8 million nine hundred forty-six

She had just cast a curious look, first at my hair, then it had plunged his gaze into mine. She had green eyes and orange, and very short eyelashes. At first I even thought it did not. It was like fruit baskets stuck in the sockets. She had split her pretty little mouth in two, revealing two rows of white beads, to throw me a mischievous " pretty hat."

And then she was gone up the stairs, and in the middle of the stairs, gray cement looked stupid. She was very young, maybe too young. And I was convinced that I never see her again.

But I was wrong. And the hat takes the dust on a shelf somewhere.