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Let me tell you the story of how i died...

It was late May a couple years ago. I remember through that month, the rain was our lullaby every night, and the wind flowing through the trees... itís chorus. I was 21, my brain was asleep and a bit distorted... thatís why i needed to die. This story... it was written already... the day i died.

My father was in town that month, he had taken vacations and so he flew back from Mexico. He had gone away years ago, looking for a new horizont. I remember it was just the tree of us in the last tables at the restaurant that night. The tear rolling by my cheek fell on the ground. My brother hugged him, I looked away. He said he had to go... for us, for him, for our future. That same rolling tear fell again... the next day on the airportís floor. Five years later he was back in the same airport. My place was by his side.

Iíve got to be honest, you know...
Ö thereís a part of this story that is.... a ďlegendĒ to me... as it was told to me by everyone else, and i put it all together from all these stories... like a puzzle. I like puzzles. Itís disconcerting when building memories from othersí stories, cause... how can you tell if you both had the same perception of reality of the moment? The truth is... you canít. But I didnít had a choice... my brain erased that part of the story... or maybe it stayed with the other body, I really donít know.

I had waken up that morning thinking it was just another day, another rainy day of May.
and actually... it was... just another day, like any other.

The news papers finished up printing by 5am in the morning, and the local gazet had them ready for the business man by 8am. The indian tourist took a photo with ďle tour eiffelĒ behind him, you know... where everyone stands when they go to Paris. The coffee pot was full by 7am, cause the wife had waken up so he could have a hot cup of coffee before he head out to work. The boxer screamed in east china, as his opponent kicked him out of balance. The birds flew that day from that tree in the upper mountain of rio, and headed down to Copacabana. The clock switched from 07:59 to 08:00, for the children to wake up and go to school. The soldier pulled the trigger and fire against his horrified screaming face. The scientist broke another Petry dish and got the mixture all over his white coat.

as i said... It was just... another day...
a day like any other... the day i died.

( to be continued... )

Texto agregado el 23-08-2011, y leído por 156 visitantes. (0 votos)


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