But the calmness will not last much. They will place shackles to us oxidized in the hands and the feet. They will force to us to walk with metallic spheres striking our heels and ankles. There will be a deposit of high walls. The doors will be of riveted metal. Inside scent will float dulzn of tinkles and its calidez will cover the ateridos fingers.
We will enter pushes again. Tied we will fall. When between the leader of the group with its lantern to see our bloody faces, we will notice ourselves of the presence of other prisoners. The door will be closed. The dark and cold. Nobody will speak. Moaned jadeos will be listened to and.
A skylight in the high thing will allow us to know that the night is high and secret. The constellations will watch to us indifferent. Attractive stars will do winks to us. On my right hand, the one of the dislocated finger, it will promote a small lizard. Perhaps he is that or a blood thread. Somebody side, without name nor voice, will resoplar with such intensity that its breath will flood my sense of smell. Frequently, a man will enter and he will bathe to us with frozen water. Other two will bring macanas and they will strike to us. One of the canes will have a nail in the end. It will tear my back. For that moment, our God will have left to us. We will hardly see the flight of its mantle when qudam makes us leave the stay. They will loosen the shackles and we will see drag almost to five until a wall in ruins. They will place them with the bandaged eyes. Some, indifferent of pain and humiliation, will want to see the face of the death in the vertex of the projectile. We will venture the hope of the farce.