Post by account_disabled on Dec 13, 2023 0:28:07 GMT -5
Stink. He pissed himself off several times, both out of fear and physiological needs. She begged the man to let her go to the bathroom, but he hit her. And she continued to beat him for hours, until she had no more tears to cry. The strange mask that the man has applied to his face hurts him. The child does not know what he is for. He presses against the skin of his face, under his eyes, pulls at his hair, makes his head ache. He no longer remembers how long he has been locked down there. But she still remembers the trip to the woods with her parents, the warm sun of that beautiful day, her little sister playing with the flowers.
And the voices. The voices calling him, his mother's, his father's. But he couldn't respond to those calls. He would have wanted, oh if he would have wanted. And finally the strong smell that came from a handkerchief that Phone Number Data someone was pressing against his nose. Then the darkness. *** The angel's broken wings gave that image an air of abandonment and melancholy, like that which weighs on old, forgotten cemeteries. The statue looked like a sentinel specially placed there to guard the gate. When the man crossed the fence, he found it black and threatening in front of him in the night. He had barely suppressed a cry of fear in his throat.
For a moment he thought he was faced with old Mathias, who was asking him to account for that unexpected visit. Then he understood that it was the statue of an angel with broken wings, as old as the residence, as old and worn as Mathias. He decided to continue. From there a paved path started that crossed an unkempt garden and passed a well closed by a wooden trap door that had been rotting for who knows how long, until it died close to a cherry laurel hedge that had not been cared for for years. And beyond the hedge the darkness. The darkness and the house. Now that she was so close it was even more scary. In the darkness of the night she seemed more eerie and evil, she seemed to hide forbidden truths and buried pain. Something, the man thought as he approached warily, that perhaps he shouldn't have dug up.
And the voices. The voices calling him, his mother's, his father's. But he couldn't respond to those calls. He would have wanted, oh if he would have wanted. And finally the strong smell that came from a handkerchief that Phone Number Data someone was pressing against his nose. Then the darkness. *** The angel's broken wings gave that image an air of abandonment and melancholy, like that which weighs on old, forgotten cemeteries. The statue looked like a sentinel specially placed there to guard the gate. When the man crossed the fence, he found it black and threatening in front of him in the night. He had barely suppressed a cry of fear in his throat.
For a moment he thought he was faced with old Mathias, who was asking him to account for that unexpected visit. Then he understood that it was the statue of an angel with broken wings, as old as the residence, as old and worn as Mathias. He decided to continue. From there a paved path started that crossed an unkempt garden and passed a well closed by a wooden trap door that had been rotting for who knows how long, until it died close to a cherry laurel hedge that had not been cared for for years. And beyond the hedge the darkness. The darkness and the house. Now that she was so close it was even more scary. In the darkness of the night she seemed more eerie and evil, she seemed to hide forbidden truths and buried pain. Something, the man thought as he approached warily, that perhaps he shouldn't have dug up.