For some time I am a user on a forum called Challenges Illustrated. Just today I take the account and write something decent.
The table I chose was in Feelings, No body functions.
And start to Mourn:
1.
I looked at the tape. The gentle breeze caressed my face and raised, making dance to their tune, my hair. The brown tips touched my eyelids, my lips, my cheeks and tickled me.
knew I had to laugh at the time, but he was wrong because of the desperation I felt in my chest. The sadness lay in many parts of my body, giving a taste vacíoa my chest, neither cold nor warm, like standing water. Sat as cement in my stomach and made move seemed impossible.
clouds became more thicker, grayer and more bloody. They wanted the sun and I looked, wanted to not melt my fear. The anxiety escalated with spider-like down my throat, I ran away from full-flavored whine of supplication, and yet not be lightened.
the earth resounded with so much power that my hands shook, or maybe it was the cold that was beginning to present. I did not separate my view of a distant point, who knows how far away, waiting for the spit of gods in my face, saying, once again, that nothing was worth it. At least, not like before.
Hope escaped me, was buried in my feet, turned to stone. Cold, hard, meaningless. Why there, why not higher near the hole that was my heart?
My hands were stiff from the icy wind, which became increasingly stronger. It was a storm coming toward me. But even I was so indifferent to it: the world felt that I felt, but it seemed absurd to even think about something other than nothing. Gradually the sand began to hurt his face, hitting me like a silk whip sharp. Sea salt slowly cracked my lips, my neck is stiff, my legs ached, the cold seeped deeper into me. The raincoat lost its reason for being. The hair got heavy and opaque.
And I stared at the sky, awaiting response did not come.
Suddenly something fresh ran down my face from my nose to one side, and fell to infinity. The drops of rain coming at me like magnets melancholy. They cleaned my face with the softness of a caress breast. I closed my eyes, trying to enjoy it.
But the dark I got scared and cried. I cried in terror, the despair, the desire to run and not do something. The leave to stay there until roots and get away from everything that bring painful memories.
My hair slowly stuck my face. And sobbing could not recognize whether or was, in fact, because of the precipitation. My lips were so hard and so used my ears, I'm not sure if he shouted something or not, just that my throat hurt, torn.
I just know that I got something in my body, which was embodied there. I buried my nails, my fingers, on the ground that the roots tangled and I raised it with such force that it hurt. And lifted up the grass evil upon me, as a trophy.
And I know that I did not feel anything else until I got home and jumped into bed.
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