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Les Fleurs du Grave by BEATRICE CANIOLA BEATRICE CANIOLA
SUMMARY: THIS STORY IS ABOUT FANTASY LOVE, ABOUT RESURRECTION...
Les Fleurs du Grave
Were we the night. I had to be near him, for better or for worse, though I had been together formally. But neither good nor evil does not become official meantime. Especially evil that had invaded me so suddenly, like a nervous summer rain, the mud înecând grass.
- Hello! ... Hello! ... Can you hear me? ... Are you? ... Answer me! I heard Dana's voice, trembling with tears.
I wanted to make me one with the signal to throw my hands firmly in her neck and tighten it up eagerly to silence.
But, stretching my fingers in the air and wanted to warm softness of her jugular tendons hanging painfully cold, stainless steel handle of the refrigerator. All around, the hall is easily swayed like a boat left in general, diving and occasionally ends steaming milky fog. Zare and I do not really. Covered by white earthenware, but scattered here and there beneath the clouds of formaldehyde.
A mass of 1.80 m, stainless steel, surrounded by the groove, having at one end embedded sink, two storm drain and a channel with perforated mesh, placed in the center. In addition, two silver shelves, probably as stainless steel, which had been out several cutlery: knife, scissors, a metal hammer, oscillating saw, a few needles and some three curved tweezers.
As for me, I was still there fingers on the handle.
Expected. Although long to be ...
And finally I did it: slowly, carefully, like I unpacked a gift.
Brummm ... .. brummm ... .. brummm be heard coming from the depths of the wall, a sliding drawer, the size of a man. Like a train coming out of the tunnel to light, but carrying only one passenger.
Some time ago ...
I keep hurting left temple. I even appeared as a rash in the shape of flower-to-corner. Only it was red.
- Perhaps you have an allergy ... the doctor told me bored browsing the pages of a register.
- An allergy-shaped flower or flowers in the form of allergy? I wondered ironically. To which I sketch only a brief smile. But rather seemed like a rictus.
Rictus mortis thrown elsewhere, under the nose of the passenger stuck in the drawer. His eyes seemed to be left in open I lurk in every corner I would have still moved like a burial option to Gioconda.
I loved him with all the tragedy that had been thrown. As it became: what remaining impassive behind me, that way the rest invaded by greedy nociceptors pain.
- Why ... Why? ... Delirious mumble every drop of me.
I had to face, but refused to relate the image. I ment only subtle nuanced body livor mortis. Only three hours ago-in, if I could move the time, I would be caught alive on the same earth, under the same sun.
But who was I, how I want to play with time?
- Hello! ... Hello! ... Can you hear me? ... I'm sorry to tell you a thing, but he died ... I still resonate in the mind of Dana's strident voice.
But I never believed it until I actually pulled the drawer and I saw him. He had been seriously hit his left temple and left a sign in the shape of flower-to-corner.