Sires Equivalent à Jibjabs

black tales Priscilla

All the boys remembered it because he always told stories. It is said that two of them, who met by chance at a party, began to recall their emotional experiences, and wide after a drunken conversation, concluded that both had left her. It was through this story of stories through which evoked, in unison, the features of Priscilla. Beautiful, yes, but a disturbing beauty, absent. As if she were the one hand, and the near perfection of his face on the other, complementing without becoming one. In the most unexpected moment, enunciated that "imagine if ..." I was always the prelude and another of his stories, so that at the time remember, it was almost impossible to separate, or even distinguish, the sum of actual experiences narrated by her, those stories in which his enthusiasm, usually quite subsided, kindled the brilliant words are recited almost by heart. When asked where it came from those stories, she was silent. Vaguely mentioned an old relationship, not as the source of all his stories, but as the genesis of their creative abilities. And what used to inspire jealousy their partners, as it was during their moments of ecstasy when the figure of Priscilla was clear that air of impenetrability. As if it were only available in those moments where, they suspected, the memory of another running down their language in words. When he finished, his eyes remained fixed on the speaker for a few seconds. Perhaps waiting for answers, perhaps to try and lock in their silence thousands of words that could no longer give out, or perhaps trying to remember, simply, if that story was actually yours. Then again around its insurmountable beauty. And silent.

How To Fix A Split In Your Snowboard

An act of love

- He was a small but robust. Strong. Le whisper in my ear like dirty things as I did. To me that made me sure, but also made me feel bad sometimes.

He watched her, looking into the eyes of her shyness, pain, suffering denote something that was supposed to talk about it. But he found nothing. So crawling in every corner of your body. On her knees, bent, almost touching his genitals on her black hair floating in strange harmony with the night sheltered them, as if both were two parts of a whole, conjured up to make him miss, Miguel, in the unfathomable darkness of your desires. I felt that under that sky, surrounded by an almost total darkness, remained far, far away from himself. And while she goes on to relate that sexual act, he took her arm, slipping his hand, felt her power over him. After watching him and thought so, elsewhere, as if it were a strong bridge between this and other beds so he thoroughly explored. More real than the feel of her sheets, her quilt, more real than his own existence, just hypothetical, taken almost at random images by Lidia poured in on nights like this.

- I threw to the bed. And then they put on me again. I would not ever stop.

looked back for a second it. He could see a water bottle full. And without knowing why that picture turned his attention to the body of Lydia. Not their words. And as he continued pressing his arm, he imagined that bottle burst, the water slipping through the walls, blurring the sharp and intricate gottelet highways for pleasure. Then look again. And suddenly perceived as something in his tone had changed. Continued with his story, yes, but as if it were just a few bits and redeemable as a whole, something had broken, had languished in that deep darkness, as if a tiny light had outlined in a corner and he, Miguel , was on the verge of realizing it. Definitely shifted his gaze from the bottle. Lidia and jumped on, without giving it a single second for his eyes sad rivulets dyed he dreamed, libidinous caressing the walls and soon she posed on her cheeks flushed, I was like so many other times when the desire cruelly digging in his pain, looking through their pores, the direct route to these outbursts of joy unspeakable. So that failed Lidia soon forgotten history, perhaps more real than any other, but as fictional as any other. And Michael saw this as a way to restore the balance between the two. One way to return his affection through an act of love.

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At the other end of the world

ran up the stairs. That, whatever it was, even following them through the abandoned warehouse. When they reached the quarter were up as the wood floor was cracked, completely rotten. So stood by the door, as if in the middle of the room is a risk that further cede the ground outside. Latched shut. Martin even heard footsteps, a violent mingling with the sound of glass that caused the wind beating against the windows that opened and closed as tabs numb. Abigail looked completely terrified. She did not belong, tracked her gaze around the room whooping anything that small residues would provide confidence that led to his stomach, stuck to fear.

suddenly without expecting it, she took his hand. Pressed very hard. For some time it did not, thought Martin, who for a moment forgot to discern what was a clash of crystals which were threatening footsteps, as if the barrier between one and the other the brands, only their need for she loved him again. It was a moment. Abigail released him to sit on the floor, leaning against the wall without losing sight of every corner of the place. He bent down and stood next to it. Their eyes met. Hers remained bathed in fear, a fear so great that Martin saw as a gesture of condescension toward him because, this time, no reproach in her spoiled stoked, only bewilderment, feeling that nothing happened until when he heard noises, had any importance.

- Are you sure you've heard?, We ponder. He had begun to toy with two stones lying by his side. The yes, while they are passed from hand to hand and looked at her, feeling locked up under the soothing spell.

- do not believe you told Abigail. Suddenly his eyes had ceased to be retracted. And those eyes despised him. That hatred was even greater than any fear that gripped could at that moment. He felt sorry for himself. But also a deep resentment that he wove a second skin. Maybe to her, perhaps to that trip that should never have started, or perhaps, at the failure he felt to be not negligible.

- No, but ... And suddenly sensed the footsteps again. They approached the door. He stood on the ground throwing the pebbles. Abigail, bewildered, stood up with him. He took her hand and ran with her to the bedroom window, listening to their feet crunching wood with such force that Martin asked for a moment but the only sound was that of the house. The door clashed violently with its frame. He opened the window and looked outside and can see a roof formed by wooden boards that writhed, screaming loudly emitted with each breath, as a ragged army that threatens to defect. I felt the danger to their backs. Abigail told why he left. Martin knew what could happen if she stepped on those woods, I knew the fall was mortal, he knew there was no place to fail to hold onto the ground beneath their feet. Nevertheless helped to pass the other side. Touched his body, seized by fear, unable to answer, unable to perceive, not even out the risk involved to the roof. She trusted him. So his face expressed no panic when they fell through the cracks. He had no time. His last act was to confusion. When Martin was to give account, she had fallen and three floors below. And for a moment he felt as if that image somehow, and had been embedded in the retina before, as if it were now little more than an ordinary soulless repetition, unable to make you feel a hint of surprise.

ran to the door. He opened and ran down the stairs. Dominated by an almost ceremonious automation came to the place where the body of Abigail. He looked around. Everything was dark. And background noise still sounded crystal.

(Photo by Mary: http://www.flickr.com/photos/chornoie )

Cinnamon For Heartburn

At World's End

the way there had been tough. And now there was a day of travel. Leaning against the wall, although Martin was an unspeakable: that was not the adventure I expected. They were on that old deserted mansion, which heard the rain falling outside while suffering from this eternal moment, become infinite timeout, which is believed, erroneously, the storm begins to subside. Abigail playing with some pebbles he had found resting on a shelf eaten. And Martin could not help but admire this simple action sensed as the only possible way to observe it without her, enraged after another of their discussions they blamed his inability to assume, once and for all, that it was sinking. For me it is not easy, Martin, but believe me, when you can not can not, she had said. And so it was thought. No doubt it was. And tomorrow we come to the North Cape, and peering over a rock to the world, remember other views the same, in less remote, more common, thinking that it might be easier to be a nomad of the world forever nesting in a human heart. And this time not even the unfathomable ocean would comfort him.