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.
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 )
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