Man of War is so eloquent in their expressions that each part of the story is able to introduce it to live according to his feelings, his tone had shown rid sadness and despair gradually as if it fell into a deep pit which was too final far as to know, at times had to come to understand what you just babble, now, however, had begun to talk about hate and hatred knows no whispers, shouts and hits hatred with every word. It was not just his voice that told us, his arms with him a grotesque force in every gesture and his eyes narrowed as before as if to sleep now forgotten were swollen and open his eyes fixed elsewhere that this was not . From time to time we sobresaltábamos when hit his fist against the cool walls of the cave. Augusto
had shared with the Man of War much more than what the rest of the troops knew they were friends in childhood then separated into different horizons they had chosen, but when it came time for war, was among the first to put his hand to hold the shower regardless of the outcome. No one knew his name, from youth he carried with him the nickname of Pig and her so well her plump body, his face and his hair village laundry care that could have lived with them pigs and had no difference. He was tall and strong as three men until the day of the slaughter in the caves of Jari, wearing a permanent smile on his face that every time it became deep voice laugh. But that joy was extinguished forever, that black day, his family was completed between the cries of horror from many others as he marched under the command of perfusate and nobody knows how, disappeared as soon as the news came to Antela.
As if they had been waiting Chancho Corsicarsa and found their memories, their friendship and their shared hatred, then were one to find the one who carried in his miseries the woes of both.
perfusate and his staff traveled once a month, military schools, there was at the mouth of the river, another behind the mountains of despair and one in the outskirts of the capital city, time and gave them some confidence executions and under his tutelage went light. The mountain of despair coincidentally the place where we went, it was a good place to wait for long for the arrival of the traitor and from there were the men and their revenge.
Corsicarsa
While advancing with the story, let me guess what would come, a guerrilla strategy from the shadows of the mountain that was annihilating one's enemies or a well-aimed blow from a distance to the chosen victim, but I was wrong and much.
Chancho Corsicarsa and crossed a huge log in the road and supported a foot in it to wait for the party, when they arrived, drew their swords and brandished blinded until only living commander perfusate, then threw their swords to the ground and began beat him and kicked long after he had died, not a single word or interrupted accompany anger.
Like when a fierce storm is over, what followed was the silence that causes only a breeze, calm Corsicarsa reached, again, he lowered his voice to say the last paragraph of his story.
? Was already dead, but still, I put my knees on the floor taking off the sandals that he had been repeatedly and furiously kicked up a few seconds before, then took his neck game between my hands and felt the blood still hot for fall my arms, I looked at with a disgust that was perhaps feeling for me, I got up and threw it away with the wish that it were the whole story. And yet, my biggest regret was that he felt no remorse. I lifted my head, I looked at Chancho was sweaty and dirty as ever but this time with blood and that was when I discovered the wagon in which a girl with less time than I could count on my fingers, slept, was taken in arms and went with the certainty that this land should not be trampled anymore for me and I decided to look at the latest innocent victim of this story, the daughter of my enemy.
No more words, no more were needed, we got up, lit the fire and began to prepare food that night that I do not know why he felt it would be too cold.
had shared with the Man of War much more than what the rest of the troops knew they were friends in childhood then separated into different horizons they had chosen, but when it came time for war, was among the first to put his hand to hold the shower regardless of the outcome. No one knew his name, from youth he carried with him the nickname of Pig and her so well her plump body, his face and his hair village laundry care that could have lived with them pigs and had no difference. He was tall and strong as three men until the day of the slaughter in the caves of Jari, wearing a permanent smile on his face that every time it became deep voice laugh. But that joy was extinguished forever, that black day, his family was completed between the cries of horror from many others as he marched under the command of perfusate and nobody knows how, disappeared as soon as the news came to Antela.
As if they had been waiting Chancho Corsicarsa and found their memories, their friendship and their shared hatred, then were one to find the one who carried in his miseries the woes of both.
perfusate and his staff traveled once a month, military schools, there was at the mouth of the river, another behind the mountains of despair and one in the outskirts of the capital city, time and gave them some confidence executions and under his tutelage went light. The mountain of despair coincidentally the place where we went, it was a good place to wait for long for the arrival of the traitor and from there were the men and their revenge.
Corsicarsa
While advancing with the story, let me guess what would come, a guerrilla strategy from the shadows of the mountain that was annihilating one's enemies or a well-aimed blow from a distance to the chosen victim, but I was wrong and much.
Chancho Corsicarsa and crossed a huge log in the road and supported a foot in it to wait for the party, when they arrived, drew their swords and brandished blinded until only living commander perfusate, then threw their swords to the ground and began beat him and kicked long after he had died, not a single word or interrupted accompany anger.
Like when a fierce storm is over, what followed was the silence that causes only a breeze, calm Corsicarsa reached, again, he lowered his voice to say the last paragraph of his story.
? Was already dead, but still, I put my knees on the floor taking off the sandals that he had been repeatedly and furiously kicked up a few seconds before, then took his neck game between my hands and felt the blood still hot for fall my arms, I looked at with a disgust that was perhaps feeling for me, I got up and threw it away with the wish that it were the whole story. And yet, my biggest regret was that he felt no remorse. I lifted my head, I looked at Chancho was sweaty and dirty as ever but this time with blood and that was when I discovered the wagon in which a girl with less time than I could count on my fingers, slept, was taken in arms and went with the certainty that this land should not be trampled anymore for me and I decided to look at the latest innocent victim of this story, the daughter of my enemy.
No more words, no more were needed, we got up, lit the fire and began to prepare food that night that I do not know why he felt it would be too cold.
A Café people Querétaro, especially Isis Rafael and their inexplicable links to this page so I'm flattered.
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