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Twelve. Eighty-four. Whatever. Stories for Enlightened Challenges page. Character: Melancholy. Claim: Characters madmen. Dedication: To Paula Valencia

Metamorphosis Spectral

vanity haunts me.

I can feel the silence buzzing in my ears and humming songs gloomy air. I can feel the strange vacuum left by the removal of my heart. It is as if a cold liquid out of that area in search of light, and dries up after discovering that the light in my being there, as there is Love, as there is no consolation for my grief, as there Happiness.

The faces around me do not reflect anything. The people around me seemed to smile, tightening those fourteen muscles of his face. Die smiles on their lips, their laughter seemed be deaf and their eyes always empty.

Boasting cornering me.

I can see their bodies as tense and rigid, moving from one place to another They drag their feet, their souls, from place to place looking for something to laugh about. His ideas are scarce, as if the torment of sucking the glass, so your thoughts are confined to things they see.

The superficiality rules this world.

"The eyes are everything," say some uninformed. "The world is as they see it. " "That is your reality, what your eyes can see." "The facade is not distorted, teaches."

and other extremists on the other hand declared with authority that hinders the body, which obscures the soul. "The body becomes clogged because we are vain."

The soul is heard, not seen or touched. The eyes are idolized with hedonism. The lifeless bodies around me have no dignity. They smile and it just shows his emptiness, his lack of cognicióny mainly show their lack of true joy.

Happiness is revered.

vain Those same people I can see them on their knees, imploring Happiness a little satisfaction. I can see Happiness with warm eyes rejecting each request with a real smile on his lips.

Oh, god, damn men on earth!

motíny

They assembled a prisoner taken by Happiness. The hit and open up the legs. Extract all of it. Then they go walking down the same path, with his head held high and with that annoying cynical smile pasted on their faces.

Happiness is dead.

That poor girl, raped by this disgusting humanity, begs a little love. The poor girl with blonde hair and complains his legs fail. The surrounding dirt and La Soledad , his enemy and mother at the time, keeps him company.

Happiness dies on the lips of every person. The girl with brown eyes honey dying between each laugh. She dies in the eyes drown in the universal vacuum. And finally, the final metamorphosis of the girl ends: his clothes and his face pale white declare their new self: is Death, born from the ashes of Happiness.

This issue only serves to tighten my lips. Seeing everyone around me living a reality so limited, so small between the vast empire of man.

The tears fall and the pain I feel is like you. Dehydrate the sentence in tears salt. My face always inflexible contracts with the findings of that day.

Laughter never came to my face. Twelve weeks I've been trying to save Happiness, but it seems that she did not want to live anymore. It seems that the girl got tired. Death is only on my face.

Twelve weeks without abusing you, oh beloved of my heart.