raining outside. How then, as that afternoon a decade ago. It's a strange feeling to be here alone. A few thousand miles from what would be my home. From what would be my city. Instead, I no longer have a home, I no city among its inhabitants, no family waiting for my return for dinner. They are wandering soul, a beggar with no name, from which one is best to turn away. If only for the stench that emanates. Yeah ... I smell of death. This is
Brest, northern France. Here, everything is gray. The palace, rebuilt in record time after the bombing, as well as the sky. Even the room's walls are gray. Almost no difference is distinguished between them and the view beyond the window. A room full of memories and melancholy. Melancholy for what could be and was not.
And then a number. Among figures that have haunted me all this time. Room 216, Hotel Etoile, three hundred meters from the station.
It is true that the murderess always returns to the scene of the crime. Sometimes it happens immediately. Maybe while the police are intent on doing surveys. Sometimes years later to celebrate an anniversary. For example, that of getting rid of an inconvenient husband and have started a new life. One reason not just to celebrate.
...
Brest, northern France. Here, everything is gray. The palace, rebuilt in record time after the bombing, as well as the sky. Even the room's walls are gray. Almost no difference is distinguished between them and the view beyond the window. A room full of memories and melancholy. Melancholy for what could be and was not.
And then a number. Among figures that have haunted me all this time. Room 216, Hotel Etoile, three hundred meters from the station.
It is true that the murderess always returns to the scene of the crime. Sometimes it happens immediately. Maybe while the police are intent on doing surveys. Sometimes years later to celebrate an anniversary. For example, that of getting rid of an inconvenient husband and have started a new life. One reason not just to celebrate.
...
course, there's something macabre and morbid to want to fuck with your new friend while drinking champagne right where you kill me, but I knew that sooner or later you'd come back. I always suspected that I was a sadistic bitch, but, mea culpa, I loved you. Now, dear Martha, came to me the time of eternal rest, the time has come to avenge my death. I waited ten years, but the spirit is condemned to a limbo just enough time to become aware of their state of the departed.
enough for me to penetrate your chest with the finger tips and search your heart. Sink, and hold, block your blood, stop your breath. Look at your naked body tense up while you're on top of him. It is not an orgasm, little girl. You're dying.
I did not even have time to meet your soul, if you have never owned one, something that drags me out of here. Home my descent into hell, or at least I suppose. I can not even see your expression and wrinkled in astonishment. Perhaps you're upset. It was not something that you planned. Die. Here and now. Farewell Martina, this time forever.
continues to rain, but that's okay. I always wanted to get out of here with a good time.
Essay of David Battle (January 2006)
Competition "Bloody" VALENTINO "second edition www.latelanera.com
