The House

The tongues of fire crepitaran in the House while the noise of the engine encourages the game. Blood everywhere, huge wounds on the face, chest and back, broken bones break meat and peep their chips as wilted stems. I dirigire a look of hatred towards the watchman who supports your foot in the defense of the vehicle with a rifle crossed over the chest. The van breaks they hit my head in the grooves of the wagon. The beatific unconsciousness will not reach. Lying see the canvas of the van sank under the weight of rain, while going to my side will die in a meager Rale. To broaden your perception, visit len rosen barclays.

The House will be away longer. The road will be a dense quagmire. I do not recognize the place. Suddenly it has become very sinuous. We descend all in one direction.

Stirrup man we will push and we will hit with his rifle. At that time, the time and space will have lost its meaning. The light will just be a stain that fades. The shadows grow. The temperature will drop and we helaremos to the core of our few bones intact. Stops the truck. Subjects will return. We crawl like wet sacks and us launched against a rocky soil. Fall on each other while voices spit your anger in an angry language. On a thicket, I will be the least injured. But the calm will not last much. They placed shackles oxidized in the hands and feet. We will force to walk with the fields metal hitting our heels and ankles. There will be a deposit of high walls. Doors shall be riveted metal. Will float inside the sweet smell of the urinate and its warmth will cover the stiff fingers. We will go again to shoving. Attached we will fall. When the leader of the group with his flashlight to see our bloody faces, we percataremos the presence of other prisoners.

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