... Probably seem a fucking geek environmentalist, nothing is further from the truth ...
It's my birthday. My father, from an age that I remember-not too early, but not in detail-he took the habit to this day give me a bouquet of flowers, as acoarms and return a smile artist.
Vale. I adore my father. But I hate that they gave me flowers.
I've already told at home that I like to give flowers, but they take away weight to the comments thinking he's a petulant refusal to ostentation. In short, if my father has made a habit of doing, "what it costs you get a gift? Is a very nice gesture, baby. See if you think it is very normal for parents to have this custom with the times running. It's very intimate and enviable! ".
The last time I had left the track quite a good mood that he preferred that gives meran a cactus. As expected they would have heard the idea but I would not if, the day before my birthday, when they already come forward to congratulate me on the call daily after dinner, I started to get bad milk. Knew that the next day I waited an unpleasant visit.
When Sing and I are in bed process, please, that some have too shy for these things, we started talking and we have more than one. Finger, Moon and Cho have been bothered to congratulate me. I have a smile from ear to ear. When going to set the time clock, Sing realize the day it is. I hit a griand a half later I do not have to pull my hair. I'm sitting in bed-my place to study, reviewing the issues as I can about cancer and sports injuries Address book, which I examined at four. The day before yesterday and yesterday I looked for matters more difficult, so I boiled the meninges. I have a head like a drum, a terrible dream, a small rosary knotted along the stomach and a desire to kill / me to gluttony despite sore tummy sticking to someone who just can not resist. I have to eat early because I expect a huge orgy underground, the power is on the other side of Madrid. Bethlehem has ticontroladísimo empowerment. Bethlehem is happy because today is his day but would be happier if he did not sprinkle while birthday. Bethlehem is nervous but controlled. Fucked but happy.
The cleaning lady comes into my room grumbling about the TV room had mounted bender and it was full of papers rufitos. I commend you to God because that woman does not know to close the mouth and I know it cost me to be nice. He would leave my room if it was not unbearable laziness I would staple his ass back to the mattress. So things are. Wait, my profile "ogre-time-of-test" to reach its culminationn shortly. As Manoli overlooks the bathroom to release the cubes, I hear my name over the loudspeaker. I hope in goal.
The happy bunch of noses.
I went downstairs with a throbbing anger, gritting his teeth.'s The last thing I need now. I can not get angry, not in my plans ... but already had it. I was so busy thinking about things I had to make my mind had left the matter of flowers as something to cope "after the examination, like almost everything. But things do not go as I expect. E
As I lookednin goal and saw the delivery man came to me the world over. Instead of the anger of all the years I predicted, the morning of January 23 last gave me a terrible punishment attack. Goodbye troll. was a beautiful bouquet. The flowers were large, very showy, awake, fresh ... dead.
beamed. And wrapped in a molded plastic grotesque and sarcastic. How cold.
is a bit strange to understand when I feel fascination with pain. People do not explain it because I fantasize about writing fics protagonists suicidal, when I start a book I cross my fingers to read the description of the bloody death of someone important, with the characters hallucinate completely traumatized and hesitate a lot when people argue about happy endings. If you put your finger on the pulse and make me suffer, most likely I will speak well of a story. And I go further. I break in the worst paragraphs of books, savoring his eyes eager to find more nuances and the film feed amount on my head. I have a crappy impressively morbid. When there is silence, all things take their toll and I guess I have to remember God. But my morbid. It is my pleasure. There is nothing to do. It can be difficult to understandthe afternoons of those flowers in the sun? Vales "green fragrance and flamboyant colors? Vales "hot strength of the roots that were pulled for you to cling to the warmth of the earth? You are cruel. "
You take away the link to the flowers, a vase filled with water and throw him an aspirin, which distributes them to look good ... and wait for it to shut down, bitter, until they are ugly to get them out of the jar.
last week why January is so sad. Because the flowers are dead but still demanding. How the hell can ignore if you are watching . And why would youaccept when hearts. Hearts outside the body to which they belong. Spliced hearts.
is an act so insensitive. So useless. So sad.
I feel sorry for you, which you have no problems with the branches. I can not hear anything when I see them. They are so helpless ...
Sorry ...
Sarita-chan: Hello! I'm glad you like my writing ^ _ ^ It really is something that can provide you or dificultarte readers, and something that makes Fanfiction in a place of diverse cultures. Hope you like the capital 2. Beware! ;)
dani: Hi! I'm glad you like my fic! ^ _ ^ Go you've been beaten NES reading, girl! That's win ... The first capital, then thank you very much. I know there are many ideas about what will happen in this sequel. I just hope poder write the best I can, I can not deprive you of all the details I see when I write. A greeting to all your friends, give thanks for reading on my part. I hope you've started the year off right!
Alba Sophia: Hi! Glad you liked the NES and you're encouraged to read the sequel ^ _ ^ We have been lucky and have not been slow to update. I hope the story continues pareciéndote equally beautiful with this sequel. Since then, I will strive for you like it. Many kisses and thanks for reading:)
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