basin is the primary branch of the first order.
Everything comes from the file. Found in unclear circumstances, is evidence of the eternal wave of the Pendulum.
My role is not important, I just have to reassemble the pieces, bring them to the right place. Because they matched, I'm sure.
The Issue is a collection of writings, more or less short, that Romeo has drawn during his stay in the city. They are written by hand on sheets rather confused, with no time references. The only sign that they recognize is the NUMBERING. I tried
to make sense of this material.
This is the first story of Romeo
# 1
The day of my funeral
April 27, 2006, the day of my funeral. It was hot, terribly hot.
crack.
I was completely sweaty armpits and drops on the forehead crazy sped up to 9.8 m / s ² to go and crash on the fibers of cotton T-shirt.
I was dressed in black, while it is customary to wear black to funerals as a sign of respect and sympathy for the bereaved, then I did not want to be too flashy. Like remain anonymous in some cases, you know how.
However, I was there I watched people cry as I was buried. Shit I was sorry to see that situation.
I was dead, but what can you do, sooner or later all we get on a mercedes.
decided to review the people who thronged the perimeter of the pit, so to realize the situation.
Laura, my God, they were two years that I could not see. That fat ass had, those big and hard, as only a woman full of self can have. Big and hard, but not at all disgusting, indeed. We enjoyed a lot of tough meat between those buttocks. In
side by Laura I could clearly see my friends, wept as fountains, someone had like panic attacks, while Marco was the only quiet.
"Bravo Marco, do not cry. It serves no purpose. Come on up, I'm fine, tell the others that nothing happened "Mark
understood. Others are not. Not stopped crying. Shit, as they wept, did not seem true that all these people crying like that for me.
There was the "dry" crying with Marzia, Mirko and Daniel were in a desperate corner.
Rossi in the face, eyes out, all wet with tears and sweat. They looked at me and seemed to say, "it is good to see you, we missed you so much." I said so loud, I screamed in my face. "Why did you run via ?!?!».
But I was not escaped, I was there. All I saw and tried to cheer.
I walked to my parents, my mother and my father in agony as I had ever seen. It was crazy, just remained silent and polished. But he had the face of what has been broken. I mean it is broken inside, broken, shattered, spirits, burned, burned, etched, carved, torn, eaten.
Speaking with my family, I managed to calm them all, unless of course my father, who remained in a state of quiet and distant suffering.
My brothers greeted me rather quietly, with a smile and asked how it feels to die, if you feel bad, if you see something "beyond." I replied that I did not know just what it feels like. In fact I had not the faintest idea.
At some point in the dialogue was interrupted by my friend, Julia.
was literally shocked. Exuded pain. But who the fuck expected it to cause all this suffering? I'd never have done if I had known. There were hundreds of people with their heads bowed to the ground, burnt by the sun, with dark glasses and stained with tears from fingerprints. Hundreds of people were there for me (well, maybe someone was not there because we had to stand or because "we were all"), that responsibility for shit, do harm to people. In any case
Julia came over to me urlandomi hand, was angry, and it was bad.
A female in these conditions is like the nuclear holocaust.
I grabbed his neck. "What the fuck is this a joke ?!?!? Fuck you doing here?!?! You're alive or dead?!?! Who are you ?!?!».
So I replied: "I can not even attend to my funeral?", "I've never owned a fuck, let me at least this. I'll be free to come and go whenever I want? ".
Basically, I realized it was better left alone, people were too upset. I had to wait and let my end up buried in the truest way.
I thought I'd gone to see once in a while with some friends, at least initially. Then I went on visits with relatives, to continue with their parents what can be called a true pilgrimage.
I saw my tombstone rich photo and trinkets, as they do, especially with the young age of the deceased.
What good have a nice grave?
A beautiful stone with lots of memories. What's the use?
let people know that listening to music, I was a sporty type. What's the use? Perhaps the meaning
not ever be able to grasp.
Basically, I'm dead.
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