Sorrow Short Story

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#51 Sorrow He doesn’t talk too much as he used to before; he doesn’t care anymore about his hair, falling onto the face, − it protects him, more or less, when he no longer can pull a lenient smile onto his lips. Though, he was kinda alright at the court, without even knowing that he would be acquitted; he even made a thanksgiving speech at the following party in the small pub, where they decided to celebrate the happy outcome. There were some guys form the police department as well; he still owes them money for the game of mus. Leon comes closer and squeezes Luis’ shoulders, forcing them to square, and then, barely touching, he puts a wavy lock behind Luis’ ear. “How… maldita sea… There’s so much blood on my hands, but here I am, sitting…show more content…
The volunteer was once their neighbor, with whom Luis’ grandfather used to attend football matches. The volunteer was threatened with murdering of his family and grandchildren, but Luis will know this when it’s already too late. #53 Blink He’s too scared to inhale. What if the shaking air will make this mirage to fade away? What if it is only an illusion, hanging between the floor and ceiling? He’s too scared to talk. Maybe it’s a lost echo, caught in the cage of four walls? What if the sound of his voice will frighten it away, drown it, break the fragile shell with an ocean, roaring inside? He’s too scared to touch. The hand is afraid to find the emptiness or to flinch, finding the softness of the wax. What if it is a frozen reflection, cold, soldered into the hall and bathroom mirrors? What if it is a silent figure, a plaster replica of a gleaming shadow? Because Luis Sera did an impossible thing. He had survived. The blood was poured back into him; the set of inners were completed again; and the hole was carefully…show more content…
The knuckles are grazed, but already healing: thanks to the intense trainings, the self-defense. The little finger’s phalanx on the left hand is missing: carelessness is always followed by punishment. The light-colored strokes are spreading over the shoulder and the forearm, and a couple of the crooked ones are hiding behind the ear: the glass had gashed out, he wasn’t too quick to take cover, but he remembered the most important thing − to shield the eyes. The knotty scar on the thigh next to the artery: every minute was counting, he had to mend himself right on the battlefield. The burn down the shin he got the same day, disinfecting the wound, left by the rusted splinter, with fire; if it went a little bit deeper, he wouldn’t be able to stand up again. The furrow on the cheek: Leon had shouted, but hadn’t been heard under the thundering bursts, so he had to shoot, risking. Leon’s such a good shot, the proof is here as well, among the other scars; the radial star on the
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