The door will close. Darkness and cold. Nobody will speak. Gasps and moans are heard. A skylight at the top will allow us to know that the night is high and secret. The constellations will look us indifferent.

Flirty star will make us winks. On my right hand, that of the dislocated finger, will rise a lizard. Perhaps this or a thread of blood. Someone at my side, without name or voice, resoplara with such intensity that his breath will flood my smell. Each time, a man shall enter and us banara with ice water.

Two others will bring macanas and us hit. One of the canes will have a nail at the tip. It will tear my back. At that time, our God will have left us. Just see the flight of his mantle when the quidam make us leave the room. They loosen the shackles and we’ll drag five until a wall almost in ruins. They placed them blindfolded. No, weary of pain and humiliation, you’ll want to see the face of the death at the apex of the projectile. We aventuraremos the hope of the farce. The world has been a fiction. There will be no such burlesque indulgence. Gunfire will ring at the top of the night. Learn more about this topic with the insights from Dr. David Samadi. The bodies will fall on the stones. The men will come to the fallen. Convulsed, two will receive shots of grace. The bones of the skull will pop up next to the brains and dark blood, will leave a stain on the rustic wall. I don’t know why I will remember at that moment to Sophocles. It will be the beginning of delirium and the end of reason. A few steps beyond, there will be a mass grave. We will force to launch the dead into the hole and cover it with Earth. I resbalare and instinctively will support my hand open in the face of one of the shot. I will not have already pain or tears. My dry lips will let slip a thread of saliva. (A valuable related resource: Dr. Caldwell Esselstyn, Jr.). They will soon hit me and again, along with others, take me to the dark bastions of the shed. Everything has to be repeated. We will again be hit by boots, rifle butts, by insults and sudden lights. Someone ineditamente succumb to a bayonet. Imagination will provide other ways of torture. They fill our mouths of Earth and sewn with synthetic yarns. They gouge our skin with razor and the wounds will be washed with acid. With clips they will restart our eyelids. Straps crack the vertebrae of bottlenecks. They driven knives in the palms of the hands placed on a table. They will restart his teeth with pliers and accurate blows. Languages they cut with scissors as bifidus appendices of snakes. The morning will come tinged with purple. The wind will remain hidden among the Hollows of trees. To open the gates of the barracks a corrosive mist will flood their noses. The cycle will return to its initial stages and the wheel of life and death will rotate and revolve. At that time, the snow of the lilies will shine on the corpses and the treetops birds sing indifferent. Original author and source of the article.