Death can't be understood by the eyes of a bystander, and she shall never forget. At times, she haunts you in the darkest of nights and dances in the sky while directing the solar symphony. And she moves the clouds and she calls the rain and she orchestrates nature to make you forget. Because, when you forget, she throws the lightning and the typhoons and she smiles. Death likes her coffee drenched in grief, so she prefers to take a cup every once in a while instead of having little daily sparkles of fear.
No one ever fools Death, and she has no one to obey, not even the Lord of the Mischievous Ones himself. Not even when the Devil summoned her once in the middle of the night consumed in a wrath that could burn all heavens to order her to delay a reaping. But that same day wasn't like the others because the Lord Of The Eternal Flame lowered his voice and gave her a proposal she couldn't refuse. They shook her hands and, in a matter of nothing, her scythe was covered in the rarest metals from the darkest caves in Hell.
Death can't be understood by the eyes of a bystander, and she shall never forget. But she has a pleasure for justice and perhaps an even bigger one for grief, so she'd forget this one and the reminders would be different. And every moment of his waking life she stood there, reminding him that he should not fear a God but the Devil, reminding him he shouldn't make pacts if he can't fulfil the deal. And with him, Death drinks her coffee drenched in grief almost every day.
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Lo ideal era dejar los pedazos de la novela en mi compu pero ayer perdí a mi pequeña estrellita y no puedo dejar de pensar en este fragmento. Porque el factor inesperado es benevolente con el amor pero es despiadado en tiempos de guerra y ayer la muerte se tomó su buen cafecito conmigo.
Para Blackie, mi compañero de desdichas, alegrías y desayunos de sábado solitario. Que lo extrañé más que a nadie en el mundo y que por él ignoraré las convenciones astronómicas y le cambiaré el nombre a la estrella más brillante del firmamento.
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| Luna y Odie, daría lo que fuera por tenerlos conmigo en mi hogar. Los desayunos de sábado no son lo mismo sin ustedes y sin la bolita de algodón de la izquierda. |
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