This a is typical wooden house painted green, fingers claw and disintegrating tables. The soil is not apt to be mother. Withered trees to perpetual daylight. It had a natural floor. The smell of the house was like an incense prepared by Chela, when his nephews were drowned. She danced sadly around the coffin.
The ride is dark, intimidating and slippery. Nocturnal animals fought among themselves or perhaps something intervene in their melodic whistle. The river was even more. Its water becoming dark and lifeless. I don’t have sat in my imagination any animal that will survive here.
In Encaige something far up shone. My skin prickled with the breeze that seemed to warn. My throat was dried and saliva didn’t help.
But still it came suddenly pausing according to the current and moving closer.
It was a coffin. The corpse was afraid and dead. without any consolation. It was black as night complexion. His white eyes pearls, but sprouted capillaries like current. His nose and mouth were filled with cotton with hint of blood around. But his clothing is respect, like a Captain l, not a Priest. It was a pontifical vestment. It moved and the cotton from his mouth fell.
Hurry! He screamed and wooden drums began playing.
It was too late. I was surrounded and paralyzed. I saw the devil!
No words were built in my trembling mouth. I had no strength in my knees and with my eyes closed between stones, it put me on my knees.