Plush Pokemon For Sale

milk (and XIV)

Nothing was the same. Or rather I should say that everything was strangely different. Is what happens when they break the mechanics of everyday life, the absurdities are found resting in the shadow of everything and appreciated the true extent of the stupidity quiet routines.

Unrest before an incomprehensible message, part of a strange puzzle that she felt compelled to rebuild, Mila had taken to remove the sleep, appetite, even common sense. Meanwhile, the photograph that was icing on the gardener's shack completely occupied the minds of Fear to the point that their night walks into the room the girl had been drastically reduced. Now, we just have had the chance, dozing in the garden under the shade of elm centenary, disturbed soil that hid the bones of the Eye. Absorbed in that instant that it should certainly hide a terrible mystery as to do so insistent intuition expressed perverse. Evaristo, earless fool to wander into trouble that should far outweigh his poor intelligence, was in the hospital under the plans of the coma induced by the tremendous head trauma. The doctors made a wry face and stared at the ceiling when asked a forecast. And Mom was not Mom. Or was even less than before death. Upon learning of the economic disaster that had been plunged the family because of bad investments bastard her husband was locked in his room with several crates of bottles of gin. That took a week for two days showed no signs of life. Or arcades were heard and the other side of the door. There were thus reasons to assume that had finally burst. Anything but endure public shame of poverty.

Fear who is tired of mulling over the head enters the bedroom of Mila willing to find a resolution, whatever. The lies on the bed with a huge atlas open on her lap, ranging from those fucking fingers box has stolen sleep. He does not say anything because suddenly something comes on inside and understand that there is nothing to say. Merely gives the girl the picture kneaded the cemetery. She picks it up languidly. He looks for a couple of seconds. Smiles to see on the back of his mind something like a horizon after darkness so useless.

"This picture was taken in Tomelloso -. Mila said.

-O at Collioure.

-O Tomelloso history begins and ends at Collioure ...

"Let's go.

- And my brother?

Fear not answer. Simply, very serious, direct your eyes toward the window. Mila looks up and scans the garden through the glass. When you look closely you notice that the land under the great elm was removed again.

-Fear ... She whispers sketching a gesture somewhere between sadness and understanding.

"Yeah.

© Biedermann & Francis P.

AUTHORS NOTE: With this release, we completed the first part of Patient Zero and interrupt its publication in The Subcultural. Although still not clear whether its continuation will take place in this blog, in novel form or in any other format, it seems more than likely end up responding to the claim of the characters and readers to continue the story from the point where now the left. Until then.

Mount N Blade Native Expansion

Dear Francis, is now in bookstores Coven, the new anthology of the editorial page break in which I participate with the story The escombral .

you and I agree that this compilations is a slippery endeavor, for it is always difficult to find the coordinates to keep it properly located with the passage of time, but a project with Pilar Pedraza, Norberto Luis Romero and Cristina Fernández Cubas can not be entirely negligible.

Ativans Contraindications

Coven "Necróparis" terror between existentialism and dystopia

Our colleague Fernando

House, fresh from the movies with his cardboard suitcase and lustful expression, it becomes the narrative along with this novel NGC. This crazy project (opening editorial in the midst of the storm of the crisis) that the local captains Pily B.

The fact is, well I admit, I can hardly talk about this novel so Fernando and I have taken many turns to this post. As much as I can hardly talk about the things that make my friends, those people you do not find defects and that, precisely because of this, taken by friends. And is that Fernando and I are contemporaries in almost everything. In age, hobbies, vices and hobbies placing us in the past-present perfect equidistance. We are the children of the transition, yogurt, the first color television, the Mazinger Z on the afternoon Saturday and local cinema with Bruce Lee double bill. Also the last generation of children could still play in the streets of Madrid and, curiously, the last to remember the death of Franco. We therefore children saw their parents thought and living testimony to the great disappointment that lived-live-their elders at the hands of the embezzlers of dreams. Of course, represent the first generation of English guys who could effortlessly evade child labor coconut, which has known deficiencies of past or has ever lived a war or its aftermath. People in Transition. Those that are so modern and liberated, we have been forgetting to educate our children properly.

These are, in effect, to deny it. And if the story is not for free thoughtless, but because all this is somehow present in the novel by Fernando House. His first novel (and we must insist on it precisely because it seems).

I'm not the kind that has the argument of the stories that interest me and I tend not to fall into easy gratification, and therefore do not expect that neither of these things now. But I guarantee that if you are of us, if you are us, "Necróparis" you look very close a novel, a story written for you, who speaks of you and with you. A story that makes the fears, successes and failures of a generation flag and terror pretext for an intelligent, approachable, recognizable, genuine and real. Possibly, very real. A story for the campfire, written without bombast, from the lean approach storytelling as it could have a night at any gathering of friends: a love story in midlife crisis and looking back forward. That has a lot of our past, our present, of who we are and what we do not want to be. Of the mistakes we made and we do not want nor can we afford afford to commit. Because there is nothing so terrible as losing what you love, that's what you hold and that you define. The object that you have worked for decades and can be undone in one second by an oversight, a blunder, a mistake, because your life just turns ... Almost never thought anything could happen.

There is no greater fear, after all, that you are not sure if you trust in yourself, or your senses, where appropriate. Yes Fernando's novel is an existential (from within), but we must not forget very dystopian (from outside).

At the same time we face our fears more devious and dangerous (The Jekyll and Hyde), immerses us in a chaotic world, inverse, that is subverted. The world in which below-the lumpen are organized, armed, will revolutionize are fighting for their piece of the pie and get it. The inverted world-perhaps in the near future, in which we, the orderly, well kept and fed, well organized, well served, the top in short, may run the risk of becoming the dispossessed. In the bottom because there must always be someone underneath. Always. At the end of the day all of us, children who have never had to break his face with no one to eat, we have grown in the balm of acquired rights without struggle, without welfare combat, would we be able to win the fight to those who have made a virtue of necessity?

before responding to it well. Fernando Chamber has already done, and I assure you it's scary.

very afraid.