torn page

by SF

GRANDPA THREW THE young maid on her back. I heard the wooden chest moan a bit. ?You Pig!? she screamed. The young vicar sleeps every single night with a naked woman on his mind, he decided her face would be ugly ( his way of reducing sin. ).
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Calling. Calling. We are called. Corridor and door to the left. Please turn be careful. Okay thank you careful now. Five ? five ? eighty two ? twenty four. Voice ( steadier now ). Face structure. Fingures, your hands, profile and en face. Your real identity. Residence, number of persons. Comply and avoid senselessness. Who are you? TownX, TownY? Actual identity and metaphysical identity. En route from zero to one. Now.
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I left a coin on the dish, Lolita drew the first card: queen of spades, ?she?s the spicy one?, she tells me. The second was the ace of hearts: ? there will be three of you in the game ?do you like les partouges??, she tells me, then she draws a third card, which I am not supposed to tell. Then, those great sandy roads I walked. There were thousands with me. Then, again alone, with a beautiful window at hand I found in a dream, and there?s grandpa again, thrusting the young maid upon the moaning chest.

When grandpa broke his back on the stairs, she devoted herself to him, we do have to live, even more so, when we?re about to vanish.

A satanic conspiracy indeed. But I have the answer. A proposition is necessary toward all serious publishers. From now on, in every book published, a torn page must be included, to honour all rebels, with or without a cause. They would then be obliged to send me a copy. A glass of whiskey, together with de Falla?s music, would be enough to sustain my criterion. Yes. I am not objective. Objects are.

There are, really, a thousand ways for one to live his life but only one to lose it. And the tenants kept on protesting about my long greasy hair covering half the roof, you see, they had no idea how many neglected souls were out there ? but I have to be fair, they never shot at me. They knew very well, that the real dead are among the survivors. After a comfortable dinner, they felt the chill and the trap of Certainty under the rug.

Finally, all was done in the most natural way: they went up the house, demolished the staircase, bricked the windows and took off their clothes. They wrestled a few years in the locked room. Rumours say that they were found a few centuries after, embraced in bed. Wrong. These two and their story was the whistle of the insane, merely trying his best sewing a button on the wall.