In the cold of that night there was a despicable and vague soul walking down the streets. It was him. He saw the silhouettes of two tall men whose white clothes were utterly evident. They stood next to a black gate – behind some trees. It was completely dark and his eyesight was not very efficient in recognizing things at a considerable distance. He rushed his steps going forward. He passed by the area where the two specters were. Leaves were falling from the branches.
He froze when a human’s voice whispered softly in his ears some desperate words. Those specters were begging for his attention. He gulped and did not respond. The other specter – enthusiastically in his own verve – didn’t say anything. It was only observing everything. It was simply noticing that…. that man not only was he a coward but also did not want to be there.
He noticed that the two were very distant after he trespassed the gate. He could see that Hell was on Earth. There were no trees. No lights. No houses. No streets. No nothing. He was departed from life. A vestige of life in death. Such a strange figure came closer and quoted him phrases he could not figure out. He did not say anything. Could not even breathe. Could not even move. He was petrified. He converted himself into a piece of wood. His eyes were totally opened staring at that creature. Long nose and sharp fingers. What would that be?
Fright can explain what he felt at that very moment. Have I passed through the gates of Hades? Am I staring at one of his monsters? Where the hell am I?, he could not stop asking himself things. His legs trembled intensely. Suddenly, that horror creature penetrated its fingers in his chest – taking out what was left of his soul.
The morning after, he woke up – thinking about his nightmare. “Was that a product of my imagination?”, he thought. It was so real! Once he stepped out of his bed, he noticed that there was no floor. He fell into his own hell – devoured by unholy spirits which had chased himself. His existence was consumed by those strange forces.
– Life is a gambling game – he instantly said, drowned in his thoughts.
– And it ain’t fair – she murmured softly, utterly anguished, dying from bronchitis, calling his attention.
Há, na História, pessoas ciumentas. Porém, Alberto era o mais. Se se engraçava com alguma moçoila na livraria, logo vislumbrava ao redor a ver se havia algum homem à espreita. Se percebia que seus alvos tinham companhia, mudava de foco.
Contudo, apesar do ciúme inexplicável, Alberto era um homem seco, vazio e solirário. Morreu da mesma forma que veio ao mundo: malquisto.
There are, in History, jealous people. However, Albert was the most. If he cozied up to a young lady in a bookstore, then he used to glimpse around the place in case of seeing if some men were peeking the girl. If he noticed that his targets were accompanied, it was time to shift focus.
Nevertheless, despite of his unexplainable jealousy, Albert was a cold, empty-shell and solitary man. He died the same way he came into the world: unpopular.
Hay, en la Historia, personas celosas. Pero, Alberto era lo más. Si se acercaba de una chica en la librería, entonces vislumbraba alrededor para ver si había algún hombre acechando. Si notaba que sus coquetas estaban acompañadas, cambiaba su enfoque.
Con todo, pese a su inexplicable celos, Alberto era un hombre frío, vacío y solitario. Murió de la misma forma que vino al mundo: malquisto.