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found a body buried in my garden. A fly flew over him, his treasure, meat juices and human, natural lubricants of a dwelling brutally penetrated by daylight.
smelled death, so fresh was the color of the earth and lush melodies sounded in the ears of any insect that surround.
At the mouth of the dead, small worms are outlined drawing eight infinite, between his teeth seemed to work steadily and stubbornly, in and out, visually giving the impression of being swallowed and expelled simultaneously.
The soundtrack to this scene was bilious annoying buzzing of the fly, she kept rubbing her feet while staying slightly uneasy about your nose.
did not know who had belonged to that body. Know your name, and the circumstances under which it would have ended up under my lawn.
Instead, it seemed to recognize the fly.
remember it tried to free myself in a time that had landed on me while reading an entertaining story Wilde on the fate and palmists.
remember, feeling the itch, having made a gesture with his hand to scare her off, but had remained there, motionless, as if they had been inconvenienced in its raw natural existence, while I, on the contrary, not resisted adhering my skin for a second. Perhaps I should have finished with it at that time, but I felt that I should not infer the natural biological facts, and decided then depart subtly reposarla on a sheet, then have to leave.
may say that it is impossible to differentiate a fly the rest, but this fly is unlike any other, could identify among thousands, as death has been recognized in crowds to their owners, as fate always has been able to identify his servants.
The tiny insect and the body were like me: while the fly was hovering over his nose, over his eyes, he could not avoid it any longer, remained as inert, the worms eat their own language and have been unable to scream or of spit and get rid of them.
Under this vision, I felt that everything that has upset me or I found it unpleasant during my stay is what inevitably reach me at some point because no one can resist his destiny, no one in life can prevent what the life itself implies, escaping or hiding, you just delays the natural order of things, not its existence vanishes.
scaring the fly with a gesture of my hand on that occasion would not have done away with, would simply away for a moment, but if not it would be thousands of flies would come back, ad infinitum. Avoid
had only been postponed, and it now falls upon me, on my nose, and I can not zoom out, not this time.
Play with my bones as I lay in a garden outside, under the eyes of someone who also knows it, and gradually learn to see life through ocelli.