I see death, for the first time in thirty-five.
There is something new and different in her, it's fast. Faster than a group of people running around a girl, she is lying on the ground, is wounded. I see the blood but does not seem serious. Pass a moment that I realized, that moment is a second of truth in a life that is not mine, then blood comes out stronger from the mouth, nose, ears and there's a strange reaction collective comini people to raise their voices, then shouting, screaming as the macaques, sounds like a litany of alarm, like a chorus esoteric. The fear of Neda Soltani increases and his eyes look left and right quickly, asking for help, looking for something at the end of the hottest part of her comes out with the soul, and she died there, before my eyes, facebook, and I am ashamed.
E 'already started, and I know that it will continue, either at night or day, in many random moments of my future life. That movie will be remembered me and let me there, in front of a window or a wall or worse to a monitor. For a time that I can count, just me, without God, no victims and perpetrators, with this hand
in
tightening. Then
PS turns out to be a fake and I do not know how to stand.
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