title of the story - The Kiss of the asp.
Author - Adrian .
Ranking - 14 venerable (for language.)
Alea IACT east
The environment around you is a continuous change its shape, while trying to focus on the contours. You can feel the pall of tension, the taste of the unknown that confuses perceptions, as it flows around. Not even this will stop. The senses capture an unusual electricity in the air that smells of adrenaline.
Avida to know , detached from the sensations more vivid, as if you take pleasure in the coolness with which changes look at the reality unfolding before your eyes resigned.
events that still do not know, nebulous hints that you can only try to stroke in a flash, particularly fervid imagination; suspects - not at all, actually - but you know you will . An unusual ferment harbinger of bad news From the wide scope becomes palpable, a heavy fog around you.
The entrance opened on the back of the building welcomes you as every morning, a residual layer of gray night glued to the walls of the corridors and classrooms still remains of life, the cream-colored linoleum dall'asettico that runs beneath your way unmoved, sent. And then the relentless bustle, a buzz that suffused the air rises, it quickly becomes anger, rage, roar of protest, avalanche that entangles every space, called the tidal wave that battle.
The face of the Academy has changed: no more than students who start in an orderly classes of the morning, the last traces of sleep barely visible on his face.
Some sit on the benches in the cold in the square circle. We watch them as they converse, the nervous gesture marks the lash words in what appears to all intents and purposes a fierce criticism, in a fury, an indictment of the vitriol that the air strikes motionless, eyes tired that vibrate in their sockets, looks fine running raging, invisible and deadly arrows at search of the culprit on which to point the finger of delicious detail, a rag of evidence through which to throw some glimmer of clarity about the scandal. Others, still standing, restless clouds crowded around the main entrance as close to an imaginary physical confrontation, legs apart just laying unconscious in a resolute desire to act in the outstretched hands and a thousand bullets verbal lips drawn ride the wave of indignation.
The most insidious of them, they who wander without posing as frightened ants in a desultory procession in and out of school, almost in defiance of the Regulation, the lazy wisps of smoke rising playful brazenly lit cigarette. It is a malicious talk and suffused to permeate the air, the taste of doing anything in that school now that school is not: brothel, rather - and then, what sense does it bother to get to the classrooms, the deposit their rubbish and wait that does not begin lessons?
bastards, sold. Clowns, corrupt. Hideous.
Venghino, Siori; venghino: here is the ethics of pork (*).
sneers between you and me: derision, ridicule is a powerful weapon.
And I never cared anything of it, Helen? Well they should slaughter one another, you'd say that in the recent past that seems a blurred picture, while you soak up behind dense tears of despair that almost inevitably goes with it the seed of the worst form of selfishness, a deadly poison that feeds impotent rage. This, if the echo of the problem - and something more complex that you can not explain it - it never came to shake the apathy, exacerbating the fumes of anger, calling the possibility of an implicit feedback and staff moral, human disgust.
Beyond a certain righteous anger that can cause those piles of papers and false waste paper - that only now seem to have seen the light of the sun, with overweening pride inadvertently flaunted by the alleged supporters of the agreements behind the scenes - in what I did, believe me, there is nothing heroic or sublime.
caress the door of the Great Hall if it were a beast to tame, and smile, a cold smile, no transport.
The doll starts to stand on its own legs.
An alleged moral rectitude that all naively thought obvious, it was only smoke and mirrors, blatant lie, veil Maya misleading.
The promise shameless advantage of a ball on a purely selfish and material caught the wave and invested with the rule of the interior, to procure the illusion of lasting joy. A fold of anger mixed with regret you harden your lips red from the cold morning. Human relationships woven under the lights and shadows of a fair hypocrisy, a smart, unspeakable behavior, feelings and exchange goods. A lie from which to build a complete happiness, full of satisfying a heat, the daughter of a structured ad hoc system of lies.
Is it my fault, Loria, build relationships if this is not for you? I create out of nothing, I seek the opportunity, as it should and that is normal, I eat this. You are dry.
I can and you do not.
reports You call them, my dear bitch, call them well-built theaters, misrepresentation of a performance system to perfection. Call them with your real name. Call him lick her ass and lick it properly!
"unlucky" to definition that makes his every lost cause, which refuses to settle for only look through the veil and to accept peacefully its inadequacy and kicked in the stomach of a cold indifference, lion by deceptive semblance of sheep, sneaky devil's advocate, artist masked play a lot.
smile again. A grin that gutter bitterness, a vague hope scent unknown. Mera just out of spite or revenge? You are not different from them, Loria. It is not your triumph, that, though, long ago, maybe you'd given ten years of your life to cherish that moment with eyes morbid. Dry taste revenge inconsistent that leads nowhere, except to mark the change of fortunes that flow, rise and then collapse like a house of cards, and you look at everything without being touched, silent spectator of the defeat of an enemy who may have never seen his face . None of your personal or earnestly.
The buzz you pounding in my temples, the screams, the harangues passionate, intense exchange of perspectives empty. It is the tidal wave that arrives at its destination.
With difficulty I make way through rows of students crowded the floor, legs crossed and eyes of flame. An intense hiss fills my head, but I try to ignore it. The world starts to turn, but the view is very clear, hallucinated, inattentive to grasp an overall picture that always turns out to be imperfect and flees the details. The close and constant coming and going is likely to stun.
Then, climb up the spiral staircase at the center of the room, looking for a breath of fresh air and a front row seat.
A hard past a couple of guys that I even take the trouble to identify, and there is my lucky place, mind elsewhere, the tension rising.
Alea IACT east. The die is cast.
(*) A nice way to say, (l & rsquo ; I heard once in my life, actually, but I liked it and I "adopted" in my vocabulary), little known, to be honest, who metaphorically transmuted to the poor pig finished spit in the representation of "gift-symbol" to offer the recipient dell'ipoetica bribery in exchange for a favor in question. Euphemism for "corruption", "bribe", "jumble shameless." The "pork" are the lords of our Academy as the clocks are to Moggi, in short .
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