For now, this story is titled "The story of the bathroom." We accept suggestions. View from so high, incorrupt and his skin is speckled with some charmingly neo beige, with a pale and sad marriage, certainly a bit 'insane. Her hair is long blacks and up to where I can not understand, and end with no artificial curls, but spontaneously perfect. Lean, very lean, even in broad gestures, but not broken, soft purple apparel, attitude and hard for this so the male and female. Soaked in his fresh loneliness seems to know how good disentangling of the intricacies of his empty days and complicated, and it always presents itself. Strange, usually in pairs, girls. She was as faithful companions only the cigarettes that do not very often sfumacchia maliciously, inhaling the smoke out the window with a hint of malice, as if they derive some sadistic satisfaction to deliver his lungs from smoke unhealthy to donate a small pink poison the rest of the world. Perhaps the way it communicates with the world can not but be destructive. Perhaps it should remain quiet, alone, perhaps not utter a word, wrapped her in cotton wool apathy. Who knows that sub-genres of music. In my law Banana Yoshimoto, without talking in glowing terms, but the law and enjoy his writing is simple and sews him a world of its size.
How many people enter the bathroom of a high school, on average, per day? Do you mind? How neurotic laughter of young girls, the smoke, shouting as post-questioning? Too. Crazy. Also because the chatter is often futile and annoying and distracts me from it. I shut myself away to think, but since all I hear is always just useless chatter, and I can smell is nothing but the stench of excrement or emphysema or tubes anxiolytic pro-flowers chemical disinfectants, and what I can see are as a teenager used panties or thongs most daring, the fact of distraction is to think about what you or I were to emerge in front of hearing, smell, sight. My life is a real bore. Romulus, My
her. She did that inspires desire to rise up out of piercing the substrate material, to interact with his lips often stained red.
The light in here, is blinding, uniform, unlike the vibrant, clear. And it's white, so white that everything that comes out against it as the design of an infant on a piece of asylum and the edges are retouched with trattopen. Everything is in here was the first cut, and then infilatovi force. He tried frantically to find its natural habitat, but the walls unsustainable, so solid, they have locked up, made him impatient with too light, too much truth, without too much of those nuances typical of the designs generated by the mastery of a skilled hand and no longer a child. Nothing in here, it seems. Everything is in here.
Too much light pierces the eyes, something that is too much truth from the heart. For this all, sooner or later, they return to their classes to go over the math lesson, in all their squittente feminine pink.
you do not.
She stands in the bathroom for long minutes, regardless. He does not speak, still leaning against the wall. In the hours of supply, decided not to return to class, directly. Probably tells her friends to lie and say that it is actually absent. And not afraid of light, hardly feel the need to blink. His watchful eye quivers, sparkles, white challenge. Defies reality.
sometimes nostalgically, with no particular reason and in order not to know what, I find myself thinking that it will not escape alive. I really do not succeed.
What I feel, in general, are hands. Hands of girl that I wanted and I demand that the rot that have gates that have poured in and out, pushing hands vehemently my eye inside my eyelid, almost ashamed of the fact that someone from above is the spying. But my eye back in his old place, alert, mischievous, yes, I admit, always ready to transform the pretty faces that are reflected. No one is satisfied, when viewed from its image in my eye, all covered in class with sullen expression under the layer of a thousand other expressions that require the day, and that expression disturbs and adds a piece to the puzzle grayish paton of their morning. Sometimes you do not lose them, the most obnoxious and pretentious. Sometimes I pretend to break, so they can not see the mold that slides down in the body that lead away from them.
One day something strange happens. She breaks in and takes a guy in and closes the door behind him furious. He does not understand, it seems that I had never known or even view, with eyes wide open not too much, perhaps because he believes what's going on not only surprising but also paradoxical and therefore ironic. With a smile
suspended, a cunning naivete that betrays so hidden in the green of his eyes, he stammered: "Hey hey hey, just tell me that your intentions ...." Ready to surrender.
She is still at the door and block any escape route, he still seems determined not to undertake. Then, more gentle, less stiff, and looks at him tenderly says, "Please listen listen listen listen a moment." Repeats "listen" with four times the exact same tone of voice, no echo, perhaps a recording jam, definitely a bit 'whiny.
"What?" He asks, in part irritated.
"I ... I ... I wanted to talk to you, here, here, I wanted to tell you that you should know me, you know? We'd be really good together, really. I know you, in part. Ehiehiehi, do not panic, not that I'm obsessive or anything, just that often eavesdrop on your discussions and also stupidly male ehiehiehi your voice ... I'm not made me the AFFRI of others, but it is as if the affairs of other me the wind takes them, you know, I probably attracted the affairs of others, I always come to know them ... but perhaps I digress, and this looks a moment at the bottom and nibbles adorable smile than it seems at the moment, perhaps-I say you know, that is, I know you've had the model Chuck Taylor All Stars, you've had four pairs of red, blue, purple and dark purple, in this exact order ... but I like ... and then I know which way to go back home, wow! Sususu own clothes, and what are you doing up there? Read, eat peanuts, wearing giant headphones and move your head to the beat of music? - Says it all with agitation pervaded by quiet deadpan that makes it settles to the property Instead, swallowing and spitting out the words that seem to have imploded inside not just take a break, break that never comes, as ravenous devouring his own words one by one in a continuous flow-I do not know. I wanted to tell you this. And you ask me why I trapped in the bathroom ... - at this point is that his mischievous smile and for a moment I'm sure you look up to me, so I enjoy for a moment the smile, hoping that a small part of me is giving, and I seal tightly in the museum of my best memories and the title of "wow." Then he returns to fix him, namely his mouth, and always with the shadow of his smile harmoniously ecstatic, she says-in the bathroom ... ... because ... come on ... look ... "and then returns to lay around and his eyes contained the hope is adorned with trailing teen to make him a good impression, but that same glance also contains a hope much larger, universal, say, that I can not given the lack of a better description of my experience of the world el'embambolia puts me through this girl.
"See ... what?" He asks.
"Look how white the light in here."
"So what?".
She comes over to him, brave in his mouth. Moved his mouth when he pronounces the words:
"Do not you think they are intact, petrified, covered with elastic cement? It was impossible to misunderstand a word in here. "
He looks at her. Then decide to laugh in the face.
"Excuse me, please ... I ... I ... I must return to class." Gently, not at all aggressive or upset, moves with stoic indifference.
She remains alone. He lights a cigarette. Another. While she does goes over all statements that his facial muscles allow it. Then he begins to recite rather mnemonically what should be a part of the theater. Then he stares at me. Then again I am angry. You probably will not see me, but look smostrata itself. For the first time in my existence, I would not have the advantage of highlighting the bad people. I wish I had words, body and not just be icy cynicism of metal.
Then he begins to spin me, harpoons me, crush me if I were not only more resistant to every fiber of his body. He wants me off, he wants to get my one eye. His face has no expression in particular, is furious, simply, is the face of a person who wants to seriously engage in what he is doing, as this action may seem empty and meaningless in practice. While dissecting
engages in any mechanism that keeps me anchored to my status as a prisoner, I can not help but think that this girl will keep me perhaps a bit 'in his pockets. Or I hurl out the window with all his might. Maybe you prefer to cook in a cake to be offered a meal that led to the boy in the bathroom, in order to strangle it. In any case, I think, this girl will not notice me is liberating.
