He was just a kid when he cursed the first time. Alarmed, her mother turned to the slipper to explain that curse was bad. Since then, every time I thought of uttering the forbidden word the memory of a sole that only knew the floor of her apartment made her change it to another adjective that so infuriated his mother, although this was not present.
The pink shoes home that had been tattooed with indelible ink on his brain. When he came to ask a teacher about why would not pronounce that word, he answered with canonical fact that it was a sin because it offends God's creations. And there the slipper began to take form of guilt, moving towards a reality beyond the material and threatening him for all eternity.
So he spent his childhood and adolescence, reading and hearing the word everywhere, but never daring to utter this invocation of evil that had so angered her mother. Sometimes doubted himself to see how it was for him unspeakable taboo was put forward to every day and lightly by others, including many of their relatives and friends. But he never dared to utter what was burning inside, because it would compromise the future of his soul.
When she became a successful architect of a socially accepted profession and married to form a conventional family, had not abandoned his child obedience to respect her mother, slipper the confessional, and God. He had managed to replace weak words that expression had spoken only once in his life, which had caused a fierce satisfaction that he was soon revealed to be prohibited.
came to fifty without cursing again, and within four walls of a green vomit found within it had accumulated a honeycomb unleashed his anger soon swarm in his skinny body shape. He, who had striven to follow the rules, meet the lesson and not succumb to diabolical temptation to curse the divine creations, was rewarded with a lump of discontent unresolved, a tumor of repressed anger gave him two things in life: the reputation of being a man right and good and early death.
a sunny afternoon in the room where he met his frail body would rest for the rest of eternity. Under a loving epitaph could feel the dripping wet from the tears of those who buried. At dusk aroused his spirit, and could tell he was alone in that cemetery. He waited a while, with the patience that had characterized his lifetime, but nothing happened. There had been no Mephistopheles to convict him of not having gone to church that Good Friday, nor decreased a Cherub to reward you for your donations to orphanages in the city. Nothing.
It took a few laps around the cemetery, and was surprised that even in new and ethereal physiognomy could feel the breath of night air and hear the sounds of animals who are not afraid or death or the dead. But did not find anything or anyone, so he went to sleep in his coffin with his body with a smiling face that had never articulated in life.
not really slept. Just closed what he thought were his eyes, waiting to come eternity with which he had told all his life, that that slipper-shaped indulge forbidden to say a few simple words to not offend a powerful creative force and higher. But eternity does not come, or this or any night. He soon learned that was doomed to wander through those gardens of moldy gravestones and wilted flowers, overlooking the city from afar, but not miss anything or anyone, just regretting not having lived.
San Urbano Funeral Home has had many problems keeping employees for night shift, particularly those charged with overseeing the Lot 28. Seven managers have resigned in the past two months, saying that every night, while performing their caregiving duties, suffer a furious howl that mixed with the whistle of a breeze that sways the branches of trees and keeps saying:
"Damn! Damn it! "
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