Tingling In Fingers More Condition_symptoms

Confirmed: I have no willpower. I declared on hiatus and I'm still here.

First I would like to thank all those who responded to this post . The exchange remains open, fragments of fiction from HP or microstories sleeve.

However, I decided to do something much bigger. This story is for dryadeh , UIBE , lamagaliz and (by the way treatment continues, if I say theme oriora left the coolness of his office to greet the woman who, for so long been waiting. Do not know what would look like Mary but never imagined memory as well: small, thin and full of dust. A solitary figure which seemed to be missing something. Memory

Mary was a stockholder of stories. Toured towns and villages with his gray cat perched on his shoulder. He sat the best seat in the house or in the sandy soil, did not matter. Bowed his head and, with her big green eyes fixed on the narrator, listened patiently to all that wanted to tell. Sometimes for days and nights. And the world was reduced to words and the constant hum of the cat. Mary kept in her head every syllable propronounced, lest we forget, because for many of those people was all they had. Someday, if his life was long enough, Mary Memory return to the village and they rememoraría how they met their first love, or that fall in the harvest was so good that danced in the fields until dawn. I also remember insults and pains suffered irreparable, because Mary did not judge, just talking to her tone calm and soft. "Do not forget, never forget" and, through his tears left, hatred or laughter, no matter. Grabbed her cat and continued his way back to fill with stories, and now that same road, had led him to this ancient monastery converted into a hospital for special cases. seemed too young to remember a century, Mrs. Ursula thought, taking refuge in the shade of the porch. It was just a girl redhead who was traveling with a bundle and bare hands. "Welcome. He shook hands with strength and safety, an old habit to show who was boss between those walls. Long overdue arrival. Doña Ursula
A cost him avoid falling into the contemptuous familiarity. At the end of the debtor was their only God and their faith did not recognize the call records of stories, a kind of modern minstrels to the powers attributed to them.

She shrugged.
"It seems that cost him his messenger to meet some time, egro does not matter, I'm here. What would you tell? The Mother Superior
shook his head.

"It's not for me, is for a patient. Appeared five years ago in a nearby field, naked and disoriented. I did not know who he was and he kept repeating her name, Maria memory, again and again.

Without another word Doña Ursula began to walk. Toured together a hall of stone, gray walls mottled by the wooden doors. The place was cool, depressing, and prisons.

They stopped at one of the former cells of the novices, identical to the rest. Mrs. Ursula rummaged among his clothes until he found the key. There was a cot, the smell of sickness and dying breath of a man.

They approached the bed where a package is moved in spasms. Just as he reached the edge of the figure seemed to revive. He joined with violence and fixing his eyes crazed in Maria said

"You, you're the one I remember, one stored with stories of a cat with green eyes and shoulders. You should know who I am.

His breath stank, his face was nothing but skin attached to a skull. Ten years and a withered body, and yet, Mary said. Such was the impression that the girl had to hold the arm of the Mother Superior to avoid falling. He was consumed by the madness of not knowing who he was but he was.

opera music and the smell of fried eggs with bacon. Mary

Mem, Leaving behind fear and a cloud of dust. Light filtered through the holes in the canvas, as if inside a barrel. To deal with the silence created one of the soldiers who accompanied him explained that he was being invited to their headquarters to hear its version of the conquest, because that was always what the great armies sought: endure, even in the inscriptions of tombstones, or in memory of warehousing. It was actually a veiled order kindness.

The trip was bumpy, hot and uncomfortable watching the soldiers. She just stared at her bare feet, so vulnerable among military boots around her.

The headquarters was just a mill counterclaimrtido in war machine through barbed wire and check points. A soldier held out his hand to help her down the vehicle, but she refused, protecting your cat with no name to his chest.

There was a spiral staircase which led to a mixture of fear and vertigo, and a landing that led to the room where the Colonel expected.

opera music, the smell of fried eggs with bacon and a young soldier graduated exquisite breakfast, as if, instead of in a disused warehouse was eating in a room with the top.

Colonel neatly wiped with a napkin. He was tall and handsome and her leather boots creaked as he stood up to greet Mary. She ignored lscribía all like an enthusiastic tour guide, brightening up the explanations with technical details that Mary received a condescending smile.

When broke and allowed the soldiers to flee the burning esplanade, returned to the barracks. The player was on and the cat ate the remains of breakfast, waving his tail in the air, oblivious to the two humans standing on the threshold. Before Mary had time to react, the man lunged at the table. The dishes crashed to the ground. The fragments crunched under the soles of colonel. It brought a kind of struggle. A game of hunter and prey in which the animal could always avoid the huge human, until he was cornered against una corner. By knowing trapped, the cat claws removed and an elastic jump grabbed the neck of the colonel. The man shouted, grabbed the cat's neck and angrily threw it against the wall.

a hollow sound was heard when the body bounced on the carpet.

Mary's face remained neutral. Not even started a movement to approach the corpse. She froze in the middle of the room, watching the last tremor of the inert body. Opera music and the only constant in his life killed by a plate of fried eggs and bacon.

-Stupid cat, "said the man, gently touching his wounds.

never told this story, Mary never spoke about herself. The