Post by account_disabled on Dec 10, 2023 6:56:37 GMT
He limped out of the cellar. A cloud of blowflies gave him no respite until he moved a few meters away. Every step he took was followed by a grimace of pain. The wound in his leg, with the bullet still inside, bled through his bandage, a strip of fabric torn from his shirt. As he crossed the uncultivated field, where the hotpot was already blooming with its yellow buds and the morning glory responded with violet and blue colours, he thought back to the strange battle fought shortly before.
What was that thing? he asked himself as he entered the house. And how had he managed to shoot himself in the leg instead of hitting that… He dropped the questions. She was hungry, then she would think Phone Number Data about the bullet. She cooked a dish of tettibranchs , seasoning them with oil and a chili pepper taken from the ristras that he kept hanging from the ceiling like so many hanged men. He took a few sips of pulque to ease the pain, but it didn't help. Noises, from the cellar. Something breaking, a liquid sound following. He's breaking barrels. Then she will come looking for me. Two days earlier, when he was fishing for chub , he remembered having noticed strange tracks on the sandy bank of the river.
And the stones, too. Crushed stones. He hadn't noticed, but now that the image of the footprints on the damp floor of the cellar had come back to his mind, he could now connect them to the tracks on the sand. It shouldn't be that size. Mierda. What would have been the conduct of the matter? And what could he do, a wounded warrior with no more shots, against what seemed like a gigantic solpuga ? A crash of wood broke the silence, paralyzing him with terror. The front door exploded into boards and splinters and the sunlight went dark. A riot of enormous paws and hair as thick as blades of grass briefly appeared in the man's vision. Two jaws snapped and the distance between the solpuga and the arriero decreased. " Hija de pu... " was the last sentence he uttered.
What was that thing? he asked himself as he entered the house. And how had he managed to shoot himself in the leg instead of hitting that… He dropped the questions. She was hungry, then she would think Phone Number Data about the bullet. She cooked a dish of tettibranchs , seasoning them with oil and a chili pepper taken from the ristras that he kept hanging from the ceiling like so many hanged men. He took a few sips of pulque to ease the pain, but it didn't help. Noises, from the cellar. Something breaking, a liquid sound following. He's breaking barrels. Then she will come looking for me. Two days earlier, when he was fishing for chub , he remembered having noticed strange tracks on the sandy bank of the river.
And the stones, too. Crushed stones. He hadn't noticed, but now that the image of the footprints on the damp floor of the cellar had come back to his mind, he could now connect them to the tracks on the sand. It shouldn't be that size. Mierda. What would have been the conduct of the matter? And what could he do, a wounded warrior with no more shots, against what seemed like a gigantic solpuga ? A crash of wood broke the silence, paralyzing him with terror. The front door exploded into boards and splinters and the sunlight went dark. A riot of enormous paws and hair as thick as blades of grass briefly appeared in the man's vision. Two jaws snapped and the distance between the solpuga and the arriero decreased. " Hija de pu... " was the last sentence he uttered.