-To eat! - my mother shouted.
I ran as usual and found myself moving the chair first. My mother ordered the tables while the table was filled with those who liked, they were served. I picked up my plate, tossed a couple of tablespoons of rice with vegetables and stretched the tablecloth. No god ... thanks I gave it to my mother. My father, who used to have a ritual, as in all things, soon began without fail.
As for all rituals, in addition to effort, you need a wide range of artifacts and tools. Its armament ranged from a classic plastic, or tablecloths or rags in the kitchen, or aerosols, or even a luxurious electrified racket. If there were about four bites of rice on my plate when it was heard in the background, the end of some of the thousands would remain. My father giving handcuffs with that electric weapon in his hands finally managed to poke one. He flew and made a perfect and perpendicular route to my plate.
-Your fucking mother! - I said angrily.
-How? - Rabid. I could hear the squeak of his teeth.
-Fuck! - I repeated. - Your assholes have fallen on my plate!
Approached. Tight fist. Beast possessed as usual every three days. Hunter wants prey, he drools. Without taking an eye from his, I saw him do what he never did before: retreat silently.
Run next to the dam.
I am right.
I threw the fly and finished my plate.
Photo of my authorship
Photo Poem of the series:
Photo of my authorship
Experimental Animals #1. "Drag us to get flight"
Experimental Animals #2. "The magic pillow"