Hello, friends-go, often greeting circus. This post is a certain change. In it hang a story that has written my twin brother, to be exact-who has decided, finally, get that love of writing has always had. This is the first chapter of a novel you are writing, and I think you can take a lot of play. I sincerely believe have great potential for this, but I would like to know your opinion. You know I have it in high esteem So, please, read and, if you have a good, comment.
Well, here goes.
A hug to everyone.
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Chapter One My name is Saturn. Yes, I know. It is ridiculous in the extreme, but this is all I have. Responsible for the blunder was the nuns at the hospice of Santa Maria de la Merced, where I grew up and lived until the day I turned fourteen. Sister Monica, who first had the idea, was that, like Saturn ─ that is the weirdest planet in the solar system ─ I was a child further from the normality of all who had seen throughout his life. The rest of the nuns agreed that hateful name was more appropriate for the case, and so I was a Christian named Saturn of Santa Maria de la Merced, father and mother are unknown. And how did you wonder ─ ─, rarity they saw in me those good nuns to cause such a task? The explanation is simple, and can be summarized in a judgmental statement: I am a bastard. Please do not misunderstand me. I'm not a vicious man, or shameful qualities I possess more than usual. I mean simply that I was born bad. There were no differences in the method I guess it would be usual, but yes on the form.
medical doctors say that everything that the mother experiences during pregnancy
moves to a greater or lesser degree, the creature in her womb. And what I saw my mother was a sovereign beating my father gave him the return of one of his many orgies ethyl. I used to come home transformed into one of those bottles of pigskin used to store wine. And in this state, and dishonor a noble animal, undertook a fight with my mother. As she could not cope alone, and also ─ ─ I guess because it's always good to deal "go Dutch", I swallowed myself a diet rich sticks. Les
I apologize if it seems that the subject treated in a frivolous, but I do so to keep the tears wetting the paper they write. No one hurt me more than my mother's sufferings, that good hardships have caused me, but I like to wallow in pain as a mourner, I prefer to forget it and go around like a bad neighborhood reputation, and focus - if possible - in everything good and beautiful things that life offers.
I came into this world in one of those cool autumn nights and cloudy. I did it on a dirty bed, like everything else. When my father saw the birth was imminent ran to tell Josephine Baker, the best and only Village midwife. "Bad thing is gilt on a night like this," said the old Josephine
while brooding anger that overcame her. Dais more problems than are worth. The midwife Baker acted with ability, who had given him the experience but also an acute apathy that seemed to govern all their actions. The miracle of birth had no secrets for her, never had complications that could not save, no unpleasant surprises. But tonight, the outcome had been decided by way of the homer-those who received my mother, I came to have a smear on the brand new Baker record.
The tremor that shook his trembling hands as he struggled to find a common configuration in the thing they held, was such that he almost let me fall to the floor of the room. "In case you have not received, two cups! "It would have been more appropriate welcome, the first warning of what would come later.
the beginning of the story when I noticed that I was an evil born, sought to point out that what my mother's father was no more than a vain attempt to humans, a foreign body and full of deformities, a lump of flesh left little report a glimpse of the baby that was supposed to arrive. The consequence of that infamous beating was a head full of valleys and hills, such was the number, size and depth of the bumps and potholes that powdered, which, while not damaging the brain damage were not sufficient to prevent similar to rest of the shells known to date. The face was the most human of all, obviously, yes, the excessive size of the nose, fins can make the rest of the body increases the flight, and the strange arrangement of the mouth that seemed to find the vertical. My legs were in the early stages of the race, so that the feet, almost non-existent and extremely twisted, appeared much earlier than expected. At the end hip, and no more than four inches of travel, those occupied by the legs, feet emerged tiny and useless, like poisonous mushrooms.
Obviously, such an accumulation of atrocities could not help but body condition all my life. And he did from the beginning.
When the tears and the pains of childbirth own mother allowed me to leave the bed made the decision to move towards the convent of Santa Maria de la Merced. He did the cover of darkness, avoiding the indiscretion of the streetlights and busy streets. Wanted me at the door of the foundling, ensconced in an old basket with more dirt than wicker and hope that the nuns, seeing me and left me in care tomasen and give me shelter and food needed.
- They-they said my mother, in a vain attempt to convince herself, will give an education and a comfort that would not otherwise have. I take care as God commands and give you all the love you need. Sure.
And these was the poor woman, blinded by tears and he fell in torrents and the constant worry of being discovered, when all the precautions he had taken his nightly rounds proved to be inadequate to ensure the anonymity he craved. Was my cry to blame Sor Ángela, intrigued by the whining child who came from the street, discovered he was about to leave the basket at the front gate. Surprised at being so unexpectedly thought my mother burst into running down the street, running away from me and the nun who gave her the high. But Sister Angela, despite the many years he carried their bones and rheumatic pains that plagued was faster than my mother, who was swept into the hospice could not do anything about it. Two minutes after the scuffle, which took Sister Angela to reassure my mother, were the two women sitting in the main hall convent, leaving caressed by the warmth of the embers in the fireplace crackled softly.
were well until the morning light I said the words no longer served, and that the direction and determination of my mother would not vary. The poor had little objection to the arguments of the nun, who never stopped talking about the love of a mother to her son and the sacrifices that the Lord commands. Concepts were too distant for those who discover in horror that the despair has come to entrap and rules and all his life. On occasions, beaten and defeated, my mother pointed at me. - Look at you you, "he said, his voice breaking with tears," What do I do? What else I can do?
Her mind filled with images of a terrifying future, convicted of an existence that would punish forever and could only escape stay away.
- Does he? Sor Ángela-opposed, glancing questioningly at my mother, who never ceased to mourn. Can you ever forgive me? - Look at you, mother, "she said. I have given life. How could I?
And everything was decided.
On my arrival at St. Mary of Mercy, Sister Angela all the nuns called a meeting to see me and knew what was awaiting them.
- will not be easy, "said Sister Margaret, very serious, as I watched with a curious expression within the mats where my mother had taken to the hospice. I mean their education. And their care ... - All are equal to their age-sentenced Sister Angela. No matter how his face or his body. Everyone needs the same thing: eat, give them their bottles and changing diapers. Just that. - At least, "went on to say one of the nuns, it is certain that the good Lord will goodness being taken away suddenly at his side. Poor ...
It seemed impossible that my physical deformities were not a match in my body, a fatal birth defect that would soon become apparent to take me from this world. But they were wrong, and-though not much, I could grow up surrounded by habits and children, healthy and strong, smart and scary.
Chapter One My name is Saturn. Yes, I know. It is ridiculous in the extreme, but this is all I have. Responsible for the blunder was the nuns at the hospice of Santa Maria de la Merced, where I grew up and lived until the day I turned fourteen. Sister Monica, who first had the idea, was that, like Saturn ─ that is the weirdest planet in the solar system ─ I was a child further from the normality of all who had seen throughout his life. The rest of the nuns agreed that hateful name was more appropriate for the case, and so I was a Christian named Saturn of Santa Maria de la Merced, father and mother are unknown. And how did you wonder ─ ─, rarity they saw in me those good nuns to cause such a task? The explanation is simple, and can be summarized in a judgmental statement: I am a bastard. Please do not misunderstand me. I'm not a vicious man, or shameful qualities I possess more than usual. I mean simply that I was born bad. There were no differences in the method I guess it would be usual, but yes on the form.
medical doctors say that everything that the mother experiences during pregnancy
moves to a greater or lesser degree, the creature in her womb. And what I saw my mother was a sovereign beating my father gave him the return of one of his many orgies ethyl. I used to come home transformed into one of those bottles of pigskin used to store wine. And in this state, and dishonor a noble animal, undertook a fight with my mother. As she could not cope alone, and also ─ ─ I guess because it's always good to deal "go Dutch", I swallowed myself a diet rich sticks. Les
I apologize if it seems that the subject treated in a frivolous, but I do so to keep the tears wetting the paper they write. No one hurt me more than my mother's sufferings, that good hardships have caused me, but I like to wallow in pain as a mourner, I prefer to forget it and go around like a bad neighborhood reputation, and focus - if possible - in everything good and beautiful things that life offers.
I came into this world in one of those cool autumn nights and cloudy. I did it on a dirty bed, like everything else. When my father saw the birth was imminent ran to tell Josephine Baker, the best and only Village midwife. "Bad thing is gilt on a night like this," said the old Josephine
while brooding anger that overcame her. Dais more problems than are worth. The midwife Baker acted with ability, who had given him the experience but also an acute apathy that seemed to govern all their actions. The miracle of birth had no secrets for her, never had complications that could not save, no unpleasant surprises. But tonight, the outcome had been decided by way of the homer-those who received my mother, I came to have a smear on the brand new Baker record.
The tremor that shook his trembling hands as he struggled to find a common configuration in the thing they held, was such that he almost let me fall to the floor of the room. "In case you have not received, two cups! "It would have been more appropriate welcome, the first warning of what would come later.
the beginning of the story when I noticed that I was an evil born, sought to point out that what my mother's father was no more than a vain attempt to humans, a foreign body and full of deformities, a lump of flesh left little report a glimpse of the baby that was supposed to arrive. The consequence of that infamous beating was a head full of valleys and hills, such was the number, size and depth of the bumps and potholes that powdered, which, while not damaging the brain damage were not sufficient to prevent similar to rest of the shells known to date. The face was the most human of all, obviously, yes, the excessive size of the nose, fins can make the rest of the body increases the flight, and the strange arrangement of the mouth that seemed to find the vertical. My legs were in the early stages of the race, so that the feet, almost non-existent and extremely twisted, appeared much earlier than expected. At the end hip, and no more than four inches of travel, those occupied by the legs, feet emerged tiny and useless, like poisonous mushrooms.
Obviously, such an accumulation of atrocities could not help but body condition all my life. And he did from the beginning.
When the tears and the pains of childbirth own mother allowed me to leave the bed made the decision to move towards the convent of Santa Maria de la Merced. He did the cover of darkness, avoiding the indiscretion of the streetlights and busy streets. Wanted me at the door of the foundling, ensconced in an old basket with more dirt than wicker and hope that the nuns, seeing me and left me in care tomasen and give me shelter and food needed.
- They-they said my mother, in a vain attempt to convince herself, will give an education and a comfort that would not otherwise have. I take care as God commands and give you all the love you need. Sure.
And these was the poor woman, blinded by tears and he fell in torrents and the constant worry of being discovered, when all the precautions he had taken his nightly rounds proved to be inadequate to ensure the anonymity he craved. Was my cry to blame Sor Ángela, intrigued by the whining child who came from the street, discovered he was about to leave the basket at the front gate. Surprised at being so unexpectedly thought my mother burst into running down the street, running away from me and the nun who gave her the high. But Sister Angela, despite the many years he carried their bones and rheumatic pains that plagued was faster than my mother, who was swept into the hospice could not do anything about it. Two minutes after the scuffle, which took Sister Angela to reassure my mother, were the two women sitting in the main hall convent, leaving caressed by the warmth of the embers in the fireplace crackled softly.
were well until the morning light I said the words no longer served, and that the direction and determination of my mother would not vary. The poor had little objection to the arguments of the nun, who never stopped talking about the love of a mother to her son and the sacrifices that the Lord commands. Concepts were too distant for those who discover in horror that the despair has come to entrap and rules and all his life. On occasions, beaten and defeated, my mother pointed at me. - Look at you you, "he said, his voice breaking with tears," What do I do? What else I can do?
Her mind filled with images of a terrifying future, convicted of an existence that would punish forever and could only escape stay away.
- Does he? Sor Ángela-opposed, glancing questioningly at my mother, who never ceased to mourn. Can you ever forgive me? - Look at you, mother, "she said. I have given life. How could I?
And everything was decided.
On my arrival at St. Mary of Mercy, Sister Angela all the nuns called a meeting to see me and knew what was awaiting them.
- will not be easy, "said Sister Margaret, very serious, as I watched with a curious expression within the mats where my mother had taken to the hospice. I mean their education. And their care ... - All are equal to their age-sentenced Sister Angela. No matter how his face or his body. Everyone needs the same thing: eat, give them their bottles and changing diapers. Just that. - At least, "went on to say one of the nuns, it is certain that the good Lord will goodness being taken away suddenly at his side. Poor ...
It seemed impossible that my physical deformities were not a match in my body, a fatal birth defect that would soon become apparent to take me from this world. But they were wrong, and-though not much, I could grow up surrounded by habits and children, healthy and strong, smart and scary.
