Catography # 46. “Dawn”

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Dawn as the sun peeked between the snow-capped mountains, a small sentry scanning the horizon absorbing the first light of day. It was a cat among the waves of warm grass expanses, I saw him in the distance as I walked along the lonely road and we looked.
And I saw …

On the sunny hillocks of life, beyond the ears of miscanthus quivering at sunset breeze, next to the fence, wedged between rows of roses, clematis and aromatic plants, there is a narrow road that winds downhill all pebbles and stones, marked by the legs cats and worn shoes.
Cobbles, lolled a blackbird without haste or purpose, browsing the insects lonely on the sun-scorched grass, here and there the air is moving discreetly, by condensing it melted down into the valley. Lazily down, over the steps, past the smudged footprints, it was scattered in the garden, near the big pink.
Inside a small house, through the door, over a cool sienna-colored brick paving, there was a red arabesque chair. On this, speckled with crimson shadows, there was a cat.
He always had a light, affectionate approach and deep cast for all, him.
But now, its white fringe fell heavily on his forehead piombigna, the blue-gray eyes screamed a silent room, while screaming, against his will, had to yell at his friends, his
brothers, even if he never wanted to, go, shouted.
He was found alone.
The cat looked up. Got out of the back of the chair, crossed his friend hearth, the angle of the food, he went into his bedroom. He looked long bed with the blanket flowers. He peered under.
He saw the box in which he was suffering and had suffered his brother, decent and hidden altar and refuge.
She heard a buzz slipping gloomy inside his bones.
He saw a man jump at breakneck speed down the stairs.
She smiled, though the other could not see him.
He was afraid, so afraid, and that they go on to say that there are the heroes, who are not afraid and crap like that.
“Yes of course, it takes more courage to face my evil face death, yes, I am really a hero, dammit. Now leave me alone, I have to do … “he muttered to himself and to life, illness and his pain.
His voice was like a frondare serotine leaves caressed by the wind.
He heard a man throw at breakneck speed down the stairs.
But death had already broken and he was crashing to the ground.

The vision hit the man as a black wave, raised his hand before his face, as if it would do any good. He felt the mouth mixed with anger and pain mixed with the acres tears, eyes shut, he felt the agonizing grip of something inside him trying to support it, to keep it alive, we put all of herself, she was cursing while she was shaking inside him for the effort.
“When will it end?” He asked the man, before a dark hood fell on him. And all that was left to man was a vision that made him blind forever …

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