How To Seal A Concrete Bathtub

Book Fair [Original] Last breaths

Title: last breaths
Fandom: original
Rating: PG-13 for their subject matter (murder)
Word count (Fiumidiparole): 376
Notes : For the third week of Kinkos WWF (Warning Fest Weeks) of Fiumidiparole ; prompt: breath

Breath your gift of love to me
(Midge Ure, "Breath")

I understood a couple of times a year, usually in spring and autumn.
When the sky is yellow and cloudy and gloomy day for many days in a row and simply leave the house charge me with anguish, then I know it's time.
I realize the things that my eye starts to set, independent of my will. Women's faces light makeup, breasts bullies who try to escape the clothes, long hair, thin necks that reach: beautiful things, wrong things. I should not so hard to fix people, but, I repeat, does not depend on my will. It is not madness. It is simply time.
not last long: a few days, a week at most. The time to do so. Then the sky in my eyes, he becomes an unlikely blue and white clouds, white and white.
The first time it happened, as if I did not realize it was as if an outside force had taken possession of my hands and guide me. I do not remember almost anything-a strangled groan, the pulse of the veins on my hands. I do not remember who he was, or what he looked like.
The second time, however, I was fully aware of what I was doing. Her name
Silvana, was one of my best friends.
simply embraced her. And then I began to tighten the arms, again and again: "Angela, you're doing wrong ...."
silenced her with a whisper, and went over my face to hers. I pushed her against the wall and ran my hands around his neck, pressing deeper and deeper.
He died in my arms, with a slight gasp. I loved her deeply.
The third, fourth, fifth ... I lost count of women and of the time. One of my neighbor. A girl at the park. A strange sight on the streets. The
I loved almost all of a painful love, when their last breath caressed my face.
The last breath una donna è il regalo più bello che si possa ricevere. Ogni respiro si assomiglia, ma l’ultimo porta dentro di sé qualcosa di speciale. Qualcosa di luminoso, che mi fa amare.
È questa la verità: io amo gli ultimi respiri, amo le donne che me lo regalano; in quell’istante, io amo.
Uccidere è un effetto collaterale.
E poi il cielo diventa di un azzurro improbabile. E le nuvole bianche. Come i respiri.