Just a small gothic tale i wrote long ago

It was a year of terror, and of feelings more eccentric than terror,

marked by crimson in the darkest ebony wood, which was corroded by the

presence of plagues and caustic soda. That corrupted the most honest of

men and the most cunning of thieves.

But, even for all the conflict that has occurred, and is yet to come;

we celebrated. Over the putrid odor of our companions' bodies we

celebrated; We drank the wine, although it reminded us of the

blood.

So we remained, celebrating at a dance that had never occurred,

until the shadow gave way to the warm morning light, which

awaited us like a demon at the foot of a child's bed.

And the demon arrived, weighing the air with all the power he

possessed; on the furniture, the glasses, and our bodies, reminding us

of the duty of a new day and of new clots, which form in the

deepest places of our intestines like a serious plague.