Betaine Hci And Pregnancy

Water Crusade Bride of Astarku

remain silent for courtesy, no persuasive insistence that woman, you were forced to hide, with effort, the bitter grimace on your face, you were the fan of that afternoon. However, the look of that little girl of four years did you hold her hand and take the lead role in a church that never before visited.

Entered. Explanation of minutes on the harmony of seventeenth-century carved, exquisitely prepared Baroque altarpieces, the brightness of gold leaf, medieval paintings, and other anonymous versions deeply impressed. Pause for a moment of contemplation chilling, pressing harder on his hand, The Christ of the Good Death, by Juan de Mesa, meat full of incisions, blood and pain in their composition, wounds that were repeated in the pictures above, all your same phrase: "They say that the sins of the world", total, for you too said it when you were like her. "She?" Envy shining in your retina. Small highly intelligent to their questions, I could read and write with minimal difficulty, watched his straight hair and long eyelashes, eyes bright, curious hands, face confident, "all grown up" in his talk well vocalized.

followed the tour, except for a couple of penitents on their knees praying in the banks, there were only three in the impressive grounds, it was cold, the wind came and it was manifested in the shadow of the night, thought "Have I been like this? ". We stopped at Marble object where, assumed, put the holy water, he answered, paused, looked at you and lowered his head, "I know what you want" the girl often does not reach, "You want to see what's on the battery?", I returned a grateful light in their eyes. The soft lifted high, to be impressed and say, "Oh, how strong is my sister, my sister!". His fingers touched the water filled and washed. "Hey, that's not to wash", scolding, "You do so" What did you do? Teaches him how to cross themselves, "In the name of ...", materialism?, The big bang? The curved universe ?, how about you existentialist, Atea inconsistent!. The

came down again, I smiled. Lasted a minute, sixty seconds without guilt, microseconds unballasted mnemonic. Until you feel observed, "Damn, I forgot I was there!". Slow, hating, girabas, leaving aside laughter, your body, and the coup: expression of "Deep ...", you saw, proud, touched, candida (happy?), Face tilted toward his right shoulder, with arms folded, typical pose of maternal tenderness, could perhaps have this capability?, parent paradoxical, the petite ran "Mommy, Mommy, I made the cross, the cross !....", She hugged her.

came out it was dark. Do not say anything. "Church beautiful is not it, back the other Once you visit you now? "blood of your blood, when will they join. Way, avoid looking at her, and she, your mother does not seek harmony in your face, still talking about your half-brother, wedding plans, unable daughter, unhappy children, economy, government, and religion.

What bothers you that much?, Head hurts, the body is not supported, you throw you anywhere, follow the hincón, the pressure at the point between the eyebrows, unbearable burning, ringing, and not anymore. All that said only captures "Chau, I call you, do not forget to visit, say hi to your father." The kiss from the girl, unmoved thou will not relent, no longer shone for you, it was just a composite of cells in the next few seconds would grow and reproduce to die, girl name and with faith. "Chau", did you say, "Read." Way back

multiplied steps anxiety, hunger and thoughts. While continuing to tap, hammering stubbornly in one place, I used to play the temples, forehead, eyebrows, and listened to (can by touch?) That pain was born and came back buzzing after all your circular sadistically be, at that point. You'll think, strangely, looking for the home, began when he watched the Altar of Relics, carved in dark wood, neoclassical style of the late S. XVIII, an altar chests full of velvet, which preserved ancient remains inside a cemetery, or maybe it was when you saw the Ecce Homo of Pedro Mesa, beautiful work, emulating a skin color of porcelain, framing the saddest eyes human history.

Your lips could not restrain recurrent words your brain does not tolerate more within himself, "Appian Way", "Ciriaca graveyard." I no longer knew who was speaking, consistency does not appear anywhere, "Impossible." Do not accept suggestions or grossly ignorant reasoning, "To this point?!" In full adulthood, where cleanliness is compelling myths. "Enough." Crosses, you remember, walked slowly, a taxi driver hurrying you with insults, dark car passed in front of you, and the reflection of the glass gave you the revelation, "as in the book!" This time it was not ash was water.

Your faces painted with lead from the smog, the shadow that covered everything, the screams, the lights, the frightened eyes of waiting on the other side of the street "Alarm !!!", Care, speed unexpectedly, just could you turn, it became clear what the shadow, smoke, and reflectors of that truck off your pain.


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Glimmer, announcement that the day was not over, the sun hiding behind the buildings, You turn to look, as if for the first time, does you see, of course, and the listeners: "Are we going to that church?" she said, and not recognize you, turn your face troubled responding: "I've never gone there." "Let us" asked the parent, not wanted, "fear?, No. Contempt for the irrationality that clings to mystical explanations. The girl looked at you fine, accomplice, strange, breathed deeply, took his hand, feeling warm what new is felt in the nerve endings, wanting to scream, free to be you, speaking without speech, street, and led them to the inside. Nunta Asae


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Cheap Wooden Sailboats

Wednesday of odd-numbered day, and I approached the previous browse in the library of my uncle, a lawyer, held between its treasures guarded estate in 1200 copies, and quite apart from its first acquisitions in its early practitioner, the rest was a select print accumulated knowledge. He used to boast that at every opportunity, so it was hard to remember the order of the subjects his description of the cedar and mahogany compartments easily put me in the poetry section.

I held in my hands a heavy book, the gold letters headlined "Confessions of Astarku." The first stanza had a peculiar point, run and carefully worked, real impression of a handwriting, the rest of poems followed the ordinary archaic language of his time. Distracted my concentration powerfully heading to my uncle, the ink ran the space that remained for the title of the poem, thus leaving what was known to her favorite poem, his signature red remind us forever. I found this on only personal brand in two stanzas also referred to the strength of a man suffering that went beyond the battles of life.

I dared, holding the pencil accomplice to seek a letter that I liked and so place a check mark that identifies my good name and leave a trail of newly understood in the world of letters. I looked in every line, word by word pointing my finger stealth, dressed in gerunds, metaphors, hyperbole, and other items I surrendered to the futility, the phrase that would revolutionize my conception of things had to come, What a shame, two hours the same book, and have had no witnesses or evidence any of my efforts culturizarse for cultivation. What will I tell my uncle when I asked if I found something interesting?, Nothing moves me in these old words, I sighed. Tired and boring, yes, very boring, I thought: what could shake my uncle in this book full of corpses old arguments?, I managed to read the poem on page 123, entitled wedlock infertile disaffection sounded

Moored cross a bone without my girlfriend
evoked the hell, the spouses together

claim betrothal unpronounceable
Astarku spider your land,
Astarku bloody crazy by your kisses ...

I was moved without his lover beloved, my yawn uncoordinated my hands, and just put my signature closed the book losing interest in following the poem. I put the "Confessions ..." with the care that has always characterized my uncle demanding. Before retiring from the door I saw the oval recessed shelf item, gorgeous den that would be great material at my disposal during the trip of my uncle, dazzled proud and shut the door locked.

Today, back numb, the door was the only sure my key could open, the task of caring for this treasure forced me to visit at least twice a month, the murmur of the employees working were common when niece came home they never rest, supervised their work to the millimeter. The days before this visit I had very strange dreams in the library, I attributed to the enormous responsibility of being the guardian of my uncle improvised.

I went silent, to seek available through this time to improve my vocabulary obtuse at the large table fit the ten volumes of the first letters that I could lose heavily, the atmosphere off the room watched the matte shades of the leaves, impressed by the exemplary so well preserved I took the letter "A", remembering Astarku.

I found a full page definition, the conscientious point of Astarku and drawing his devilish appearance altered pulse rarely surprised. I finished the text and went stalker to "Confessions", opened it quickly, leaves clutter found in a separate computer, sticking a yellow leaf folded in half, loose, and set to be read. Her spelling was saying in a faint red liquid "Who signs the book engages the Astarku experiences, their worth is you." Signed by A. for two points in a row, the bride. Page 123 I looked and did not find any signature, perhaps had not pressed hard enough the pen that day. At that moment driven I copied a hurry for fear Astarku definition:

" According demonorum monarchia is very powerful in hell, sent there for forty legions of spirits, while in the hierarchy of the fallen angels has the rank of prince of thrones . The ideal time to invoke are the odd-numbered Wednesday 10:00 to 23:00 ... "Swiftly

take the book and prepared to leave, but the forces have left my hands and the book fell, determined not to let I bent down to pick it up and when I saw my signature in red ink excelling in the middle of page 123, totaling six digits as the number of arms that thing was coming incredibly stinking passion to embrace, the terror, I knew there would be eternally revived again and again.