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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.