I meet in a volcano. The sweat exhales me of the body in a frightful frequency, washes tilts me in a tonality between the yellow living creature and the garrido red, the vapor that emanates of the nucleus entopem me the nasal ways, provoking me a gradual difficulty of breath. In the end of the precipice, I feel my feet to fraquejar, small sediments are freed of the rock, to the rhythm of trmula share of my body. Roucas voices entoam through the structure of the crater, will be dialecto of the devil to become to hear? Small fagulhas cutaneous level touches me it, in alive meat, the blood is evaporated in one fogacho, so raised is the centgrada graduation of the stream bed that circulates this rochedo. In each cubical centimeter of it washes, they meet the sins of the species human being, ardem intensely blind of fury and anger.
In my head two ideas latejam go off, 1 suggests me that it leaves stops backwards of the coasts this hell, and to admire the diurne light that invades the remaining portion of the mountainous mountain range. 2 is riskiest, presents me as idea to continue to admire this espectculo natural, owner of an allure to invulgar that he makes to shine to the eyes of who observes. In catacumbas of my mind, these two wolves in idea form brandish arguments, to see, in the end which deliberate. Difficult choice, but aid me of my common-sense, that indicates me 1 suggestion, abandonment this respladescente demonstration of force and natural virility. But, I conserve inside of me, the notion of that when opting to the solution pacifist, I gave the hypothesis exactly to me, of one day, to visit more times this type of landscapes. When been having, certainly it had lost to the voracious ardor of it washes and it had summarized my body mseras leached ashes, that would not serve for more than what to sediment the geologic part of the crater. In house, now refastelado in a baloio chair, the spirit still meets flaming, withdrawing brief hours, my mind grants to me to a thousand and images and a multiplicity enormissma of emotions. One day I go to count to the grandsons, who stow in a world where the heart beats without pulsation and the face is in a livdez seeming a countenance, and that thanks to conscience, I gave to value my life.