I Have Symptoms Of Appendix But In The Left Side

few nights ago, around a quarter past eleven o and a half, I was walking in the fog. There is often a Montagano

here since they built the dam Liscione. Drafts. O spectra. Do a little 'you.

fact is that I came from my grandmother's house to my house, on the other end of the country. Do not go out much here. And so it is not often that you walk alone at that hour. But it happens. I was thinking to look hard at the same time young and I'll be back in America, away from these carcasses, when they came across one.

On the bench after being sat an old man, as I passed it to his feet. "Boy, you have a light?" He spoke in Italian, but the focus was slightly montaganese.

"No, sorry. Unfortunately I do not smoke. " I answered politely but did not know this man. And it was strange. Yes, he was old, but I know all good or evil in this place.
The man had a blue down jacket with gray sleeves, downcast eyes and a cap with a brown and orange ball of tufted wool, above. Misplaced, like me.
"Good evening," I said and turned away.
"Whither away so fast? I need to talk. "
frowning, looked at him again.
In fact, he looked up and spoke to me. "I know you want to move permanently to the New World. But I do not recommend it. In reality you just can not do it. E 'writing. Listen to this story. "
I thought, "I do not know and do not fool me."
But just when you think it's too late.
had begun to tell, and his eyes glazed over and my curiosity, I had already hypnotized.

"During the Second World War, Montagano was bombed a bit 'all. A real bad luck. But Americans rage seemed a bit 'less. Because they had contacts with people. They offer chocolate, took photographs, made love with the girls. Obligations.
A soldier from Tennessee was especially nice to everyone. Greeted, asked, lent his helmet and fondled the dogs and helped young people with the jars on their heads. Montagano was in love, even in the gray and bombs.
Few knew that his family was originally from here. Moltiplicatisi left in seven and the other side of the ocean.
him-or Franco-Frank here felt a little 'more at home, still at war, of course, but the smells reminded him of the words of his grandmother. He had already known much
close up three girls in that month, when he met Carmen.
She was the daughter of the local squire, this Janigro. They told him that he did not like her fucking any of the other, in the country. And maybe even out.
He was with the son of a physician, but if a farmer and also slammed other American soldiers. Before even a Nazi. It was a very noble democratic, then: interesting contradiction.
Only Frank was in his heart.
He also liked the character. And that she appreciated very much. They began to make love everywhere in the house used as a police officer, in her home after drinking on the guest bed, on the north wall, clinging to chains hanging from where the horses were tied. He gripped the sides and thighs, soft, white and horny. And stroked her hair, light brown and sweaty after intercourse. He began to read the newspaper and some poetry, in English or Italian. They were good together. And he promised that he would not go away.
began to be seen around together, when the fall of grenades fell. She dressed well, almost American style, and once even took him by the hand.
A story suitable for those films that would be seen in the postwar period, with fiery kisses and cigarettes recited important parts.
In fact, the war really ended. And a piece of paper Carabinieri said that since there was enough adventure. He came home.
shame that shortly before had begun the killings.
No longer at the hands of avowed enemies, but few lives were shattered, however, abruptly and mysteriously.
were four American soldiers, platoon-mates Frank. And his friends.
First the young Bill O'Connell was found with his neck broken and tied to the bridle of a horse in the stables. He did not know of an accident. Then
Ray Martins, Hugh and Bobby Mallones Rental, three small official, had faced a similar fate, in the content, not form: head smashed against a fountain, which had thus begun to piss blood, stabbed multiple oblique, ie only in surface, but you die anyway bled, and the third even skinned entirely except for his face. Different techniques, common ferocity.
The scenes of the crimes were, in contrast to today, semi-desert. All preferred to stay away flies, and retching. Only one or maximum two idiots had to shed light on the matter. In that case, Frank was chosen, which police had been at home for a while '. The telegram arrived a little before re-embark. She was to stay. And this time not only sniff
flounder.
"Not only 'meant that he could still continue to see Carmela. But after rificcato pants had to solve the case. Finding one or more insane murderer. And roast them under a volley of gunfire.
began to ask around and wander, even at night, armed and thoughtful.
But the people here do not speak easily of what's involved. Mumbles and barricades himself behind the windows, when the darkness is near.
In addition he was not able to investigate. He was a cop on patrol, not a Sherlock Holmes of the cock. I wonder why the bigwigs had chosen him. Mysteries of the bureaucracy. And then sent him or even advised some trusted person or technical help. All stops to celebrate the victory of the war on the Krauts.
So he found only one thing: that there were several tracks of a pair of heavy boots and seized, there on the ground near the zone-murders. There were two possibilities: either it was a group of fanatics with shoes and common purpose, or only a murderess, but with an amazing imagination schizophrenic. In any case, with controfiocchi Rogne.
Yet it was a piece that no one was more alive. Or more dead, thankfully. No murders or clues. A quiet biting.
came the winter. A light mist rose up from the top, the bell tower. Perhaps it is true that the fault lies with the Liscione, then. At night it became annoying, in areas with low light. And Franco often went out to patrol the streets with an oil lamp and a mixture of duty and recklessness in his veins. As a sailor surrounded by the tentacles of the Kraken, who does not know what is going to grab him and continues to look forward in search of land, and perhaps far deserted.
But nothing was crushed, for the moment. Only arthritis and a good sense of claustrophobia and impatience for the job.
His research now consisted of three rounds a week and some night call at his office for a short interrogation. Most of the time was to be called Carmen, who rolled up his mustache, with red lips touched the console, then stretched out on his desk, casually.
Afterwards came a little more 'time, the case proceeded and was then closed. Frank was ordered to send home the relationship with the (few) and to present information gathered after a week behind Cassino with a good story to save his ass. The higher would have decided whether to return it or crush small outbreaks in Tennessee and stubborn survivors north of Berlin.
few nights later he was in the street, between silence and wind chimes and then streetlights. Twelve to be exact. He was going to say hello. He did not know if it was a farewell. But his heart was still crying when he started drumming. Chills of fear and excitement.
A trickle of blood crawled down one side of him, along the stairs leading into the upper part of the country. Around the corner a new body made its future uncertain.
He was a farmer. One of his old rival in love. He had to give him the honors of war. He wrote the lead to extend their stay to ensure that Montagano.
The case was reopened. And, just to celebrate, another death was swift.
His friend Antony army Nardoni, who was also of Italian origin, who had married and settled in the country, was found dead in the creek, no hands and swollen and wrinkled like a tuber. The
disgusted even see the carp-human: how to examine and find out? Can not focusing on his character and his powers. But help arrived. With a crumpled note, perhaps unreliable, certainly necessary.
He said: "He had ridden all
to mount this story. He started from the stables and there he will return. When dismounted and still frisky. But only later, as a Crazy Horse, sowing death. E 'hay rigged? Check the crib. There is little time to stop the run
.
Someone alluded to a woman, Carmela, perhaps? A shiver ran down my spine.
and decided to go the same evening at the stables, in theory public, in fact used only by Janigro, the family of Carmela.
The previous night he had terrible nightmares lived: on a road in a cone of light, felt the side in shadow annoying squeaks. The soft glow of a moon that seemed more a blade showed flickering skeletons that were slowly colliding their basins. The bones of those areas-type ileum, ischium, and so-gradually crumbled under those tapping sexual and macabre. Then the sides of that path immersed in the penumbra appeared and anonymous faces to platoons intermittent medalists, bandits, alcoholics, angry peasants, armed defensive whores, maniacs dripping blood and sweat and even sick dogs wer on two legs and with a great thirst. Their faces lit up in turn, on the edge of the path and life, seemed hell fireflies or a house of horror village or signals, can settle the case or simply fear. In fact, no longer lit. Dreams are rarely forgiving. Those on the dark should not just rely on. How about a road lit only for a short haul. Can climb, descend, save you, kill you, weep or just proceed. Of course she decides.
That night the way that Franco walked to the stables was similar to the nightmare. Dark, a few lamps and a lot of fucking side uncertainty.
Luckily the fog was sparse, so in a poor country and Gothic orientation is still better than sleep. So he came to the stables, with key in hand and gun.
A slight glow coming from inside.
opened, lime straw, shadows and horse shit and went to the rear. There was a small room by a strange piece, commissioned by the family of Carmela. Now that he thought perhaps to her. It was a kind of dressing. Or toilet room. He had attended the bathtub several times. She
eavesdropping and heard the woman's voice. And one more dark and rough.
broke down the door and found them standing.
They were just talking. Carmela said: "What are you doing with that gun?" "You owe me an explanation" "Yeah, yeah, right. There is nothing to explain. The sergeant was offering you a hand for the investigation. He has received funding and wants to use them well. Thank you for your trust, Marshal. " She smiled mischievously.
Then he concluded: "Come on, come here to drink your whiskettino so loved and make small talk."
The Italian officer was holding a glass of white wine. He poured the contents of the bottle of Early
Times
of Kentucky. American brand, as usual, just for him. How kind, Carmela.
Frank grabbed his glass to his lips the ... but almost did not incredibly thirsty. He thought for a moment, he remembered the note that he warned. So I smelled it, then I only drank a drink down his throat, the rest slipped into the collar of his uniform. Carmela
At the same time opened the door and greeted them, let this sentence: "Of course that Italian troops will not hurt. It will be the discipline that makes it so hard. " Sly wink and disappeared.
spent five, ten minutes maximum. But there was no conversation. Franco had the feeling to rise for the second time. She found herself in the mirror, close to the tank. In the reflection she saw behind her red patches. However there is no light. It was a different red. Do not remember ever having seen a solid light and viscose. Beams or spots.
shifted its attention more to the center in search of his imagination.
There was a man with dangling arms and shoulders hunched. Her eyes were rimmed and sunken like those of owls. And a crooked grin and shaking. Repulsive. Was himself with a butcher knife in his hand. Franco, the lover, the man of law, the U.S., the savior, had murdered the officer. He made two or three
asthma shots and ran away from the disgusting truth. But was still lucid.
He sat on the steps of the church. Not to seek help. He wanted to reflect. It helps stretch on the steps to reconstruct an event. Mind traces the events following the position of the body.
He thought that he had been drugged. Not only in feelings, not just physically. It was Carmen? Yes but why? The murders were committed almost all around 22 - 23. Should not be an issue related to the number. Unless the woman was not a witch. I doubt it. Smelled too.
He thought more deeply, trying to get into each other. He had to convince him that he was the protagonist. Mmm ... yes, the days of military communications, later this month. Every time I was about to leave, death and horror they formed a wall.
peppering his thoughts. Carmela loved him. Carmela was sad. Carmela had gone mad. He did not want it to start. Franco was not able to be called Frank wanted to return full time. Away. So every time that had saddled him drink patriotic and cursed. She in turn paid drugs in alcohol, the trimmed some loser from Scanno, caused him to make it bloody and went away, noble and cruelly satisfied.
substances pour into the glass had to be different in each murder. Stuff like witches Apennines, albeit fragrant, he thought. Spices
or potions that did come out each a demon of the deep. Or, in the language of the Austrian shrink, multiple personalities.
So the detective on duty had no chances. Especially if he was one of the representations of the formless monster's instincts.
Franco-Frank felt lost. But
back pain led him to recompose. Saints steps.
Now he remembered everything: the fuss, violence, duplicity. He drank one drop of quell'intruglio and it was enough to shape the beast and send a cop to another world. It was unclear how the other deaths could not in any way remind you, under the influence of a higher dose. Carmela
the maneuver as a puppet, uncoordinated and foldable. But the thread that tied his right arm had been sold. And a puppet with a free limb is no longer under control.
The unpredictable pulling tricks and he tried to use it at will. She was unaware that his
Francucci knew. Would have found it early.
Finse must leave the woman permanently and promptly invited him to a meeting.
usual scene in the bathroom. This time it was her ex, the son of a physician, a dandy with a magnifying glass over one eye. Gun sheathed and unsheathed, courtesies, drunk.
But this time Frank had particular the first sips along the neck.
Carmela came to the door and spoke his words of farewell: "Discuss well. I'm going. Until next time. Anyway, young doctor, it was nice to reverse the roles and visit. And with these hands to touch the future tool of the trade ".
The elegant young man seemed shaken and frightened. He reacted instinctively, as if he had picked up something terribly real and scary. Franco looked and cried, "Nooo! Now I understand. Do you agree! But am I that I had sent the note to inform you. I suspected her, but not you. I tried to help. Spare me! Spare me! "
The American stood up from his chair, slowly and with his head cocked to one side, at ease.
He took the gun.
Meanwhile, Carmela, with a satisfied air, he was turning the handle. He gave a jerk, but it was closed!
Franco smiled at her, with the big chin held high and his eyes half shut.
He approached her, holding her at gunpoint. He turned the key, a gesture that no one had noticed his arrival. Then he closed out and the dandy.
He thought for a moment that Carmela had done for love and a big tear came out well.
But he had always turned into a loathsome creature. And above all, with its beautiful little hands, had met more people than Mary Magdalene. And he certainly was not born in Bethlehem, but in Tennessee, where the accounts are closed in a shorter and easier. So he threw
down with one shot remaining liquid in her glass. And in that room
Thanatos to Eros covered his eyes and stood alone and triumphant. "

The old man made a brief pause, but did not stop staring at me.
" Son, "he said," then you know what happened? "There was still
more silence.
"Well, the son of the doctor tipped the whole story. He had also collected evidence. As a researcher, it was realized that it was better than Franco. The police thought he was beaten and American cool.
in prisons, which were still here in town, including the clink of chains and the stench of mold, he learned the true nature of Montagano. A half-crazy old man, thrown to land, with very serious air, said that there is a curse here.
The people are friendly or even false, in the daytime. At night it's all true. The fog sets a boundary. No one born here can cross it. No montaganese may go away or will be brought back directly from Cerberus.
That old prisoner was born in France. But the joy of his visit to the country of his ancestors had turned into a nightmare. And so Frank would have served the sentence that was circulating through his veins. Franco would be forever.
not groped to flee, local resident: you keep your roots to the ankles. "

The old man in front of me had stopped talking. His hands were in his pocket. Then I saw the his arms stretched out toward me.
In one hand a yellow bottle. In the other a sharp blade.
"So you choose, young man, droplets or small cut? Ha-ha-ha-ha-haa! "
Her mouth opened to form a deadly grin, his teeth became visible for the first time. It was reddish. I put in focus. In his mouth there were no teeth, but what looked like fingers. By the end of a faded red nails. Old polish woman. It occurred to me
Carmela, enchanted with his own hands and has long been amputated.
man should be, oh shit, really had to be ...
"Welcome to Hell, John Mark," I rang
in the skull that phrase from Yankee Tennessee, by Frank himself, as I ran home and heart-wrenching laughter floated in the fog.

in bed not taken easily sleep with the light on, I played slow Verdena of that song that goes something like this, like this story, erotic and perverse: "I hit bottom, now that you're there. In this joy of mine. But it's all ok, everything is ok, everything is ok. "I thought of the knife sinking. The story struck me. Finally collapsed in a deep dreamless sleep.

The morning after, the other day, I awoke refreshed but with a hint of fear.
Maybe I wanted to see, but showed too vivid in my mind that popular legend, famous in these parts and beyond.
them Polish Jews held up as dybbuk. Here we have a term that unites them. We call them from time to time by their first name. Even if they die outside of God's name why on foggy nights wandering aimlessly, calling for steps, giving small gifts or smoke more often terrified to death.
Franco had to be one of those. And, if so, of course it still is.
What I have threatened or teased, it does not matter.
It opened my eyes in the heart of the fog.
And that has overwhelmed me, making me part of it.
Making me realize that this place really has something wrong. Perhaps the energy that its inhabitants save thanks to tricks and hypocrisy that make them cowards and ridiculous in the eyes of the outside are accumulated and reused in other ways. To keep the secret. The family. To ensure nobody can get out of the community.
It 's the weight of your blood counts. And here in
Montagano inactivity, sloth and clearly make the dense fog. As a glue that keeps you close to the ground, which prevents you from leaving, which forces you to obey.

course, I do not think all the way to these stories popular. So I will continue to define people hopelessly corrupt and worms here and I will do everything to go to the New World.
I'll go to the continent where violence is acting in the sunlight.
But I remember the strength of these parties, ambiguous, ancestral, perhaps false, but not for that reason less terrifying.
E 'for this that even if I could settle in the United States would keep in touch with my old house.
Because there is a damn great tree that unites us. Some branches even arrive in America. Rami tense and aggressive. Who want to return closer to the trunk.
Frank and his family who know something.
And I, impressed by their experience, whether heard or imagined, of course I do not want to bleed our sacred plant.
I want to hold the stump to rest underground. Keep
cauterized.
to contain a new leakage of pure red and hot damn simple. Copyright © 2010 Gianmarco
Galuppo