the fall

 Open your eyes and walk in this Museum gave something more than terror, boxes were living monstrous images, there was no way of cataloging the worst, why to do it, you show some morbid interest, was the worst thing do that, but the first was strange, observed a mother with her little boy embracing it, mother embraces him with tenderness, then the box explodes in a Flash of fire that burns the woman and her son live, the print is in uppercase, is terrible, but continuous and you don't know why, just know that you continue as you go you see the new box that opens its jaws, would be an ironic box, if not as decadent, a butcher with Bull's head sharpens his knife and short steaks, a human in the refrigerator body, observed a human torso and a gutting corpse hung expected to pass through the sierraunfilled remains suspended, del toro sharpens knives as do the butchers, turns and you look as if you could know they are, featuring the step, if that is the butcher, you don't want to know who are the customers, you prosigues but not before see the last box of the Gallery, it's a picture apparently empty, but you know that it is perhaps the worst of allin this there is a terrible darkness, a darkness unhealthy that you can not know if there are eyes watching you there, but for what it presientes, if you see someone, but that someone is not someone, is something, finally arrive at the elevator, which is old and rusty, open it and you enter in the, then you know that this was only the beginning, and the worst thing is ready to begin, while closing the door of the elevator which usually is for your protection, but know very well this see, is so not escape...
Continuing the road with more doubts than certainties, fear eats away at you, the elevator takes you to a long decline, by where you see pass frigid lights that hurt your tender eyes accustomed to the darkness, while descending you realize that that sediment of absolute misery is your life from the universal point of view, that place where not can anyone helpthat place that you know well, is your home, where expected you what more hate, what more you fear, the lift is for door and shows a desolate room, what could be anywhere on Earth, as you walk you recognise the place, the Madhouse, where to rest your worst memories, you walk through the abandoned rooms, resting your madness...
If you know, this world is as real as the fact you wake you up every morning, you know that this there, waiting, opening its JAWS to your senses into small pieces of unhealthy time, is not the madness that you expondrás to your psychiatrist, is something with what you want to take you to the death, in each room, there are bleak memories of forgotten thingsin some places the old feeling that life is against the clock until one day you impacts notes and resulting die, in some rooms find toys forgotten a strange childhood without friends, others are collections of photographs of friends and loved ones who already were, in others you find photographs of the worst moments of your lifecaptured at the time of maximum pain and suffering, you know you move closer to that dark place where comes your sadness, your pain, want to stop you, but can't, continuous not sure is correct, or by that want to continue watching what, if not why there is no turning back, you opened pandora's box and these I ready to suffer the consequences, moans, roars, as you go strange sounds surround you you do not know where they come from but it is better not to know, prosigues, know everything soon ended in an epic battle of terrible dimensions, are against that, nobody can help you, you prosigues in the solitude of the rooms and damn hallways, darkened by a demented profane shadow that is not of this world, you know, but do not care prosigues while you find it more close to that damn place, your old books of santeria, witchcraft, sorcery, things you invocaste and that you follow today, day and night, prosigues at last to the last place, a room where remains a pulpit in the Middle, an altar with a book, is a Bible open to Psalm 23in the Centre remains a weapon, look, is charged and list, it is time you prosigues until the final quarter, open Hall opens, an amorphous being of darkness intended to kill a child, takes away the safety, that being you feel, knows that you are you, from your childhood know you, the child cries desperate screams, but the first shot has an impact on all over the placeits roars, leave the child and Pounces on you, esquivas to that being and claws, is nimble despite its size, but you know its weak point, shoot dodging, fleeing and sometimes avoid flames of hell, the chains that drag the usa to hit you of see occasionally, but you out, you hear the child crying not very farThis time worth the sacrifice, no matter a little pain if you can help someone defenseless, awakens your senses, blows you lie down, that being wants knees, do not allow, are more strong than that.
The last bullet out of the gun will be moving in spasms dying, you go by that child, you hug you calm, then you realize that child you're your, if you remember that dream of a child where you thought saved you your dead father, no, you were yourself, you calm you say you believe that you are his father, you take it to a room that reminds you to your child'syou see your old toys, your games, you lay the child and leave it asleep, you retire in the room and you open your eyes, finally these out, but there is no Sun this cloudy and perhaps soon it'll rain, smile has been so your life should not be different today...