Curtains in the kitchen
My grandmother and her curtains in the kitchen, which she embroidered with colorful wings.
This is the first thing that comes to my mind, spotting the tiny butterfly that sits on the ax I hold in my hands, stained with blood. Whose?
Oh, if my grandmother saw me ... if my grandmother had seen my brutality, when I put an end to a life that I have not even bothered to look in the face. She who always taught me to be wary of violence, she, with her eyes of chocolate, pastry and deep.
- Sorry. - Whisper to the butterfly.
And it is as if I told her.