See, right. Crossing a narrow street on the edge is a cracked heart. It's the cat who questioned me. She told me in a dream. Resolutely, and refuse not to leave. Her hair is red and cloudy. About 12 is not 13. He was shut up at midnight knocking on the door if they ignored the single wooden bridge and came here in the dark of the night.
Now it's time to be murdered, to break the purulent eyeballs lurking in the cracks of my black coat, but they also have a faint fragrance of blood. This made me very quick, when the 30 cm knife pierced people's bodies, tore, stiff and sharp stirring the brake meat feeling.
The child knotted her wrist and fixed it there. It twists around, but it can't move. Ben Wong reluctantly, eyes full of anger. Want to scream mouth, his mouth, no eyeball holes, and symbolizes the child, from behind her neck the child with a face twisted down, nailed to the wall, disintegration. Look back now, No.
Looking at his body, falling, whispering.
You made two mistakes. Do you want to know?