Anthology of wounds - Arct

Anthology of Woundsmyself, lied in the coffin. At the end I was dead. Therewere glad the persons that hated me and there were sadsome others that loved me. I had done this migrationroad that for me have had not less bushes, although theflowers didn’t lack, as long as God saved me to see thespring, even to let me open the door. The cadaver wasthere without moving, unusual thing for me. Aroundit, passed hundreds people. I think this is called “to makehomage” or better to honor died person. But I had noneed of honors. I wanted any praying to make easierarriving to the last place. Any phrase like “Give it God!”But nobody thought that the soul needed prayers. Themost of them talked for my works while I was alive.Somebody even laughed.In the first line as usually, for the fate irony, whichhad always played with me, there were the highest communistauthorities of the country. Surely they were thereto cry for my death. Oh, how much I wished to get upfrom the coffin that moment! But I couldn’t move, becauseaccording the custom my shoelaces where linkedwith one another, not to became a ghost. And they hadnot thought badly. My body was full of cold sweat becauseI wanted to scream: Do you think I am dead? Nosir. I wanted only to laugh a little with this melodramathat you are playing around my coffin”But it was not possible. I was now in suspense betweenland and sky. I didn’t know yet where I was andwere I was going to go. So the thought that I had completedthe terrestrial road, was troubled by another ideamore difficult, I had to begin the last travel from themoment my body would be put in the soil. And untilthat moment the soul would see with pain that sheath,131