the murderer of women.

Midnight on the street Lottle, the sky was sleeping peacefully .Among the thick of the night he watched a silhouette, walking slowly up the street suddenly pausing the shit of an alley, extracted something from one of his pockets, his eyes bright as wolf, observed another figure after a window seems to be a woman. silhouette crossed the street and climbed slowly up the stairs of the old building from the street could be seen the two figures one fighting for his life, the other, burying a knife repeatedly until the other died. The silhouette came hurriedly building a wrapper and headed to an old abandoned house, there tended to the corpse on a table and opened the chest and took out his viscera, then the brain which ate, made love to the corpse, and drank the blood flowing, cut the body into pieces and put them in a cooler, he ate when his deranged the body was wondering food.The man, silhouette at midnight, the murderer of women.

Al margen de la gramática-que a mi me da igual, siempre que se entienda lo que se dice- el texto genera una atmósfera densa, negra
y de 'calmada aberración', bien lograda. Y dado que a mi en lo personal me gusta jugar con el tabú -en la ficción, como medio catártico- debo decir
que tu texto me gusta.

Me pregunto si no hay comentarios por falta de manejo de idioma por parte de los amables miembros del foro, o porque se espantan
fácil ante temáticas 'negras'. En lo personal he descubierto que la mayoría de las veces, los verdaderos malvados son los que escriben
sobre los pajaritos, la primavera, las hadas, las florcitas, etc (espero se entienda mi punto) y no quienes abordan el lado 'b' de las cosas.

Un saludo y una palmada al hombro instándote a seguir explorando el 'género'.