Regular Anomaly

He's at it again. But he doesn't mean it. Right? Wait no, no doubt. He doesn't mean it, yeah, I'm sure of that. Practically sure, almost sure. Almost? No, sure. Okay, stop it, you are sure, you are confident and you know it. You really know it. Go on, get up, go to the bathroom and look at yourself in the mirror. Yeah, that's it, with discretion, nobody is noticing , you're doing great. Stare into the mirror, go on. I see what I shouldn't see, I see a haggard woman, ridden with the years of continuous repetition. Mark. And spirits. My husband and alcohol.

For thinking it could go away so quickly, the punishment is to endure the pain for a longer period. Much to say about last night, yet so little to be able to tell. Imagine yourself in a dinner party with two old friends you haven't seen in a long time. Imagine a carefully set up table, with each tableware carefully laid out, each knife, each fork, placed with the exact measures required for the perfect dinning place. Imagine candlelight lighting up each plate with a exquisite delicacy, the amount needed to see the luxuries calculated on each place. A work of art, to be exact. And yes, I most definitely went all out to make everything perfect. Wouldn't you do that, taking in consideration that the friends coming to dinner were one of the richest and, I hate to admit, snobbiest couples around. To have everything laid out as it is supposed to is practically doing nothing for the great Mrs.Enriqueta Williams, note the sarcasm.

At the beginning, everything went as planned, with no reason to fear the wrath of gossip flowing around, sprouting from Mrs.Williams mouth. Then my dear Mark took out another bottle of red wine, and another, and another. Already Mrs.Williams mouth was turned down in distaste, and Mark's comments getting louder by the moment, reaching the level of shouting I was so used to hearing every single day, from dawn to dusk, from dusk to dawn.

I know he doesn't mean it, he just really likes to drink, what happened last night was just another mistake of his, he doesn't mean no harm. Yesterday, an oddness in between the usual roughness of the situation, a disadvantage of sorts to the rest of us. Mrs.Williams acted affected while her husband merely looked looked down at Mark.And even they knew the worst was still to come, the starting of the parade was as commonly known as the introductions for the upcoming masterpiece, for the work of art prepared by the host of the show, in this case, Mark. And true to his word, Mark displayed an uncanny enthusiasm as he retold stories of the past, so enthusiastic with his wonderful past that the stores were being linked together in a nonsense of slurred words jumbling out in a hurried mass of misunderstanding.

I can not quite remember the number of the many wine bottles displayed on the table, nor can I recount the beers wasted in honour of the festivity. Shameful fact being the festive occasion used as an excuse, yet if not for a special night, many more would have been opened. I thoroughly hate, pardon my excessive use of the word unfortunately needed, anything to do with alcohol, ridden into my system throughout the years like a disease waiting to be cured, but never having enough funds to be able to get through the never ending bad patch. 

Throughout the night, a sour taste invaded my palate, in honour of my dear Mark. But he meant no harm, I know he didn't, he never does. It's only the alcohol taking, you can't blame him, it wasn't his fault. From many have come the words I now dread, one day he'll hurt you, don't take it lightly, it's a big problem, don't defend him, etc. But my mind may not care, for love has over-passed anything else, to even begin to ponder about the dangers only some people can bring on.

Rowdy and violent, desperate and loud, Mark is. But alas, never shall a fault of his be pulled to light by me. To me, he is but the divine perfection.The Williams wasted no time to flee the nest of destruction living in my household. If only but anybody else could see the halo around Mark, I wouldn't strive so for what is a building without its foundations.  And for what unknown fact shall I destroy the glue holding me together,  for which crimes should Mark pay, but for the one of loving me.

To me, the ruined table that lays in the dining room is worth but a mere thought, a bitter memory of a passed night. To me, the smell that still lingers throughout the house is like smelling yourself, you know it exists yet you are oblivious to the smell any longer. Yet, if I were to think about it I would smell it, and admit I must, the smell is slightly different. Lighter. For Mark passed out long before he could drink his daily share of alcohol, his rightful medicine, as he might say. A rightful sin, as others might say. A rightful life, as I permanently will say.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Addiction to alcohol is not something to be taken lightly. The character in my story was a devoted wife who never saw any harm in what her husband was doing. She will sometimes lose it and think that it is actually wrong, yet she will continue to protect and defend him.

Alcohol addiction can be caused by many, many factors, of which we have no right to judge but we do have to take precautions with those who live around us, and take care of them, help them and, most of all, love them through it all, just be careful to not overdo it like my character, because then it becomes a serious problem that is very, very hard to overcome. The most important fact os to help with the problem because as much as you may convince yourself, it IS a problem.

http://www.alcoholics-anonymous.org.uk/ 

http://www.helpguide.org/mental/alcohol_abuse_alcoholism_help_treatment_prevention.htm

http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2013/09/26/steps-toward-recovery-from-alcohol-addiction/

http://www.narconon.org/drug-rehab/alcoholic-family.html

http://www.helpguide.org/mental/alcohol_abuse_alcoholism_signs_effects_treatment.htm

  Esther Alós © All rights reserved 

But never to touch and never to keep

She helped little Eion bundle up in his thin coat and covered him with whatever scrap of clothing she found. When she finished, Eion practically represented a little penguin, similar to the one he devoted his time to every single day, his favorite. You could sense the feeling of excitement that was being created among the residents, especially the little ones, maybe the only ones were actually those among those ages.

Lynn watched Eion scramble to reach the door first. For him, snow was something abstract, something he'd never seen before. For her, it was yet another sign of misery that added up to the years spent in that place. Eion's history was very brief, he had come from Africa with his aunt after a bomb had exploded in his home village, with him luckily away. He had come to know Lynn when he was just a sniffling grown toddler, and Lynn had made him the little brother she'd never had for the next three years of his life.

 She stopped him just as he reached the door and combed his already messy curls she knew would come back almost immediately. Lynn also knew that today was the day potential takers would come out and see which of the children seemed fit enough to take home, though those taken usually were always Eion's age, never more. Above six was an unwritten law clearly stating you couldn't take them home and those that were lucky enough never lasted much time outside the place. Located on the suburbs of Minneapolis, Freeman's Home for the Children wasn't generally known, which caused even fewer adoptions to happen and Lynn was determined to get Eion away as soon as possible. She didn't want him to spend fifteen years in an orphanage, like she had.

Moved from house to house, never fitting in, Lynn had had a horrid childhood. Used to being pushed around to and from places, she never knew the joy of a family. One of the social workers had once told her that her parents had meant to care for her but they'd never had enough money so they gave her up. Lynn had never believed it, it seemed as far-fetched as the stories fed to the younger children. Stories that made up the riches of parents but their accidental car accidents, stories that fed on children's hopes that their parents had actually cared and loved them. She wasn't as naive as they thought she was. More often then not, an infant was brought in, some even reaching the mere four days of age, having been found on the edge of a road or left by the dumpsters.No caring or loving parents, no matter the upbringing, would have left an innocent child like that. Abandoned was the only way to define it.

Lynn was considered as one of the workers now, at barely seventeen years of age, so much time had she spent there. Throughout the years she'd never had any of the staff giving her even more than a mere glance, let alone care for her or give her the love she so desperately needed as to not decay with time. She'd gone through abusive foster parents more than once, never to protest because, if she did, she'd be giving up the chance at a normal life, going to school and going out with friends or on dates. Her first kiss was given by a rotting foster father, determined to touch her body in more ways than one. and her first hug had never come.

Eion was happily playing outside, carefree, unknown to the world upon his shoulders. How she wished to have had a normal life, even arguing with parents was worth it to her. yet she'd grown up without love. She'd led an unforgiving life, being switched around in life, with barely three months in each home. Drugs and alcohol had both played an important part in her life, determining futures that went away untouched.

Lynn joined Eion in throwing around snowballs, hitting people in the face with a big flourish of snow and drops of ice. Eion had the face of one in pure delight, full of redness and joy, running around, dashing between people and squealing when a mass of snow hit him. How could anyone not want him? He was one of the happiest kids there, helping others reach the fulfillment of joy. Out of the corner of her eye, Lynn watched as a couple approached the front garden of the home and started to watch the kids. Oh, how perfect they were for Eion, a happy young couple filled with love to devote on him, how desperately she wanted them to take him home.

Lynn picked up the little squirt and started throwing him into the air, trying to get their attention. After a few throws, they looked interested enough and started coming closer. They started to speak to her and ask her questions about Eion, asking if he was her brother, how old he was, was he any trouble. Lynn answered as truthfully as she could without shattering his chances for adoption. In her mind, everything was going according to plan and it looked as if they really liked Eion, enough to take him home, to love him and to not let him turn into something horrid, ridden by the years spent in orphanages. No matter how much people did to change that situation, the only hope was to give love or take children home to be loved there.

When it looked as if negotiations were coming to an end, as if they were really happy with Eion and were ready to take him home with them, the tables turned. They went home and Eion was forgotten as their footsteps faded into the night. No other couples came.

Eion's first. Eion's first chance at going home with someone. Eion's first chance of being loved properly. Eion's first chance of getting out of the rejected kids home. And most importantly, Eion's first of the many times of disappointment to come. Lynn cleared away Eion´s tears, she too had suffered that disappointment too many times to count and each and every one of them were like a direct shot to the heart. It didn't matter if you thought they were finally going to be the ones, all that mattered was that you were never liked, you never were enough for them, for anyone. To Lynn it was clear that growing up and living the life she had, only brought endless pain and sadness, only brought solitude and helplessness. She begged for no one to ever live that.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Is it me, or do children in this situation really get forgotten? Millions of children all around the world suffer because no one wants them enough to give them love, to care for them. For millions, each day is a constant reminder that they're alone. Now I'm not saying we should all adopt, obviously I'm aware not everyone who reads this actually does have enough income to be able to support someone else, nor do I think all of you are old enough to adopt anyway. I just want to say that sometimes we can do something to help, even if it's only going to volunteer or making small places like mine known ( Freeman's Home for the Children, as far as I know, doesn't exist), enough for people to also come to the smaller ones too, to give those children the chances they deserve.

Read, comment and share, my little minions.

  Esther Alós © All rights reserved 

The very heart of you

Staring up into the sky, the creature's vision was blurred. It could barely make out the sun's rays of light pouring down on it, fighting to win the others over to reach it. It looked around its surrounding, wondering where it was, wondering how it had ended up here, yet nothing satisfied its curious feelings. Blurriness was all around it, and it couldn't make out the forms and figures around it. Desolation filled its mind, though it knew what little capacity and capability of power it held.

Its eyes filled with dread as it realized it was sinking deeper and deeper into a pit, an abyss it never knew existed until that very moment, until it was going under. Droswining. No, drowering. Not quite, but almost. Drowining, drowning! Yes! That was it, finally it had come to its mind. Drowning, that was they had called it. Its master had said it was a horrible feeling, something that charged at your insides till they were no longer able to properly function and complete the job they had been assigned to do. As usual, he had been right.

This thing, this feeling inside it, it was ghastly, almost as if death meant to cut off its already meager link with its master. The chill that went through its body raked up enough shivers to momentarily divert its attention from the fate that awaited it. The very thought of being pulled apart from its master was something that nearly killed it and it knew that if that action were to be fulfilled, it would most definitely die. The same went for its master, if this being died so would the lord that controlled it. The tie that bonded them held them so massively together that any type of force on either of the parts would result to the death of both, with no means to stop the unstoppable.

Eyes turned upwards, mouth towards the exact opposite direction. Already it could feel the very air it breathed striving to reach its wavering lungs. It still didn't know where it was, why it was there and, especially, how it had gotten there. It figured its master had turned, and quite suddenly by the looks of it. It didn't consciously know that if its master were to change his side of mind, it would disappear and let a darker being, similar to it, replace it. The darkness would fill its master in such an increasingly alarming rate, that its center of existence would fade almost intermediately.

It would have never expected to be in this situation, where something as underestimated as air was extremely missed. Water, or whatever liquid that surrounded it, clawed at its lungs anxiously, trying to take out whatever smidgens of air that were left inside.

Its very existence depended solely on its master, yet its master was nothing without it. The beings disappearance would dictate the end of its owner, he would die if the creature ceased to exist. Its master was who controlled it, who had a say in its destiny, even in the was it behaved or the consequences behind that behavior. The creature was what kept its master living and thriving on life, it was what defined its master. When it drowned its master would be no more. Together, both were united by a force so strong, it was unimaginable to anyone else.

Desperate attempts were made to reach the surface, desperate measures that brought no happy endings. As the creature's eyes closed for a final time, it realized the importance it held and why it held. The last meaningful moment.

The creature was a soul.

The soul had died, forever ceasing to exist.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Read, enjoy, comment and share. It really means a lot to me if you comment and share this. Love you.

                                              Esther Alós © All rights reserved 

Beaten by you

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YiUQE5bJKFU

The wind flew through the hair of every person on the street, creating whirlpools and knotting it up. Strands of hair whipped all around heads and delicate umbrellas were reversed. The cold seeped through clothing and odd garments were plucked from their owners and sent on the way of a fast-paced journey. Gloved hands and woolly hats could be seen all around. Trench coats soaked with water and suits carrying wrinkles. Rain splattered down on all moving things and drenched those who didn't move, adding shivers when mixed with the frosty air.

Business men hurried from one side to the other, yapping away on their phones, all caught up in the rush of work and oblivious to the rest. Girls fidgeted with their hands, anxious to go into stores and buy them out, while mothers tried to pacify howling infants on their shoulders, without avail. The sidewalk was crowded with obvious haste noted everywhere, and the cars did little to soothe the surrounding chaos. All around, vehicles honked and swerved to pass others in unbelievable ways, while cabs stocked up on the side, bikers twisted and dodged through the mass and  drivers yelled to pass through, let alone the buses, all barely moving from the mess and dying out their horns. 

Yet in the corner, aware of every detail but still to take part in it, sat a helpless pauper. She was a sight to see, yet nobody did stop to see her. Sodden hair clung to her face, being washed, for the first time in many days, by the deluging polluted water. Desolate eyes that stared at each passerby, with a tingle of hope to fulfill a dream of food, a dream that once was the nature of life, being consumed and fulfilled every single day, at least thrice. She knew nobody was going to stop and help her, nobody even had a second to glance at her. Many were the times when she thought to have encountered a helping hand, to discover the absence of a single look. She had been living there for four months, and knew the cold face of solace and abandonment, with each day passing as a blur of unknown faces and shattered hopes.

She had once known a safe home, far from the horror of the streets. She had once known the delight of a warm meal, two times a day. Something that now was impossible, and she knew that perfectly well, yet something in her sparked up every time she caught a passerby glance at her, a fleeting look. Long gone were the times when embarrassment overthrew her and didn't let even risk to plead, long gone were the days when she hid her face, in hopes of no recognition, the days when she tried to quell her uneasy hair. She used to be a proud woman, sure in her territory and deft in her skills, whatever they were. She used to be a lioness, in charge of her domains, and as mighty as any hunter that existed. Now, she was the last part of the line, the edge at the end of a cliff. Whatever once had been important, was now a bittersweet memory, left alone in the crevasses of happy days.

She had tried, she really had, she had tried to survive. but that had only brought more solace and desperation. Her eyes had seen many misfortunes, quite a lot of them hers to claim, yet she still had hope, hope that one day all those looks of pity that she received would do something other than that, something other than looking. She wished her life had turned out different but deep inside her she knew, she knew she would never get out of this circle of misery. Her life had been tested, and she had failed the exam, without knowing it was even taking place.

Her hands were kept warm inside her armpits, but still, numbness was a constant. Her fingers were wrinkled and worn from the street life. Age had suddenly taken action and her once defined and prided gifts were blended to age’s touch and desire. Dried chapped lips and shivering limbs were her day to day.

The rain pouring down on her did little to help her situation ,only now, it wasn't just cold what overcame her, but frigid sensation. Chill. Frost. The tattered clothing rescued from dumps and rubbish bins, allowed the air to seep through them and invaded her prickly, sensitive skin, acknowledging the incessant goosebumps.

She stared up at the many people passing, all oblivious to the water that trickled down her forehead, creating a mass of salty foul water on her dirty cheeks as both falling river-works, from the sky and her eyes, merged together.

Of course nobody would notice her, it's not like she expected them to. She knew that before even trying to get attention. As soon as she stared up into the face of a lonesome glance, she could read the pity and the sadness, yet those feelings never overpowered their owner, leaving her without the small change she so desperately needed. It was a perpetual tradition, an unspoken, unbroken rule among people of higher classes; to not give money to those in need of it , to not waste hard-earned money on homeless when just around the corner a Starbucks awaited, never mind the non-stop empty feeling in each of their stomachs. She lived in a society where money was destined to whims, where she was just a forgotten body awaiting food, left on the side, like a corpse left to rot.

Hypocrite women stared her down, with their charity events they raised money to help those in need, yet they ignored her and stuck up their noses, passing by her without a care to her trembling body filled with an entire wish of warmness. They stared at her, the purest sign of poverty on the street in front of their very noses, but nothing was done.

The freezing storm attacked her limbs time after time and she hunched up as tight as she could, closing her eyes and evading the harsh reality. This was the longest time she had gone without food,maybe a week or so, and her body strength was weakening. She even risked lapping up the water falling from the sky, knowing the diseases it carried.

   

She was left alone to survive on her own through the misery, till the eternal darkness put her out of it. Oblivious to pain and suffering. Hardened hearts leaving at their own will. Destinies to put in the hands of others.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Speak the truth, how many of you have passed a homeless on the street and avoided their gaze? How many of you have felt great pity when going into a building, having seen a beggar at the entrance, diverting your gaze in hopes to not see them? Admittedly, so have I. We choose to not help those in need, we choose to opportunely forget there are those in worse conditions. We try to save money when buying food or clothes, some not even that, when that little fancy we're craving is just the money someone else needs to be able to have something in their stomachs, after days on end without anything. I'm sure you've all heard the famous line, "Keep your coins, I want change". We should definitely apply that to our lives, even just a teeny bit, every small bit counts as help, even if you doubt that statement. I just ask for you to think back and change something, no matter how infinite. 

Any way, enjoy your weekend!So yeah, comments down below and stuff like that. Thanks for reading, love you!

Esther Alós © All rights reserved 

Because I live so

I whimper as I slide and my body is rasped by the floor, causing me even more pain. I lay still and try to recover a bit. My breathing is heavy and my chest moves up and down quickly.

I look around the room, trying to see where I am. It's like a dark space and there's hardly any light coming in, it's the same room I've been in for so long. I feel small in this room and it seems the walls push against me, coming closer and surrounding me, invading the space I already barely have. All I see is gray walls all around me. Gray walls that have obviously seen better days, with crumbling wallpaper and rotting corners with mold. And the smell. God, the smell. It's like too many have died in here and their corpses have been left here to rot. Generations of cruel assaults and blows. It's also heavy with the scent of blood that hasn't been cleaned. Blood that sticks to your skin while it rests on the floor, telling me without doubt that I'm not the first and I'll definitely not be the last. I don't want to be in this humid and scary place any longer.

My mother, she used to tell me stories. She used to tell me that the children who didn't behave got taken away by a mean man. Sometimes, even if you behaved, he took you anyways. I was very careful after that for a few months, especially after my cousin left with that man. His mother cried after him, pleading mercy. That was what my mother did with me too. Barely a month or so had passed since Jacob when I was taken away too. My mother was frantic and very nervous, she didn't want this for me. She kept crying and begging but the horrid man never stopped to listen to her, everything she did was in vain, even trying to trip him. She knew the consequences of her acts and of that attitude, with a silenced shot completing her punishment.

I cringe when I remember her eyes as I was being pulled away, they were filled with sadness and grief and she was exhausted. As I rested my eyes on her for the last time, she closed her eyes and collapsed on the floor, never to open them again. Seeing your mother die, leaving you her last breath isn't easy, but little did I know at that time that being the cause of your mother's death wasn't even a tenth of what was to come. I would endure the pain of my mother's eyes filled with sorrow a thousand times than continue being under his hold.

There is suddenly a pressure in my ribs, leaving me gasping for breath. I look up and see lifeless eyes staring back into mine. The pressure is increased and I shift my eyes from his to look down at my own mangled body. Blood surrounds me in a puddle, rippling from the effect of laying on top of it. I'm not sure it's all mine, though most of it probably is. I whimper out in pain when the pressure of his dirty cleats, purposely glued onto boots to inflict more damage, is preventing the oxygen to get to my lungs. When he finally realizes that if he continues, I won't live to keep being his personal punching bag, I feel the air rushing through my nose again, a laugh reverberating above me. 

My body is marred and mutilated by the vile creature towering above me. Two months, two months have I suffered him. Eight weeks has my body been crippled through and through by him. Sixty days has blood seeped out on the floor from all my wounds. A thousand four hundred forty hours has he been punishing me for the mere fact of existing in this world, when I never did anything wrong. I didn't even have time to make a mistake before being violently taken from my mother and given the treatment for a criminal. It actually seems like I really am in jail. A jail where no criminal would survive.

Maybe he has finally had enough of me and will let me go, maybe he'll just choose another and let me wallow in my misery alone. Maybe there's still hope. Wrong, how very wrong I am. I flinch when he practices his aim with my stomach, yet again. Sometimes, he just takes a swing and leaves. Other times it's like he's a robot who mechanically swings back and forth, bringing me countless pain. This time though, he chooses a more direct approach. 

His foot smashes into my stomach without any care. Up, down. Rising, striking. A never ending attack. .Each time harder and each time worse. When he stops for a second, I'm crying out in pain, which only makes him give me a hard, cruel smile while he yet again rams his body weight on my tiny body. 

I feel really weak. I can't even lift my head up and my body weighs too much. Before I have the opportunity to get up, he thrusts his boot into my side, extremely hard, and I close my eyes while I'm plunged into a deep abyss of darkness and pain, with my limbs thrashing out searching for any crevice to grab hold of to help me out of this fetid hell.

He bellows out profanities when he sees I'm no longer fighting him, when I don't even have my eyes open. He spits at me and stomps out of the room. It isn't the first time he does this, going away without giving me a second glance. I haven't eaten in days and my stomach is empty, with the infinite amount of food that I've been able to eat thrown all over the floor. Apparently, if enough kicks are thrown at your underside, whatever it held ends up on the floor. Now, it's just another constant pain joined with the others. I'm not even given the luck of going numb, I feel every bruise, every wound. I even feel all the broken bones that that bastard has given me. I never did anything to deserve this.

My eyes are closed but I know it's dark already. The days pass as a blur here and time no longer holds any meaning to me. I try to open my eyes, and only manage to see through a very thin line, seeing as they are really swollen up. I no longer recognize my body as it's been broken and pulled and slashed all over. I'm not who I was. My energy is rapidly decreasing and even I can barely hear my heart beating. My throat is sore and dry, my tongue leaning on the side. The heavy pants have stilled and I try to muster a bark unsuccessfully. Even my bark, the one thing left to define what I am anymore, has left me. I used to think that being what I am, I wouldn't have to be at the hands of evil. I wished I'd never been wrong.

I uncurl my two front legs and stand up unsteady, only to collapse back on the floor, which only causes to reopen the temporarily closed wounds again. My eyes are thin slits and there isn't a part of my body not tangled. I try to drag myself over to the door but I even fail at doing that. I heave heavily. Any part of me that I try to use is too damaged. I feel dizzy and I know it's the end. I take one last raspy breath before closing my eyes forever.

----------------------------------------

Animal violence is not a subject to be taken lightly. All over the world, even in the most civilized areas, animals are beaten to death or hit countless times. When you wonder the reason for these brutalities, the answer you try to grasp is that the animal did something wrong. That's a mistake we all make. No mater what the poor creature has done, making another living creature bleed should never be accepted, especially since it probably has no idea whatsoever of what it's done. It would be like beating your neighbor for opening his front door. Yes, it's as ridiculous as that. The next time you get mad at your pet, don't punish him for doing something that comes naturally to him. Remember, it was humans who first introduced animals into our households, taking them from their habitats and forcing them to live a completely different life. The next time you see someone hurting their pet, don't look away disgusted, just act on it, only a few words, that's all it takes. The puppy in my story never did anything wrong, he just was a the wrong place ate the wrong time. The amount of animal victims that fall into cruel hands in incredible.

Facts that might interest you;
http://www.americanhumane.org/interaction/support-the-bond/fact-sheets/animal-abuse-domestic-violence.html
What can you do?
http://www.aspca.org/fight-cruelty/report-animal-cruelty/top-10-tips-reporting-animal-cruelty
http://www.aspca.org/fight-cruelty/report-animal-cruelty/report-animal-cruelty-faq
http://www.aspca.org/fight-cruelty/report-animal-cruelty?creative=41403209118&adpos=1t1&device=c&network=g&matchtype=b&gclid=CLKX1c6CzL0CFTMetAoda1AA_w

Anyway, thanks again for reading, I really do love you all.

P.S. I'm going to Portugal for Easter so I don't know if I'll be able to upload. Oh! And  my birthday's the seventeenth!!! Yay!

Esther Alós © All rights reserved