Bloody Strawberry Chronicle

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I discovered that in the strawberry, subject of the enunciation, there is a strawberry that produces a statement and, in this case, very provocative statements. I had to listen to a poorly washed strawberry, full of self-aggrandizement and wanting to show me their sardines, saying that their sardines were round, all the same size and color, placed on their body in a symmetrical way. Offended, I took a mirror and realized that mine were asymmetrical, of different shades and somewhat randomly played on my face. I blamed the mirror and used an arrogant speech about optics. Not convinced of my own speech, I turned to the strawberry speech and realized it. I started to recognize myself in him and I saw that we had a lot in common, so much in common that this closeness of ours for some reason (I don’t know if for some reason Freudian) started to irritate me, even turning my face white, because it is , I got red like a strawberry. I didn’t hesitate! I opened the fridge and picked up those annoying strawberries that laughed at me inside, contaminating that audacity with so many other fruits with weaker personalities than those. My grotesque extinction made me spill milk on their bodies, I closed my eyes to not see it and pressed the blender button. I could hear them, all those strawberries in a high-pitched cry, begging for redemption. I had barely put them in my mouth and I could already taste the victory (at the time it didn’t occur to me what I would win, or what I was competing for). And then my cannibal soul gave a vengeful laugh, a laugh more annoying than what they had offered me. When I turned off the blender button, they were all bleeding, the milk was already all red and a painful silence sounded in my kitchen. I took two or three deep breaths, closed my eyes and leaned on the counter in the sink (where I had just tortured strawberries) so I wouldn’t pass out from the smell of the blood I had spilled. I concentrated on getting my sensitive self out of me, I created wild courage and, while putting the bloody milk in the glass, I felt primitive. My savage self was already smiling and growing stronger with the same blood that had made my blood pressure drop. Courage went up! I could hear Oswald whispering in my ears “Only Anthropophagy unites us. Socially. Economically. Philosophically. Only law in the world. Masked expression of all individualisms, of all collectivisms. ”. I took the strawberries’ blood in a heroic act. Everything we had in common, even their sardines that remained in the bottom of the glass, I made a point of eating.
bloody strawberry chroniclephoto: Fridman sisters

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