A crow, flying up cawing, is the forecast of these obscure days I’ll meet. A long row of trees on both sides of the river, messenger of the infinity. The trees petrified by old age. The air colors black, darkens. A sign of calamity? How long will I find myself in this position? Dark clouds menacing to explode. A legion of warriors conquering me. The apocalypse is near. The scream of a demon tracing his territory. I’m frightened. The image shattered. I’m drowning. Drowned in the bloodshed.