For years she would pass us silently like a shadow, that old woman - I think Juliana was her name - she lived at the end of the street in a cottage surrounded by willows. Someone said that she had been madly in love, and abandoned, of a young man which has no other story. How many women, so many hearts, after the rupture they say that her heart is shrinking, like a little water in the sun, quickly evaporate her youth, just dry mature age and old age, lasted.
I met Simon's neighbor yesterday, salute him and ask: What's new?
"There's nothing new," he says, and he goes on: Yesterday the old woman died from the end of the street, you saw her occasionally, pale, dry and small. She went out into the street, put on makeup, stood in the middle of the road and stood upright, looking toward the west. In the middle of her forehead the hole opened and from the hole, a bright light blazed.
An eyewitness claimed that her face contorting, she fell silently on the ground, one life is ...