Beatiful Creatures

the middle of nowhere

Before

There was only two types of people in our city. "the stupid and empacadas", which was like my father affectionately had classified our ago neighbors.
"those who are sentenced to stay or are donkeys others to walk away. all other find a way to get away." there was no doubt about which of the two he was, but I never had the courage to ask the reason. my father was Writer, and morávamos in Gatlin, South Carolina, because all wate always lived there, since the tataravô my tataravô, Ellis wate, fought and died on the other side of the River Santee during the civil war.

Only staff here not called civil war.

All under 60 years called war between States, while all with over 60 called war aggression North, as if somehow North had taken the South to enter in the war because of a burden bad cotton. all, less my family.

We chamávamos civil war.

It was just another reason why I could hardly wait to go here. Gatlin was not as the towns that can be seen in cinemas, unless it was a movie about Fifty years ago. we were too far Charleston to have a Starbucks or a McDonalds. only had a take-and and keen, since the Gentry were breads-hard other to buy new letters when bought the dairy King.

The library still had books cataloged cards, the school still had frames-black and our pool of the community was the Lake moultrie, with water Brown warm and everything.

We could see a movie in cineplex the same time he came out on DVD, but we had to take a ride to Summerville, near the community college. stores were on the Street main, good houses were on the Street River, and all other people lived South of the freeway 9, where the asphalt if desmanchava into pieces concrete - terrible to walk, but perfect to play in opossums furious, animals more cruel that exist. never saw this kind of thing in the movies.

Gatlin was not a place complicated; Gatlin was Gatlin. neighbors were guard in balconies in the heat unbearable, suffering and sweating to view all. but there was no sense. nothing changed ever. tomorrow would be the first day of class in the second year of high school in school Stonewall Jackson high, and I already knew everything would happen: where I sit around, with whom I speak, the jokes, girls, who stationary where. there was no surprises in the County Gatlin. we were nothing less than the epicenter in the middle of nowhere.

at least that's what I thought when I closed my copy threadbare of slaughterhouse five, hung up my iPod and apaguei the light in the last summer night. only that I couldn't be more wrong.

There was a curse. there was a girl. and at the end, there was a tomb. never even thought would happen.