Lifting me a buzz and I decided to walk step ladder. He put his hand on the railing, staring closed

"We have an army. 300 years ago An army that defends us. Thanks to him, we have not been destroyed as a people. Army And this is called culture. And our soldiers are teachers, actors, writers, scientists, researchers. ..i thousands of militia volunteers popular culture of every people and every neighborhood. deployed and the army is everywhere, ready and armed Catalan Countries. army And with this we will make our nation a free land. " (Titot)
(A proposal Blog Stories Set)
Years ago in the attic of the house became the office of the grandfather. There are stained hours. bookcase Nobody could bother. "It's busy," said the grandmother will remedy. As was down another man. As if the attic has some magical power over him. Was more humor and Charles, the grandfather was a man of few words.
Sat in the rocking chair porch and told us stories of magic or so it seemed to us, the groups bookcase of children -of distant countries, they listened spellbound. In bed in the dark of night dreamed of living in those feats the characters, the stories of grandfather lived. They wanted to be like them, strong and powerful.
We hear those stories grow. And often our games were based on imitating the behavior of its protagonists: the brave heroes who always had solutions for everything and ended up winning the game bad.
Many years ago my grandfather Ramon gave us a bit of time, but the grandmother said that this does not choose when and how much does does. And missing grandmother Remedy, Noa and I were inherited manor. There were to spend the summers. It was great to be able to share it las two families.
- Yes, yes, tell the story of your grandfather ever speak to them but rather we never say no -Varen my sons and nephews when, as if they had agreed
When I was white, perfectly remembered as the grandfather told every night, as far down from the attic, but was unable to remember any of them. What if this man had was sulky this coming down the hill being another person. Redimonis that there was up there? How could it be possible that neither I nor Noa had never gone and now the house was ours?
Lifting me a buzz and I decided to walk step ladder. He put his hand on the railing, staring closed door and went up the steps two at a time, if I thought if only a second would not be able. It was like desecrating a sacred temple, the grandfather of Raymond. bookcase Noa that followed he made an affirmative sign with his head.
In the middle bookcase of the room was a large table full of dust. On her an old typewriter. Had to be cleaned and restored bookcase gorgeous. Beside him a folder. I took with my trembling hands I opened and closed the veins. bookcase Noa was next to me, I could feel his heart beating faster.
We will open the folder and look as if they were afraid that undid between our fingers. Inside bookcase were a bunch of typewritten sheets. They were sitting bookcase on the floor. One next to the other, like how close together they were children and hoped that his grandfather started talking -Varem read a lot of pages, the acaronàvem tenderly. A tear running down the cheek of Nora. We had found the greatest treasure. In our hands we had stories of heroes grandfather explained. There we had the answer to that Grandpa did many hours in that room and that was what transformed with another person. Grandpa wrote, shaped paper all that his talent and then we had invented. It was his big secret. And the grandmother we never wanted to say that was your man.
That treasure was to have continuity. Nora suggested edit it, even if our savings, so that all children enjoy those fabulous stories of brave heroes.
Today the stories of Ramon's grandfather bookcase found in all bookstores. Its old typewriter chairs the attic, as it has always done. Now sleep my office. I do not write stories, most are boring and just write memos. bookcase
What a beautiful story, witch ... how lucky that grandfather could write as much as I wanted without anyone bothered! Lucky grandchildren who grew up with these stories Grandpa! Lucky to have found them! Delete Reply
I immediately thought that my grandfather wrote in the attic, because if faith becomes so