Pułapka Życia

Pułapka Życia

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WpMetadataNoticeÚltima publicación sáb, mar 9, 2019
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Acción y Suspenso
Podobno czas leczy rany, lecz w przypadku Emmy Rose wbija sztylet w serce drążąc coraz to nowe dziury w jej ciele. To przez nią pełna życia kobieta zmieniła się w fale smutku, nie pozostawiając choć wspomnienia o dawnej osobie. Nie pragnie miłości...........już nie, kocha tylko i wyłącznie swoją pracę, w której w biały dzień po nowojorskich drogach ściga przestępców. Nie może się poddać, po prostu nie może. To wbrew temu co tyle lat wkuwała w swą skórę. Jednak, czy jedna rzecz może spowodować, że znienawidzona przez nas osoba stanie się całym życiem? Opowiadanie to, jest tylko i wyłącznie wytworem mojej wyobraźni. Wszystkie postaci, zdarzenia czy niektóre miejsca są fikcyjne. Podobieństwo do jakiejkolwiek innej książki zupełnie przypadkowe. Okładka autorstwa CharlotteMils.
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MAD WOMAN

My sister has always attracted the wrong crowd who didn't hesitate to take advantage of her meek heart. Right from small, Zikora's naïvety always made me fight with every single one of her 'friends'. I have never been comfortable with any of her so-called friendships. Not even the one she was in at the moment with her new roommate. Funny enough was that I actually liked their relationship. It was pure, true, and more of a sisterhood. For the first time in history, Zikora made a true friend. I inwardly approved of the friendship, when the girl in question, didn't think twice in lunging a frying pan at my little sister's ex-boyfriend. And I know as you're reading this, you may ask yourself, what was my issue then? My issue wasn't with the friendship, but the babe herself. Her appearance reminded me of that Disney princess that had the complexion of a vampire. Snow White, very innocent looking creature. But that girl was the definition of a werey in disguise. Chineke ekwela! And I know you've already started judging me as the problematic character already. I am not problematic, she is. You may begin to think that okay I'm probably overreacting. Oga, Aunty, I am not overreacting. On the first day of meeting her, this babe carried her old fashioned okrika shoe that looked like it suffered for nineteen years, and threw it at the glass of my car while I was driving. Aunty, ha si na hel zipụ gị, ma-ọbụ site n'oké ọhịa ọjọọ dị n'obodo m? {did they send you from hell, or from the evil forest in my village?} That one is her business sha. She should just carry her small bum bum and stay on her own, because she's really getting on my nerves. I don't blame her, because she knows she's fine. That's why she's doing all this bullshit. But all that I know is using the word 'mad' in a sentence, I would say; Biboere Mirabel Madagascar is a MAD WOMAN. Come and fight me.

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