One life Cold and thin hands were digging and tearing slights leaves of grass, as if they were hunting for something; the others, people with all ages and kinds, were doing stunts running on a wire put very high, thin and light that seemed cutting, or jumping to reach the moon by bounds spring and with a one-way ticket; they were so far and small, didnâ€™t feel weariness, the apathy and the absence. The setting was of biting violet, there were also intertwined blue and light blue digged in the sky, and somewhere light yellow powdered carelessly as if it were sugar; it all was accompanied accurately by indistinct voices silenced by silence. The crickets then, there were crickets! Everybody paying attention could hear them, their singing was invading, pressing, becoming always nearer and more clear. Further away laid the chaos of little indistinct figures, black and sharp-pointed like polygons, they looked like confetti circling at the horizon moved by some irregular wind; whether nearer the shadows of the persons empty inside were hanging with their heads low, moaning their slow and continuous lament. Everything was glued with the ice from the high of the depthless sky; and then fell down to the ground producing the pools of the habit. People were running in every direction looking for something, their arms wide open as if they were to hug someone they were meeting, their mouths were wide opened too making them inhale unlimited suffocating and exiting air. Those people were basically just little bones rubbing slowly, with the faces that seemed masks from the theatre, deep white, they produced an incredibly strong but silent cry. The hands were digging guided by breathlessness, that was unending and tremulous because of the effort. The rustling of persons, gave to the scenery an intrusive feeling of cephalalgy, that terribly couldnâ€™t be shake closing the eyes; that essentially empty frenzy couldnâ€™t be turn off in a simply way, in the meanwhile the hands were digging, digging fast and unending.