The art Seguir história

It was raining. In torrents. One thing I knew when I woke up that morning in October. Nothing was the same. They were dead and I was a poor man in mourning. I did not like to cry, but the tears came. Like the rain outside, they ran down my cheeks. I had lost everything but my own life. Was this a gift? Or a punishment? I stood up. The storm had stopped and now so had the rain. I made myself a cup of coffee and looked at the clean bright curtains that Rosa, my friend, had often washed. Rosa had loved curtains and flowers. She had often bought new curtains and sorted out the old ones. The flowers were everywhere in the garden and also on the porch. They looked neat and healthy. Then the front doorbell rang. I opened it and froze. "Hello Mr. Moor" the man smiled sternly at me. But his eyes were a good-natured bright blue. His car parked in the driveway to my house was not unknown to me.

To be continued.