2.   

 Gush of blood running down the pick of a shivering nose , down the porcelain cheeks ,redden by a flood of rattle  (sound) pain and faithless dreams . He could not see where the blood was coming and he felt trapped as a helpless bull bleeding out his last breaths of life at the feet of the great butcher toreador. Heaved at the floor he saw the gates of holy brightness opening to him and for an instant he could even saw himself sitting on the old wooden Victorian bed , getting tucked in at the sound of Nana singing the once forgotten cradlesongs . He could  even startled on a timorous smile , caressed by the fragile tear drops ,sheltered under the locks of fire.

    It was early in the morning when a raven perched outside the window ,humming the wrong chords to an old yet familiar ballad. 

     Aldous woke bathed all in sweat , tremble and with no breath . His eyes sheltered dark sleepless stains and his face was pale as the candles on the shelf . Behind his emerald pupils you could see the dread psychotically dancing to the stars and to the moon.  Once he concluded it was just an asinine (silly ) nightmare he laid back on his wooden bed , smiling to the starry stickers on the ceiling , the hulking ones Nana gave him on his 10th birthday . He had also a few small ones at each dark corner of the roof but the ones that were looking up to his sweet dreams were the Nana´s ones . Those ones seemed bathed in glowing stardust and only those ones could take him to lands of fairies , lands of hope and sunshiny days , to the lands where the wishes could come true and the dreams could rise brighten up the poor damned souls. 
    He almost forgot about the raven when he heard a noise behind the curtains and saw its big silhouette flying away , up to  the sky ,to the first lights of the day. It was his hour to get up ,to wash his ugly face,  a quick glass of Nesquick  and  confront today. Because tomorrow might never come. 

1.     

    The sun was hiding behind some big grey clouds ,hurried  bushy brushes on the blue ocean sky . 

    In his eyes shimmering reflections were hidden , yet shining bright the bashful ( shy) tired smile. The good old  records played on and on ,now sounded  as echoes of hoary days ,days of audacious (adventurous ) soul and eyes of Phoenix wandering in the wilderness. He could not revive the glory of the past neither he had strength to keep his fist up to the sky  , fighting against the rusted windmills . 

    See; he was pretty stuck on this dusted big hall of time , comfortably numbed between all these odd reflections , crackers voices and pesky (annoying) silhouettes. Still it was felt as he was the fortunate owner of an invisible cloak cus´nothing seemed to  could pester the hush of all those blighted (damned)  thoughts ,prisoners of  his raving mad mind. He has bedridden ( sick) by the bloody well damned truth all around him , innocence and liberty gunned down at every single corner of the world , unburden corpses of tomorrow and today drowning down in rivers of blood.  He was feeling tired and overwhelmed by the idea of living in this grotesque picture of a sour reality. He quite missed the days when his bliss relied on ignorance and the feeling of being the strongest person in the world. His shelter came to be the darkest shrouded (hidden ) yet the safest place in the whole wild world , where he could rest his wounded soul.