When the sun wakes us

This morning, I woke up with a beautiful ray of sun that crossed through a hole in the ceiling, made by a stray bullet. So begins the race described.
Cassiano is my name, thanks to my mother, who had not another name in mind when I was born. Eberaldo, Clorisvaldo, Elioenay and Casimiro, my brothers had less luck yet, but what of it , there are no human in the world satisfied with name, hair, height, or fat, as say the lady owner of my home . Maybe, this is another evil human beings.
Perhaps the world that I describe is not the same for some readers friends, or suddenly, may be even better than that of many other readers, but what matters is that you are now reading is able to understand my story.
Things around us acquire the vision and feel that each creation brings, but personality also influences our attitudes. A sentimentalist is moved by the reality, suffering and regrets for every grain that falls. Already a rational remains alert, stops, thinks and responds only with absolute certainty that everything will work out, and with the excuse of being rational, it prevents the tears from falling until the last moment.
It's hard to hear that we're wrong, admit it seems difficult, but only with a more air you can see how there are people who get stuck on. And what to do when your friend is whoever is involved in one of those stuck?
A certain teacher of literature, the Ms. Linete, taught me what's good record on paper everything that we can not express speaking. (It's just that the reader, are forbidden to say many things that are in our mind.) Some people write poems, some rap. The diary is a good ally for the shy girls, but when it becomes popular, it is required of all girls (minas) of the college, register any silly the day or the most intimate secrets, be that as it may, the important thing is to register. Here in the neighborhood it (everything) is able to turn a rap in the mouth of someone, this verse draws made on the evening of last week:

"From my bedroom window
Divided over four,
I see a murder.
It was one among the thousand
The year two thousand
There is not first of april''


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