“Then, I feel it; it was a hot that was like a burning sword, fine, slicing my skin in pieces, and not even my jacket could protect me from the hot. Then it goes, as unexpected like it came, lifting dirt from the floor and a smell I remember, metal, and the only thing it could be: blood.” BloodSwordPain And SufferOn ProcessTruthlessWrite By Myself Author:Ana Plascencia