Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Change Mw2 Language From Rus To Eng
About the song Papa
My dad always was one of those parents adventurers. All weekend started on your bike or in 4x4 enduro hunting adventures, discover new ways, jumping between rocks or sinking in the sand. Saturday he had not stayed home. Rain, snow or shine, as he undertook his travels. And sometimes we carried with us. The four family conformábamos then spread on two bikes, quarreling with my brother who was driving and who's going around. I loved those trips a little more. Roads were relatively easy, and I could take control of the vehicle and drive it at my leisure. I got tired, called time and gave it to me. I buried: father saved me in less than a second. But when my dad got us there in his 4x4 and I did not like. We left very early, we walked I do not know how many roads destroyed, I do not know what we climbed hills, and all the falls, knocks and headers. The truck climbed vertically, and I swore that at any moment we fell back. My body was traveling tense, I nailed my own nails, I bled the palms of your hands, my teeth chattered. Then we bowed to the right. I moved to the left thinking that my few kilos could make a tremendous vehicle counter. And we are about to capsize. Now we pour. Dad, we're going to turn! I cried the whole soul from within. She closed her eyes, hiding his head between my knees, but my body still felt the slope. I had to do a lot of strength not to hit against the glass. Enough, please. I want to go walking! Shut up, nothing happens. Then I had to keep quiet. Get a ball and fully tighten the seat, while the stones and wells made me jump. And my brother screaming yes, to stick by the river, climb the stone giant. And I cried screaming, suffering as ever, with two knots in the throat and wanted to jump out the window. Lunch came and finally we stopped. We ate on a stone or sod some sandwiches or a roast, sometimes we swam in the river, we played with a frisbee, and went back to the truck. Time to return. Well, at least I spent half the day. But the way back was just awful that the first leg. My father never tired of risk. Never chose the path that was marked. I wanted to be the first to travel every inch of land.
And finally we went out to the road, when it was dark, and my muscles have not recovered. The pain was already installed on my whole body. My eyes were swollen from crying so much repressed. Now the truck will not move much, maybe I can rest. But every light that shone in front of me I meant a threat. Every car that we headed back to tense muscles. Then once that happened, just when I saw the little light blue on the board, indicating that the high light was on, only then beginning to feel safe. Because no one was coming from the front, because he saw more. Confidence in my father at the wheel, I never missed. But he always had these urges to choose the worst roads unnecessarily (or those who for me were the worst). Then closed mis ojitos, relajaba mis manos, mis dientes. Trataba de dormir. Pero otro par de ojos luminosos que se acercaban me obligaban a abrirlos. Me mantenía atenta hasta que pasaban. Y cuando la luz azul, mi favorita, volvía a encenderse, otra vez estaba a salvo. Con esa luz encendida, ya casi estaba en casa.
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