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She has no experience of disappointments, losses or sufferings. She is clever and kind. Sees the world as the fascinating adventure filled with joy, sympathies, high feelings, pleasures. It is impossible to call it trustful, but it is almost deprived of scepticism. Year as it is betrothed with what-to lucky person. It didn't become a hindrance. Five days of sincere delights, flatteries, recognitions, and fine creation sent me number of the phone. Couple of hours — and my drama baritone sterilized her mind from indecision and doubts. Trembling and hoping for the millennia of love, she agreed to meet. We met today in the afternoon, in cafe. Among people surrounding us there were several couples in love. I felt myself such as also they. The normal person who can share pleasures of life with other people. I reveled in this feeling. Whether hardly I suit for theater, but was extremely convincing, representing the enthusiastic lover. I rolled in her brown eyes, and lost the account of time. I read her the verses, investigating fingers of her hip under a table. I closed a mouth a palm to muffle groans when I followed it in a bathroom and I buried the person between her hips. Veronika, you are beautiful. Or Varvara? Your gentle whisper, your clever look, your laughter — will force me to smile on a mortal bed. My short century will pass not in vain because I learned short moments of happiness again. The hours spent with you were filled with the purest delight. You invited the stranger to yourself to the house — now you sleep, I enjoy tranquility on your beautiful face. Carefully I pull together a blanket. Here to what I will come back in the memoirs. To a back bend, to the chestnut hair scattered on the crumpled pillows. To crimson traces of my fingers on hips and buttocks. To the seed drops which are flowing down between your hips on sheets. To your awe, your passion, your heat, your smell, your voice. Time when we adjoin to what fine, is transient. We need only to create area where we will be able to return in the memory, conducted by echoes of the experienced delight. I transport a view of the sac, and heart begins uchashchenno to fight. I feel pricking in tips of fingers. I am covered by an anticipation. I put a sac on a table, I get the extender. I take out two massive accumulator batteries for a portable drill, I put them on dozaryadku. Couple of hours are necessary for me to bring feelings into an order, and to be adjusted on the necessary harmony. All soul I love this quiet night time, these minutes of tranquility and a pacification preceding what-to new, majestic, grandiose. I get the old laptop, I turn on it, I create the blank text file. I will spend this time with you, my readers. I hope, my young seductress won't wake up, and won't prevent us. Iiodinnadtsat thousands years ago, during era of the early Neolithic, people for the first time thought up to themselves monsters. Investigating Paleolithic cultures, you will find the images of animals molded from clay of a figure of tribespeople, output by coal of a scene of hunting. No you won't find traces of monsters — the place in consciousness of people wasn't it. Wild animals were monsters of our ancestors, howl winds, thunder peals. Having overcome primitive fear of the nature, having left caves, the person began to look for that he will be able to fill the released niche. Legends of all people of the world are filled with blood-thirsty irrational creations. Following for monsters, the person thought up gods. A then allocated gods with qualities of monsters because the fear made them more powerful, more real, closer.Dreadful images ottisnuty on clay plates from Entre Rios and Mesopotamia, are interwoven into heritage of the Alexandria wise men, imprinted on goat skins by antique Greeks. Monuments to ancient writing tell about the terrifying bloody acts created by gods, monsters and people. With publishing development, people received an opportunity to share fears, to create the grotesque and terrifying images influencing the whole generations. Authorship made fears of one person fears of the whole people. All European literature, from the Mediterranean eposes, to arturianskikh legends of the 13th century, is filled by monsters. To the middle of the 18th century the independent, monumental genre — literature of horrors appeared. Gothic novels of an era of romanticism, terrible stories of Stephenson and to Fan. The fear, horror, a nightmare, death — became the integral part practically of any art work. Edgar Poe, Stolker, Lovecraft, Bloch, Howard — whole a dream of writers of the past and present, gave to the world of the invented monsters on any taste. Zombie, vampires, werewolves. The inconceivable ancient creations pulling feelers to our world because of life borders. New Time brought new monsters and new fears. The alien aggressors who went mad cars, pictures of a man-made apocalypse. The magicians appealing to the Devil were replaced by mad scientists. Vampires - teenagers came to change to Byronic heroes. The imagination of the talented and skillful author makes monsters real so as far as there can be real fiction. At a meeting with the similar monster, on pages of the book or on the screen — you scream for horror and delight. No shout is followed by a simplification sigh. You know - it is an invention. You won't meet the recovered dead person in the moonless park. Your legs won't grab slippery feelers from under a bed. You won't become the witness of how the vampire turns into a flying mouse and departs to an oven pipe. The invented monsters are attractive — they take away you for the horrors and fears existing in reality. They entertain, amuse, nerves tickle, but don't change consciousness irrevocably, don't leave the chopped-off extremities on the blood-stained pavements. No I will deprive of you cheerful serenity. I will steal the soft chairs which accepted a shape of your bums. I will air your rooms from a smell of cookies and a cum. I will burn plaids in which you muffle up in front of the screen in the autumn evenings. I will erase sleepy apathy from your faces. I will push off you with reality.Iiirealnost terrifies stronger than city legends and horror stories which tell in a whisper, having gathered around a fire. The reality is more terrible, than the stories invented by you, in hope to frighten, entertain and amuse the friend's friend. The reality is angrier and more mad than sticky night nightmares which disappear with the first beams of the sun. Supernatural horrors and fears recede before scenes of the crimes created by people. Rational and consecutive madmen, that about some sidewalks with you go, fill reality with the worst of imaginable horrors. I will tell you o the person bringing to the world nightmares the last twelve years. O ominous sociopath, tyrant, cannibal, serial murderer. Him podcherk was defined in 2004, in Rostov - on-Donu, having plunged the city into horror bloody double murder on Lesistaya Street. This person is predictable — as and at most of maniacs, his actions are always system. As also other maniacs, he tries to take attention of public. Editorials in newspapers are as necessary for him as also sufferings of the tormented victims. No his actions have one feature — the attention of the victims is necessary for him till the crime moment long before. Journalists go away his "Poet with a drill". It was succeeded to connect twenty four murders with a name Poeta-s-drelyyu in the territory of the Southern and Central districts of the Russian Federation. Because of a condition of bodies the reason of death managed to be established only in a number of cases. erotic stories Presumably, all victims were destroyed with the help of the hand or electric drill. Twenty one woman and three men. All victims were participants the Internet - the communities devoted to literature or poetry. Some from zhertvbyli the beginning writers. The investigative group found out that all victims before murder received shortly strange threats, in correspondence or on electronic mail. The threats issued as ridiculous and ominous poems. A typical example — the poem received in the message on one of the Internet - forums 21-letney Oksana N. who became the thirteenth victim of the madman: You tell me love o, No excess time don't tear soul, From captivity I will pull out languid thoughts — I will drill your young mind. Oksana N. body was found, in the place of her residence, isn't later than ten hours how the serial murderer put blow again. To criminalists the terrifying picture from the tormented pieces of flesh, interiors and extremities attached to walls and a ceiling with the help about one hundred drills appeared. Na fragments of a body traces of saliva and the murderer's cum were found. Internal bodies of the victim were partially eaten. One more victim — 29-letny Olga P., the beginning writer, the author of many articles and publications. In that number, the author of stories of erotic character. The permanent author of one of the large websites devoted to this subject. The murderer consisted in correspondence with the victim about one and a half months, having devoted her the whole cycle of surrealistic poems. I will bring one of them: You are perfect. You are clever. It is so good that you are one.