One Hundred Years of Solitude

hours. That night the officers
put seven slips of paper into a
cap, and Captain Roque
Carniceros unpeaceful fate
was foreseen by his name on
the prize slip. Bad luck
doesnt have any chinks in it,
he said with deep bitterness. I
was born a son of a bitch and
Im going to die a son of a
bitch. At five in the morning
he chose the squad by lot,
formed it in the courtyard,
and woke up the condemned