Stories and News No. 711
Strange time in France, these days.
I read that in Nice a son of Muslim parents 8-year-old boy was detained by police for the crime of 'backing terrorism'.
It seems that he refused to say in chorus with his teammates the famous phrase Je suis Charlie (I am Charlie). Then he declared to 'stand on the side of the terrorists'.
Despite the disappointment of the parents, the school has sued him.
Violating a sacred children’s right...
Eight years.
Eight year old I can.
Eight years old I cannot be Spiderman.
Because I do not like spiders and cobwebs.
Or just because I woke up so.
Eight years old I can accuse the Fantastic Four to be cowards.
Because it is easy to make the braggarts.
As Four.
The same for the Avengers.
By the way, avengers of what?
We should first understand who began.
The war.
Eight years old I can feel unsuitable in a school of magic where all is already decided. A presumptuous hat comes and a moment after I am Gryffindor, Slytherin, or worse, because what remains is ever worse.
And if I wanted a common room that is not there?
And if lost in the corridors I should meet Voldemort?
You Know?
There are many of us off the classroom because there are no more benches at the bottom.
Kids who came to the world knowing that you-know-who was the only chance to survive.
Especially because of many other unpronounceable names.
Like ours.
Eight year old you would not want to frighten.
Eight year old you want all except to scary people.
Because only the watching eyes could draw it on me.
The fear.
Then the days pass, so months and years and you start to grow fond.
The border becomes blurred.
The contours rarefied.
And inside the mirror of your desires you discover the true face of the wicked queen.
Snow White.
And Grimilde.
They are the same person to children who just read the tales.
Never lived.
Eight years.
Eight years old I can.
If I still were eight year old, I could stay with the monsters.
Especially if most of the time that's where you have put me.
It’s you, looking at me from above, who cannot.
It’s you, up there, who have work a lot to figure out who are the monsters.
How many are there.
And where they are...
Also on Stories and News:
Strange time in France, these days.
I read that in Nice a son of Muslim parents 8-year-old boy was detained by police for the crime of 'backing terrorism'.
It seems that he refused to say in chorus with his teammates the famous phrase Je suis Charlie (I am Charlie). Then he declared to 'stand on the side of the terrorists'.
Despite the disappointment of the parents, the school has sued him.
Violating a sacred children’s right...
Eight years.
Eight year old I can.
Eight years old I cannot be Spiderman.
Because I do not like spiders and cobwebs.
Or just because I woke up so.
Eight years old I can accuse the Fantastic Four to be cowards.
Because it is easy to make the braggarts.
As Four.
The same for the Avengers.
By the way, avengers of what?
We should first understand who began.
The war.
Eight years old I can feel unsuitable in a school of magic where all is already decided. A presumptuous hat comes and a moment after I am Gryffindor, Slytherin, or worse, because what remains is ever worse.
And if I wanted a common room that is not there?
And if lost in the corridors I should meet Voldemort?
You Know?
There are many of us off the classroom because there are no more benches at the bottom.
Kids who came to the world knowing that you-know-who was the only chance to survive.
Especially because of many other unpronounceable names.
Like ours.
Eight year old you would not want to frighten.
Eight year old you want all except to scary people.
Because only the watching eyes could draw it on me.
The fear.
Then the days pass, so months and years and you start to grow fond.
The border becomes blurred.
The contours rarefied.
And inside the mirror of your desires you discover the true face of the wicked queen.
Snow White.
And Grimilde.
They are the same person to children who just read the tales.
Never lived.
Eight years.
Eight years old I can.
If I still were eight year old, I could stay with the monsters.
Especially if most of the time that's where you have put me.
It’s you, looking at me from above, who cannot.
It’s you, up there, who have work a lot to figure out who are the monsters.
How many are there.
And where they are...
Also on Stories and News: