Anthology of wounds - Arct

Anthology of WoundsHe had not agreed so he was put in the Burrel prison. Thefirst days while taking a bowl with soup (it was called theliquid that brought the cook), he looked at it and asked thevillager near to him for some pasta that he had broughtfrom home. The officer wanted to make the liquid moreviscous. But the villager said to him: I will not give youanything, because you and your friends did these terribleprisons. The officer, who some time ago had been a formervice minister, left without speaking a word. Later on thisofficer had told me that he had never known what wasdone in those places. This was the pure truth because themost of the people didn’t know what happened in thoseplaces, and it’s not good that the projectors of these terribleplaces have not proved by themselves these ones.A LIFE WITHOUT CALENDARWe didn’t know the date. The poverty was everywhere.We lived only with the past, with no hopes for the future.A senseless life, no meaning of it, no continuity! The onlything to remember is becoming old every day. The worstthing is that we think and we are, while in reality we livefor the others, without the right to think. We rememberonly when we look the white hair or wrinkles so we getdespaired and ask why do we live, how much will thislast? Is it worthwhile the life passed in the prison for 10, 15or 20, 25 years? The time goes and flies with it the dreamsthe wishes and illusions, the thoughts to have a family, tocontinue the school, so the future was thought to be theprison even after 13-14 years, and we remind that timethat the half of life has gone. The people condemned byfate. This psychos tired the brain of hundreds fellows thatsuicide having no hopes. God helped them not to loose142