Post by account_disabled on Dec 16, 2023 19:47:48 GMT -8
Preface I discovered this diary by chance, in a cave, near the remains of the stranger who had taken refuge there to die far from his pursuers. That day I was out for one of my usual Sunday mountain walks, when I came across the cave and, as an amateur speleologist, I couldn't help but take a look. There, a few meters from the entrance, I made my dramatic discovery. In that corpse I recognized the stranger that the authorities had searched for days, in vain. I will not reveal the location of the cave, he is now dead and his remains rest there, which I covered with
Stones to prevent insects and other animals from wreaking havoc and because, even if his culture was different from ours, I believe that every living being has the right to a burial. When the event happened, several years ago now, I had followed the story on television, with bated breath and a certain anger that was making its way inside me. I didn't understand the government's Phone Number Data attitude, its preconceptions, but above all I didn't understand the use of force to deal with a situation like that. They were peaceful people, after all. Perhaps there was a fear of mass immigration? We couldn't have accepted it, and I was aware of this, but no one bothered to ask, to inquire, to understand why those foreigners had come to us.
What were they looking for? Where did they come from? Who were they? Is it possible that I'm the only one who asked myself these questions? But now the damage is done. The government wasted no time and immediately adopted all possible strategies to remove unwanted guests. And this meant only one thing: troops armed to shoot on sight. It was carnage. A massacre. But luckily one of them survived, at least long enough to leave his memories and shed light on that tragic event. The wounds the stranger had sustained were fatal and he was given only a few hours to tell his little story and the extermination of his people.
Stones to prevent insects and other animals from wreaking havoc and because, even if his culture was different from ours, I believe that every living being has the right to a burial. When the event happened, several years ago now, I had followed the story on television, with bated breath and a certain anger that was making its way inside me. I didn't understand the government's Phone Number Data attitude, its preconceptions, but above all I didn't understand the use of force to deal with a situation like that. They were peaceful people, after all. Perhaps there was a fear of mass immigration? We couldn't have accepted it, and I was aware of this, but no one bothered to ask, to inquire, to understand why those foreigners had come to us.
What were they looking for? Where did they come from? Who were they? Is it possible that I'm the only one who asked myself these questions? But now the damage is done. The government wasted no time and immediately adopted all possible strategies to remove unwanted guests. And this meant only one thing: troops armed to shoot on sight. It was carnage. A massacre. But luckily one of them survived, at least long enough to leave his memories and shed light on that tragic event. The wounds the stranger had sustained were fatal and he was given only a few hours to tell his little story and the extermination of his people.