(continuation)
What I saw, again, was a Dantesque picture. I do not know why but, reactively, I kept the sweater wet on my face, using it as a mask. Yes, I do not know why I did it, but I'm glad I did it.
When I left the fountain, I began to walk through the middle of a war scene, the ones we saw in the movies or in the news, but, in fact, we had no idea of the horror; I saw many dead people, mutilated bodies, a lot of blood, a lot of suffering.
I did not know how long I had been there, looking around me, apathetic. Suddenly, I do not know where it came from, I was invaded by a huge, giant, extra-natural force. Always holding my soaked nightgown in front of my airways, feeling the heat returning to my eyes, I began to try to help some of the survivors of the attack. I learned later that it was a new terrorist attack.
I have a present memory of having dragged along a few meters, three people; Then my memory faded, what happened to me. They tell me that I passed out, that I was lucky to have the wet sweater over my mouth and nose, and to have been rescued quickly.
I was later told by doctors that the fact that I had fallen into the water at the time of the poison pump burst allowed me not to inhale the scattered gas primary. Then the existence of wet clothing on the airways eventually served as a filter, preventing it from absorbing most of the particles that were hovering in the air ... unfortunately the ocular effect was disastrous and blinded me.
When I was discharged three months later, I was subjected to numerous examinations and meticulous treatments in an attempt to regain my sight. If some doctors were confident in this recovery, others, more skeptical, were convinced that this would be impossible, since the scattered gas had burned and detained more than sixty percent of the retina. It was two long years of examinations, tests, evaluations, operations, and considerations. Anything! Nothing better. The product used, which they named XPRS4, was an extremely pure and corrosive poison, whose antidote they have never been able to unravel. Information flowed that, who produced it, did not develop antidote.
That day they were thousands in that square. A peaceful protest, which did not follow the directions of the authorities, indications of high risk and a terrorist, taking advantage of the situation, decimated hundreds of people ... no! Thousands of innocents. Some died in the detonation of the explosive device, others poisoned and suffocated by the shipped gas, and others, like me, did not die, but they were marked for life with quite dire consequences.
Since that day, my life has not been easy. I had, at the time, nineteen years of age and was in nursing school. The school results were quite pleasant and the future was promising. On the day of the first attack, when it happened in the morning at 8:39 am, I was home. When I saw on television what was happening and watching the bombing of the third bomb, I was so disgusted that I did not even think twice about joining the demonstration on social networks.
When I tried to leave the house, two days after the first attack, my mother asked me not to go.
- Do not go! They saying on the television that there's a risk of further attacks.
- They will not attack now. - I said - There is a lot of police and military in the streets. You think these terrorists are stupid? Or rather ... do you think they have the intelligence to make an attack in the crowd? All he had to do was show a "Beard" and carry a mallet.
"Do not go, daughter!" Do not go!
"Mother ... we have to unite around this battle. The war against terrorism is launched and we can not show fear of these people, otherwise they grow up, you see? We have to join and fight, because only then will we be stronger and win. - I gave her a kiss on the forehead and left. I still heard her say behind me;
- Do not go! I have a bad feeling.
My mother was right. But what the hell, why do we insist on not listening to what the parents tell us?
Today my reflection is simple; So many years later, we are still in the war against terrorism. We just do not know who we fight against, or fight against. After all, by looking around us unbiasedly, we find that the finger is pointed at Islamic extremists as being the terrorists who kill lives around the Planet without compassion, coldly. We point them to our finger, which is not pointing, but inquisitive. A finger like a gun barrel, ready to fire accusations, even unfounded. But if we take a good look at what is involved, if we analyze without wearing the shirt of any of the teams, we easily realize that there are other terrorists. Not those who wear Jalabiyah and Keffiyeh and walk with AK7 in their hands, but those who wear Armani, Channel or Vertigo and use Bentley pens, Omas Fountain or Mont Blanc, to sign military cooperation agreements, oil exploration contracts, or Businesses that indebted states and all its people; Or even those who prostitute themselves in conspiracies and conspiracies.
Are not these also terrorists? Those who say that they are willing to work for the well-being of a people, but that ultimately lead to ruin, usurping all their good, dignity and self-esteem. Are not these Men, too, some terrorists we should fear?
If a fool picks up a gun and shoots in all directions, killing a dozen people, he's a terrorist; And the one who sports his ego, sitting behind the desk, who takes wrong measures that see the conditioning of the lives of thousands, leading them to unemployment, hunger, despair, suicide ... and these, what are? Are not they, too, terrorists?
As you know, I can not see you. That attack deprived me of sight, but not of reason; At least of mine, the one I defend. That attack took me some friends. But it did not lead me to a way of evaluating, with discernment, events.
A terrorist, whatever he is, will always have the advantage in the first attack, we do not know who he is, or when or where he will attack. But a counterattack will always be the beginning of an endless war.
Miguel Branco - London 8:39
Foto: Dicas Europa
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