I was reading recently about a war story (a real one; I mean). In this post a bombing, a young kid, gets trapped in the rubble and is eventually found dead a few days later. The cause of the death seems to have been hypothermia, since it had also rained, and he had possibly been drenched.
My memory is skethcy, but something akin to the effect above happened.
Something in me turned. I could not read enough (and remember enough), because of my own immense fear of being trapped in spaces. Also I was personally overcome by emotion.
What good can come out of world that treats its young this way? In mythology they believe that chanting a name can start a fire. I can imagine, that as he lay dying of cold, he must have mumbled his father/mother's name a million times.
We did start this war. Though, we would not let his fire start.
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