You are not dead, children.. It’s just a function. You are in a theater, do not you see the seats, the boxes, the curtain and the stage? Here only beautiful things happen. And evil only scratches the soul a little. Just enough to lose innocence. A lying evil. Of love, jealousy and revenge. Of sketches and farces. Makeup and special effects. Also, don’t you remember? Outside you saw the word CHILDREN written on the ground on each side of the building. So, so big that it could be distinguished from the sky. Even Superman would see it. Why don’t you come at once?
You are not dead, children. Neither do your mothers. Forget the last time you saw his face. That look doesn’t count. Nor that hug so, so strong that it hurt, that she seemed to want to return you to the womb. Think of before. On those days of school, snack, patio and snowballs. In the boring homework, the meat that was made a ball and the lazy Sundays. Yes, forget about the day the Mariupol sky broke. From that rain of stones and dust and screams and tears. And also of that silence. Above all, silence. This choked silence. Let the ears escape. Let the eyes flee. Don’t let them see the red curtain drenched in your blood.