I am now concerned that some children will take love and a taste for literature. For this, we started reading some things, we visited the library often and sometimes we talk about literature. Then I remembered that a while ago I wrote some stories, which I have no copy here in Canada. So I decided to write a small minicuento in the style of those who wrote before, to read and discuss it with children. Today I want to share with you. Hope you like it.
The shadow of war
War. Always the war. His life had been marked by war. As a child, had known by the stories told by his father, who had participated in the First World War. Now, in the trench, the noise of the bullets buzzed and bombs falling, fully remember all his words. The cries of despair, the lost looks, off the fury with which he attacked the enemy, all because he had known before in the words of his father. Now, it seemed to travel through paths already known and lived again as if things had gone before.
But everything he said his father could be real, I thought. Among the stories he had mixed reality and fantasy. He said his father, for example, that in the heat of battle should be careful to distinguish the living from the dead, the dead could confuse the person and increase their risk of being struck by a bullet. It was important to look at the shadow, because while the shadow of the living where they were accompanying them to the dead wandering lost among the troops, the shadow was only a memory that stood next to his lifeless body.
Again the sound of bombs heralding a new battle begins. This war had lasted longer than assumed was believed that the enemy would be defeated quickly, but the troops had shown more courage contrary expected. The days had become weeks and the weeks months and now the months turned into years and he was buried in these trenches waiting for the long-awaited victory they refused to come.
Now hopelessness gave way to a momentary euphoria. The battle becomes more intense then the bombs fall more often and can almost feel the touch of enemy bullets. But he feels freer and looser. It seems that instead of walking could almost floating in the air. A powerful urge seizes him and plunges into battle. Their fears disappear, and although it is more exposed to being hit by enemy fire, his teammates recognized his courage to face the opposing army.
But he feels something strange. The sun, which at this time of day is stronger, gives himself into his face. Afraid. Slowly turn your head and look back. His hunch is darker reality. With sadness is an inert body of which flowed blood still some threads of the holes they had drilled bullets and shadow, his shadow, clinging to the tired body no longer belonged to him.
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