Italy Avalanche survivors story

Stories and News No. 947

Eight people, including two children, were rescued from the hotel buried by an avalanche last Wednesday.
"Finding these people gives us further hope into other survivors," said an employee of the Civil Protection.

We look at them with affection and understanding.
We are sorry for them but at the same time we

rejoice in their breath, the embrace with the saviors, the return home, to us.
We're somewhere and we look and read about them.
Thinking of those who didn’t make it and we count.
We do with those left behind, the weight of the pain, the vacuum filled by the avalanche, yes.
But on the other side of fate there are them.
The survivors.
Those who know, those who really have seen all, those who were there, no simple words for that.
Those that we should listen first and then.
The lucky ones after all.
Do we want to talk about luck, then?
So, certainly with much less right to speak, the list of those born with a comfortable shirt, already stretched and well starched, it’s much more wide.
For example, those who might be there, that bloody day, in the wrong hour.
And those that could be erased from the living film in a completely different place, if only the script had made alternative sacrifices.
Other avalanches, without controversy, without exploitation.
Because the meaning of the speech we all know what it is.
For every natural disaster, there is always someone who could be accountable.
Later, during, at best before.
Well, the vice versa is also reasonable.
For one of us, or anyone, there is ahead a punishment by the unpredictable world’s forces, ready to strike.
Maybe it's already happened, maybe someone saved us without our knowledge, perhaps it’s happening even now.
Conceivably disappearing under an avalanche to allow us to be the prosperous spectator on the safe side of the mountain.
So, if you have time, try to look from there the rest of the world below, lying where the sky is a memory and the air and the dreams that you held in the chest are all that you have.
Count them now, the survivors.
Watching them here and now, all those who know what it's like to live where others have missed the train.
And count too those that have forgotten to have had so far only an immense, good luck…

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Euthanasia stories: let me die

Stories and News No. 946

Fabiano Antoniani, aka DJ Fabo, after a serious car accident remained blind and quadriplegic.
39 years old, despite many cures, he decided to end his trip here.

"Mr. President of the Republic, my name is Fabo and I would be free to die." With these words – here the video - along with the girlfriend he asked the President of Italy Republic to urge the politicians to make a decision regarding the end of life’s law.
Those who know me best may tell you that I have a relationship with death based on absolute panic, but here we’re not speaking of myself, us, all of you and especially you who read.
Now we are in the inviolable reign of one and only one...

Let me die.
These are three words.
Indeed, they are many things.
It’s the beginning of a story, this one, and might be the conclusion of an existence with a sad outcome, that’s likely, but a dignified one, loved by those who still love and never stop, more than ever accepted by the only people with the right of way.
On the contrary, it’s similar to other eventualities, deprived of dignity, odious and unacceptable.
It’s like writing a novel, yours, good or bad it is, the only one you had to tell and someone else got the privilege to decide the last line.
It’s also as finally getting the birth day of new life, between you and your lover, and someone else besides you penned the name.
It’s like, after infinite imprisonment in an embarrassed and fearful of any coherent movement body, you could find courage to start dancing and someone else pretended not only to choose the music but even soaring steps.
It’s also as you became unexpectedly bold to declare your feelings and someone else got your voice and in your place said “I love you”.
It’s like, after a furious argument with the eternal friend, you had the lucky chance to shake that hand again, and someone else told you what to say.
It’s also as if the last happy period before an existence mowed from a too severe fate could be stolen, rewritten and decorated by someone else who is not you.
It’s like, after your past and present had been taken from a suffering memory, someone who is not destiny dared to claim the rest.
Read as well as the most priceless, ever written chapters.
In short, your future.
Let me die.
These are three words and so many other things, as you know.
Similar to others not as different as you think.
How let me live
My end.

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Earthquake for kids story according to Romina

Stories and News No. 945

Today, Wednesday, January 18, 2017, an earthquake hit Italy, once again in the central area, reaching Rome too.
So far the facts.
What follows is just mere fiction...

Many wrote about that, at the time, so I do too, although I make use of these keys only for chatting.

I am referring to my daughter Romina, known as Miss Longspear, the girl who sees far.
What a lack of imagination, these newspapers, I have to say it, I wanted to do for a long time and I take the opportunity just now.
You know, ten years old she won the national championships of javelin throw. Then, made the title, so the name.
Yes, made the title, so the name, but not the story, the real one.
To the rest of us, me and Alfredo, the victory was obvious stuff, already seen movie, already read book, but - excuse the repetition - a yet to be told story, the truest one.
Romina was born special.
Since the moment she settled herself in my belly, I understood that the distances to her were deceptive conventions, reassuring words for trembling hearts and the most relevant concepts for particularly gifted brains, see the German genius.
"Baby, can you hear me?" Alfredo used to say approaching his head to my abdomen.
He always had such a beautiful voice, very melodious, I would say. And I started to dance, head to toe.
"You're dancing," Alfredo exclaimed.
"No, honey," I answered, "Romina is."
Another hint about her peculiarity became evident during primary school, at the first meeting for parents.
"She cannot sit still and take care of her business. It’s like she had her mind to the north, the heart on the center and the feet to the south..."
These teachers... if only knew how much they’re true sometimes.
Romina gave proof of it years later, when she returned home prematurely because schools were closed due to the earthquake.
"Were you afraid?" I asked as I put on lunch for both.
Miss Longspear, then sixteen, stared at me with big eyes and then left me on stuff to think about and now write.
"Zero fear and all in the world."
"I don’t understand, Romina..." I admitted letting go for a moment the stove. These girls, if you don’t listen to them carefully you might not be able to really see them.
"What is the earthquake, Mom?"
"Seriously? You know that, it’s when the earth shakes and building collapse..."
"No, Mom. The earthquake, to you, us who live here in a big city, is the swinging chandelier for a few seconds and a bit of glass and furniture tremor. While homes and sometimes even families disappear at the same time. It is so for everything, think about it. Economic crisis and war, the cold of these days and the summer heat, the sadness of a time and an indelible depression, like my unfortunate classmate, Wi-Fi jumping during the evening chat and failure to call your love across the ocean..."
I didn’t say a word, writing down all in mind and at heart, while I was there and sat at the table, me and the girl who sees far.
These newspapers.
As the teachers, they too have not the faintest idea how sometimes they are right…

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Walking with the shadow
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Snow in Rome 2017

Stories and News No. 944

Ladies and gentlemen,
Here comes the snow, icy gift from the sky.
Merely the latter, for those who see everything and who are content to fill the eyes with natural divinities.

No, it’s not snowing right now. Not yet, anyway. No news to bait clicks and leave behind irritation and disappointment.
It’s just a story of expectation and fear.
Yes, it's a classic among the most anxious preludes.
Snow is this too.
A dream to hold in your hands, to create other snowy dreams.
At the same time, at worst, it’s death sleeping for the homeless.
If you think about it, it’s a banal paradox among the most common ones.
What is paradise for some, probably few, it’s the inverse for all the others. The two halves of a wrong world, but only if you look it from the true side.
And if you try to put things right, here you find yourself marching in the wrong direction.
No, it's not easy.
Snow is not a plausible event where it rarely is.
As well as the arrival of rain in the lands burned by the resignation of dying souls and larceny by villains disguised as free nations.
However, this is all well known. Throwing eyes among the smallest you'll find who didn’t give up and expect the normal miracle.
So, if snow should come, let the tears of the world to become soft and heavy as often happens, but let them be the same for everyone.
To cover and freeze all, without discrimination.
My candid queen, wrap the eyes of those who see only what they want to see.
And it's always something to hate.
Paralyze the hands that are about to hit a second before the unforgivable gesture.
And do the same with the incomprehensible inhumanity that pushed that far.
Cover me, too, while you're at.
And help me to chill sad memories, so that I can get rid of them as they did not see.
Freeze the citizen and the one who maybe never will, now, in the same framework.
And with your perfect liner reconcile their sleep on this night.
Maybe it might bring a good advice for both.
Upholster defenseless souls at the mercy of these cruel times, hide them where no one can find and, with a bit of revenge, make shivering once and for all who feed belly and guts selling fears.
Make us all equal, all white, but really, since except ghosts and the sheets adorning them, no one has ever been so.
And while we are so confused together in a giant cream ball, show the colorful world that we ignore below, inside.
Please, dear dream, last as long as necessary.
Beloved story, be alive until the worthy end.
And you, my sweet snow, be just yourself.
Because when you will dissolve and disappear, as each time a story comes to an end, some will go with you.
But others, maybe a few, every time they’ll remember this crazy day they will experience warmth and nostalgia for what has been.
And what might still be...

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Obama Trump: what we still can

Stories and News No. 943

On the tops of the kingdom with complicated power and unspeakable weapons, boundless instruments and blinding lights, but mostly shadows, a sovereign succeeds another.
Obama leaves what Trump takes.
Yes we can, the former said at the very beginning, or we might say ‘It could work’ as Young Frankenstein screams in the movie parody by the late Gene Wilder. And we did it, his farewell recites.
What the latter will do is yet to be seen.
Nevertheless, when the kings change, the most surprising reactions can be observed between the lives of the most unexpected creatures...

"It's useless, Dad," says the little ant, redundant clarification, but useful to the task.

"What are you talking about?" asks the big ant, sort of misleading oxymoron, if you have fussiness on size matters.
"I’m talking about these leaves, dad, which we insist in filling the provisions room with. And please, don’t start with that Cicada’s story, I'm sick of it..."
"Son, time passes, bees are pollinating, dung beetles stinking, dragonflies dragonflying, but I still don’t understand you ..."
"Dragonflying? Me too I don’t get... anyway, you don’t understand me because you don’t follow the news: you don’t browse…"
"Well, here we go again, another crazy idea of yours. Last week, after watching that superhero movie, you started a desperate search of some radioactive source to... as you said? Oh, yes, to change. Now you want to browse? And what? Will you change into a speedboat?"
"Daddy, if a guy becomes Ant Man, I could turn me into a Human Ant, can’t you see the benefits? Think of how many leaves I will bring in the form of a presumptuous bipedal creature. However, I didn’t mean that. I was talking about Web.."
"Son, how many times do I have to tell you not to talk about him?"
"But I'm not talking about the spide…"
"Son, we do not pronounce his name!"
"All right, but I didn’t mean You-know-who-sews-traps..."
"And eats-you-well-with-it, say it all."
"I’ve got it, but I'm not referring to him when I talk about web, but the internet."
"Human deviltry? I feel worse. "
"No, Dad, you may learn a lot of things, there. We must be informed of what is happening above our heads, to rectify them before it’s too late. "
"What would have happened? Please, tell me"
"What would have happened? Dad... the most powerful human colony in the world has elected a new king."
"So? Daddy, the new one is a dangerous creature. "
"Who cares about us? We're not human. "
"Really? Do you think that if the unconscious biped creatures will bring us to the early ice age we won’t die us well? "
"For that matter, we’ll die even if we’ll end the supplies, so save your breath and let's hurry to return, the day is still long.
"But Dad, you don’t see the point..."
"No, son, you don’t."
"Listen, as our queens, human kings change, they have always done and it will happen again. There will be the good and the bad one, the corrupt and then the weak leader, the warmongering and the mafia ruler, so the sadistic and yes, that too dangerous one. "
"What do you mean by that? The rest of us are just ants and we have to watch helplessly the biped megalomaniac creatures? "
"None of this. We're not watching helplessly at all. To be precise, we are bringing food to survive. "
"So this is our only aim? Survive?"
"Son, to many of us, this is the only possible life. But each moment that awaits us we can do something."
"We can do everything, each day, better than the last one, so that all the kings will pass and earth will return into the hands of those who struggle and resist."

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