Stories and News No. 769
Once upon a time there was a body.
A great one, too much great.
Of different skin colors and genders.
And at the thought of looking down in that measure makes the image disturbing.
Yet let’s look, let’s be brave.
Because that body is here.
Let’s approach eyes and heart.
And let’s read.
Let’s read the stories etched in the flesh, as tattoos fed by the worst indelible ink in the universe: the human cruelty.
There is the memory of the cuts.
And the dancing of the burns.
Down there is the show of the bruises.
And further down the gift of the lashes.
No, let’s not avert our eyes.
Let’s read together, again.
There is an echo of the beating.
And above the shadow of the blows.
Over there are the consequences of punches.
And there those of kicks.
Yes, I know, that is a filthy storytelling, but it is here.
The body is still here.
So let’s not give up.
Because we have to read more.
There is dried still too red blood.
And hematoma of the soul that is purple only on the surface, but deeply it survives regardless of the color.
There is the internal fracture, of bones and other concealed fragilities.
And there is the trauma of the after, cancer that you can hardly eradicate alone.
Without the help of those who, like it or not, allowed the abuse.
Of the body.
That is here.
That's why we have to read.
All the stories.
To write together the final word.
As the postscript.
Read other stories with morals.
Storytelling with subtitles
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