The need for terrorism

Stories and News No. 1022

Here I am.
Here we are.
It's right there that I try to see myself.
Exactly at that spot where I imagine the many.
Now, at the very moment I write.
Just when we know little or nothing.
Instant that will be almost identical at the end of

the story, despite the words will have been totally blown out, and the most bloody images will have entirely covered eyes and virtual homes, monitors and even negligible memory portions.
Of course, the bomb is there.
Of course, the victims deceased or just wounded too, otherwise we would not be here, right now.
That is, at best, the reason would be far less sad, and I suppose many people would have preferred not to widen their curiosity’s window on yet another hell’s spark on the favorable side of the world.
Nevertheless, more than anything else, there is the familiar scene.
Explosion, murdered or endangered lives, and the latter, the friendly environment.
You know, the bitter blend is ideal to instantly capture the attention of the most.
But that's just the introduction, isn’t it?
The perfect Trailer to take us to the movie, to pay the ticket for the horrible show.
The overwhelming prologue that must inevitably bring us to the expected conclusions.
The most tranquilizers, paradoxes among the paradoxes of contemporary narrative.
Here I am, then.
Here we are, so.
It's at this line of the tragic live storytelling that we’re starting to feel it.
An apparently secret, uncompromising need.
It wasn’t an accident, right?
Don’t tell me that, please.
Don’t let the iron and delays steamer, which at best causes frustrations and anxiety, might fall inside my social nightmares.
No, I say no, please…
Life’s danger cannot be left to chance, not at our latitude.
The guilty is fundamental, he must be known, otherwise the unbearable mystery survives to itself and corrodes from inside a heart already frightened by the same words it’s told.
That’s a terrorism news, right?
I knew it.
We knew it.
Because, in the end, we hoped it down there, in the darkest side of our conscience, obscured by the producers of digital fears.
But it's still not over, right? We're not even half the damn movie.
We’re missing the usual answers, indispensable to finally turn on the lights.
It doesn’t matter how, no matter who, it's okay.
But tell us it is a Muslim.
Tell us, and let's finish it.
Write that absurd name, unmistakable, wrong in the native language, yet perfect in the reassuring general picture.
Please hurry, so a second after we’ll have forgotten it.
Just as we’ll do with his face too.
Show it as soon as possible, on every front page, in the head everywhere, in the wake of the feel-good of the day before, and the naughty advocates of cold-sided societies, let alone open.
Please, we let’s go to the usual ending credits.
It’s imperative we never suspect that something else was happening other than it was yet another Islamic terrorist attack.
Here, like yesterday, today again, and everywhere in the world.


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