Friday, February 24, 2017

Child labor stories 2017: the monster's legs

Stories and News No. 962

The mica is one of the most common minerals on a global level, of great value for its ability to reflect and refract light and is used in a multitude of products and industries. About a quarter of the mica in the world is extracted in the poorest areas of India by at least 20,000 children working every day in the mines.
Some of the biggest suppliers of car paint have recently joined a global initiative to eliminate child labor in the mica industry, thanks to an investigation by The Guardian.
Unfortunately today, despite using the paint produced by the above vendors, all automotive brands including Volkswagen, BMW and Vauxhall (General Motors) have refused to join.
This is just a story.
Or a fairy tale...

Once upon a time there was a monster.
A terrible monster, so terrifying and invincible at

the same time that now no one dared to face it with a loud voice in the public square.
So big and powerful to get the most important victories on the world.
The habit.
When the monsters become normal characters, like every others, as an essential part of the image, everyone feels entitled to enter the frame.
Saying and doing mostly everything goes on in their head or belly.
One day, some of the most undervalued creatures on earth, decided to raise their heads.
Negligible event, in fact, thinking about their height.
“Let's stop the monster,” the leader shouted.
“Yes, let's do it,” yelled back his friend of a lifetime.
“Hurray,
yelled another one awakening at that moment by a nice dream, but still happy to be on board.
You know, it doesn’t happen every day to lift your head down there, and when it occurs you don’t want to be the one who will listen this: you don’t know what you missed.
“How do we stop the monster?” Rightly asked the most practical among them.
“Simple,” replied the leader and with inspired voice launched himself into a charismatic, long prepared
monologue.
“Let’s cut the legs’ monster, let’s truncate those columns that hold up its hideous figure, let’s throw away those rotten and cruel limbs, those wrong knees, those smelly kneecaps and those ugly shins...
 
“Please, get to the point,” asked one of the many, as far as he shared all the antipathy for the sadistic creature.
“I said, let’s cut all the legs of the monster, which allow it to walk on our lives and our homes, trampling our present and erasing our future.”
“All the legs?” Asked another one, with obvious skepticism in his voice.
Now, what is not said in the beginning - I apologize for this, we’re speaking of a thousand-legged monster, here.
However, the leader had studied well and his reply was swift.
“Here's my plan: we convince the legs to break away from it.”
At first there was some derisive chuckle and no confidence in the absurd idea, but he didn’t lose his heart. He knew that to be followed in his utopic enterprise there was no other way to take the first step.
The first leg was convinced by him and the chain reaction was like a Mexican wave of defectors limbs, one after another deterred from the horrible task of serving the evil being.
The most surprising thing for the little rebels was discovering that the legs were just waiting for someone to invite them to free themselves.
However, the unexpected part was waiting for them on the last fragment of the story.
The last leg was ready to abandon the monster and so it did.
The little creatures cheered with joy and began to sing and dance, to make the party worthy of such great victory.
Nevertheless, a nasty roar rose in the sky behind them.
They turned and saw the monster still there, determined to continue ruining their lives.
They realized that the legs were not the ones keeping it alive.
But all those who, consciously or unconsciously, are feeding it…


Read more true stories
Buy my latest book Elisa and the wonderful world of objects
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Thursday, February 23, 2017

Diversity stories: the kingdom for everybody

Stories and News No. 961

The Donald Trump’s administration has decided to cancel the diversifications on bathrooms and changing rooms for transgender students, matching their gender identity.
A sort of step back from Obama’s government.
A right move for some and a medieval action for others.
Yet, I know a place...

Once upon a time there was a kingdom.
A great one, if you think about it, a lot bigger than you might believe, if you look from above or a

good distance.
You have got the best screening size and opportunities within your imagination or what it has so far survived.
In the great kingdom, much more than the simple appearance, there was everything for everyone.
All had been designed and programmed for each living creature.
It was so for inanimate things too, let alone who breathes and loves, comes and goes.
There was food for all, depending on the digestive system and tastes, the ingestion and ways to find it.
And there was shelter for every kind of life, a bed to achieve or ready to the task, protection from inclement weather and the whims of fate, space to spend time and build relations with similar lives or not.
There was light, all you really need in your existence.
There was dark too, all you need to fully appreciate the former.
There were billions of living beings, each one different from the other, equally unique for special reasons, all of them with a motive to exist, all of them with a cause to go and come back.
And there were no fewer meetings between them, intimate or just mentioned, random or inevitable, perfect or destructive.
There was free will and there were endless choices, there were countless colors and an incalculable multiplicity of sounds.
There was music, then.
And there was dancing.
There was all sorts of plausible art.
Unrivaled when it was not at all.
There were unlimited possibilities.
And there was a finite time.
As this story, as it should be.
There were thousands and thousands of other tales, each open-ended.
And there was a not transcribed, as immense, unthinkable, as deafening, never be narrated, however beautiful, number of ways to love each other.
Once upon a time there was this kingdom.
And it’s still here, for our ungrateful luck.
It's called nature...


Read more stories about diversity
Buy my latest book Elisa and the wonderful world of objects
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Watch my last storytelling show with English subtitles It's amazing what a little light can do 
Storytelling videos with subtitles

Wednesday, February 22, 2017

Immigrants stories 2017: what color are they?

Stories and News No. 960

The bodies of at least 74 people, believed to be migrants, were found on the Libyan coast after umpteenth tragedy at sea for people fleeing to Europe to escape war and poverty.
As usually, the dead were covered, as much we do with bulky stories, unless the tale or the characters decide to unsettle the readers...


Once upon a time there was a news.
It came forward timidly, as it had happened earlier.

Nothing new, when the race is usually won by arrogance and utilities.
It's normal that the creatures stripped by fate, so with no wallet, are falling behind.
Nevertheless, we all get at the end of the race.
What happens after can change everything, even the order on the winners podium.
There are 74 dead bodies on the beach, the press agency said.
Nevertheless, she said nothing more.
What beach? The first curious guy asked.
It's important? Replied another one.
In fact, admitted the other.
They’re migrants, said the expert.
Are they? Asked her directly.
We don’t know, she said.
Why? Someone asked on behalf of all others.
Because we can’t understand it, the sad stories messenger explained.
Because it's damn sad, indeed, it’s also horrible, it’s a terrifying and unacceptable thing to happen, like any useless sacrifice of creatures in the middle of life.
Here we say it and we come back no more.
What do you mean you don’t understand? It was the inevitable, following question.
If they are blacks, they are migrants, explained the one obsessed with fundamental skin tones.
Brown, if we must say it, a pickier colleague pointed out.
No brown, cleared the altercation the agency.
What color are they? Many sang a cappella.
That’s not clear, said the fatal emissary.
What do you mean that’s not clear? The subsequent and monotonous question.
They show a never seen before color, said the agency.
An confused and even slightly agitated silence invaded the scene.
Aliens? Guessed one of those with a head perpetually raised to the stars, poorly concealing a growing excitement.
Now we’ve got also migrants from Mars, the joke of the moment.
Let’s build a large wall around earth orbit, the proposal of the most expulsive man among those present, mistakenly taken for a joke.
They are human, she said.
How can you tell? Asked the polemical one.
Because they tried to survive certain death, because they have not surrendered to fate, however cruel and unjust it was, because they decided to risk everything, just to cling to their existence, because they have chosen the only possible way, because they trusted the sea and their courage, because they have sought help from their peers, because they certainly have rejoiced at the earth view and certainly some of them cried or just yelled inside, of pain and anger, for the bitter outcome as much the beginning of their story, because they died indulging on the planet they loved anyway, because despite far from their home, earth receives and doesn’t reject, embraces and doesn’t judge, because like humans they are dead.
Under the eyes of other humans…


Read more Immigrants stories
Buy my latest book Elisa and the wonderful world of objects
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Watch my last storytelling show with English subtitles It's amazing what a little light can do 
Storytelling videos with subtitles

Friday, February 17, 2017

Human rights stories: Justice for Adama Traoré and others

Stories and News No. 959

I read that Adama TraorĂ©’s death in the custody of French police has become one of the most discussed cases in Europe on the alleged or proven brutality of the agents. It becomes every day more topical everywhere.
People rightly ask for justice and these days the manifestations in Paris are very crowded.
However, in my humble opinion, the paradoxical aberration that lets who should protect and serve citizens to deprive them of life, offers a simple request of normalcy...


There once was a crazy land.
A totally messed up country, twisted in reasonable logic and mere physical facts.
Adama's sister Assa during a manifestation
In the mad state lived her, Miss Simple.
A quite girl, but nothing bigoted, believe me.
Only someone with an understandable view of life, with emotions in the right place and a spontaneous propensity for harmony with the world's goods.
Nothing special, it should be remembered, but in the realm of the insane, she served as a litmus test, since we are in the senseless ground.
Read as well as the human exception to the wrong rule.
The young lady didn’t understand and so far it was only obvious reaction to events.
However, Miss Simple was far from that and then didn’t just respond.
She wanted answers in turn, struggling with every means against the faults disguised as essential tips and lines.
As a sort of wrong Don Quixote, with no Sancho in support, alone and proud she threw the spear against the dragons with empty eyes and foaming at the mouth.
And she said no to any accepted abnormalities, reciting aloud the distortions tolerated by her peers.
A scarf should protect your throat from cold currents, never strangling you, she said.
An umbrella should save you from the rain, let alone get lightning in profusion.
The lifeline at sea is there to avoid your drowning, because there is air inside, no heavy, murderous stones as dull hatred.
Traffic lights is the last bulwark between the driver and his fellows, one of the rare cases in which the colors are really essential in our common journey, it should then change policy, and not as a mere coincidence.
As if the lives at stake did not matter at all.
As if everything was just a game.
Of lives.
Similarly, the parachute should be the most exciting way to get courageously back to the temporarily hailed earth, not the fastest way to do it. Maybe refusing what is written, opening on command and guiding the healthy traveler safely home.
These and many others, too, were the contradictory cracks that Miss Simple saw and rejected in her country.
She never stopped doing so.
Because she knew that screaming the simple normalcy, from her own point of view, was her right.
And maybe her duty too.


Read more stories about human rights
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Thursday, February 16, 2017

Stories about environment: one of us trees

Stories and News No. 958

In Cambodia the timber tycoons, working with local officials, are seriously undermining the survival of the Prey Lang’s forest.
In defense of the latter there is Leng Ouch, who reveals to fear for his life and his loved ones, but that does not stop him.
Because Leng is one of them...


In Cambodia there are trees.
In Cambodia there are crazy trees.

Because it’s so everywhere, if you think about it.
If you think about it carefully, nowadays you are really crazy to choose to be born tree, in this world.
Also river or lake would be would as much risky choices, if not masochistic.
But you know how vulnerable minds are, ready to be crossed by every living thing desired, with a tirelessly heart, which makes it noteworthy of a story.
So, where the trees lost their mind to think of being the center of the universe, they themselves narrate tales and dreams.
To see everything and everyone as souls composed of plant and root.
Still only at birth and death.
Now, imagine the traditional version, the sacrificial victim of your kingdom.
Read as well as the illusion from the human point of view.
Well, those that over time you have learned to simply call trees, are just witnesses, silent spectators, those that have not yet learned to run and shout.
But this doesn’t mean they didn’t breath and move towards the horizon which all, trees or not, are going to.
This doesn’t stop them to watch and listen the admirable life.
Of a tree, of course.
Because I said at the very beginning, madness is the key, the most obstinate form of it, let's face it, the only one that really had the chance to bring down the castle of the evil.
Here it is, the protagonist of their bizarre visions.
One of them… or us, it always depends on which way you read the story.
An extraordinary tree with eyes and ears, touch and taste, and all his special senses devoted to the care of a crucial planet.
That is, the only one we have.
The only one we really are from.
A tree that is willing to lose sap and oxygen, light and future for his fellow people, the much underrated terrestrial beings.
A type of tree that reveals the error at the end, the naive mistake of green creatures.
I am one of you, he says with words and especially gestures.
Because, for you, I would give myself.
And because I know that without you, myself would not be here anymore.
They,
who are cursed, they're only human


Read more stories about environment
Buy my latest book Elisa and the wonderful world of objects
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Wednesday, February 15, 2017

Stories about women's rights in Spain

Stories and News No. 957

These days the city of Madrid has decided to commemorate a lost generation of women among writers, artists, scientists and thinkers silenced by Francisco Franco’s government.
This is an all-female story...


A story of phrases and words, like all others, that’s clear.
But where nothing is left to chance.

Because when the genre seriously matters, or where it causes hate and repression, letters are all capital, vowels are loud and consonants bite.
The syntax shines light and the sense of the tale comes to life with female energy.
The same kind of each word, then.
That alone is worth the price of the strophe, never verse, within a song without the usual, useless chorus, to lift the spirits and cheer the easy ears.
The music is a result of a stubborn magic, no makeup and trump card, that just when it seems to completely die, it raises an eyebrow and looks at you.
From afar it scrutinizes you with female memory, the same kind of the same voice who wrote about joy and sorrow.
She is an elusive ballerina, the one who gives birth only to courage.
It seems you may touch her, there, on stage, besides the transparent screen of the days gone.
It seems real, even today.
And just when you convince yourself that the show is now finished, you see her embracing the love of her life and yours.
Indignation, she is her bride, inside the more banished wedding on earth between identical yet perfectly compatible genres.
The godly wrath par excellence, mother of all the healthy reactions to the destruction of human rights, at a time when the witness nature wept incredulous tears.
Nevertheless, peace will come.
Of course, sooner or later history will try to remedy it.
Yet she knew it.
With female patience she accepted the bitter time limits and its dictators, who with that naive and blind fury did everything to bend soul and heart.
So the stories and the words, letters and voices, indignation and more than ever the imagination of a genre of women.
That despite death, fortunately for everyone, today, right now, are still here...


Read more stories about life
Buy my latest book Elisa and the wonderful world of objects
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Watch my last storytelling show with English subtitles It's amazing what a little light can do
Storytelling videos with subtitles

Friday, February 10, 2017

Stranded whales New Zealand 2017: Babatunde’s dream

Stories and News No. 956

Hundreds of whales died during the night on the New Zealand’s shores after a mass stranding considered the largest in decades.
The news is now viral around the world, images are everywhere and so the participation for the tragedy, while the staff of the Department of Conservation and about 500 volunteers are focused on how to save the survived whales until the next high tide.
However, as always, not all react to the news the same way...

At night, in a crowded room, somewhere in Africa...

"Guys, I have a dream for you," says Babatunde,

only five years old, but a lot of crazy ideas, rarely liked by his brothers.
"Another one?" asks with sarcasm one of them, the closest among those who try to fall asleep. "Do you never get tired?"
"This time is a good one."
"So the last time," says another kid. "Then, fortunately, you did understand that building a submarine is science fiction."
"No, this time it's all natural."
"Let him speak," says the oldest brother, "otherwise we won’t sleep tonight."
"Thanks bro."
"Don’t thank me, and hurry up, I want to sleep."
"You know the whales?"
"What? A quiz?" says the one obsessed with riddles. "Come on, I like it."
"It is not a quiz..."
"Let him reach the end, please?" screams the first-born.
"Maybe this time it's a good idea…" speaks the only sister.
"Thank you!"
"Don’t thank me," she says. "I am optimist by nature."
"Okay, I see."
"Don’t see: tell!" orders the primogenital.
"I said... I mean, I was wondering if you remember the whales and let’s assume so."
"Whales or whale sharks?" demands the most meticulous brother. "They’re not the same thing..."
"Do we have genius, here?" cries the eldest brother risking to lose control. "If he wanted to talk about the whale sharks he would say whale sharks, right?"
"So right, thank you... and I understand, I should not thank you."
"Good, let’s finish this."
"Well, I recently knew that when the whales reach the coasts of pink men – even in those lands children used to identify colors more accurately than adults - instead of leaving them to die or even comment on the tragedy with hatred and indifference, they come so many to rescue and help to survive them and everyone is supportive and compassionate."
"What is the dream?" asks the little sister.
"Simple. Tomorrow morning we dive and we let a whale eats us. So we expect to arrive on a more fortunate beach than ours and while the inhabitants are all trying to save it we covertly get out from its... "
"From its?" they ask in chorus.
"From its ears, what did you think?"
"Since when did the whales have ears?" inquires the nearest brother.
"They must have it," replies his sister. "Otherwise, how can they listen to when they sing?"
"Ears or no ears, whales do not eat children," reports the oldest kid. "This dream is stupid."
"But the sea does", replies the young dreamer.
A deep and conscious silence follows the bitter response.
The brothers strive so not to give in to sadness and everyone tries to sleep using the best weapon they have, which is a flaky and irresponsible strange form of imagination.
So, that night, some children sailed from Africa half hammerhead and half dolphin, very fast and capable of breaking every wall.
Octopus children, able to grab all the gifts in the world forgotten in the sea.
Jellyfish children, beautiful and stinging, which no one can hurt.
Light children as the same water of the waves, which may touch the shore everywhere, and no one can prevent it.
Indeed, many will be there to admire them.
Because it would be just another of the endless, wonderful and fragile gifts of nature…


Read more stories of immigrants
Buy my latest book Elisa and the wonderful world of objects
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Watch my last storytelling show with English subtitles It's amazing what a little light can do 
Storytelling videos with subtitles

Thursday, February 9, 2017

Stories about life

Story published on the collection: Italian short stories, a dual language book: True short stories collection to understand contemporary Italy (2017)

Wednesday, February 8, 2017

Stories about life: Philippines Manila fire and me

Stories and News No. 954

In Manila, a fire destroyed 15000 homes of the shanty town. Families were forced to scour the remains of their makeshift homes in search of their belongings while the fires raged out of control, causing many injuries.
These unfortunate events, among already born troubled lives, compose a sadly notorious background. However, the small story of who alone, in the middle of the night did not give up and continues to fight, it’s far less obvious than it seems...

Me against the fire.
Alone, covered with rags, standing still.

Fighting the fire.
I might look ridiculous to you, strictly behind me.
So that I could listen your voice.
But not seeing your eyes.
Above all, avoiding you could see mine.
Me alone against fire, with one bucket of water, which in a few seconds will become one of the many empty containers in my difficult existence.
As the wallet, closet and drawers, as an imaginary bank account and the missing pages in my farewell to the global storytelling.
Read as well as what remains to be written.
I should look like a fool to you, lost in total mercy of an unacceptable madness nowadays. Because the modern crazy guy lights a fire, he’s not trying to extinguish it, right?
But I'm here, standing against it.
While all I had is burning.
While all I have is the strength of the arms holding the bucket.
And despite my only weapon will shortly end, the best advice I got from life, probably the only one, is intact: if you have a bucket and you can fill it, the fire will always be afraid of you.
That's why I'm here, now.
Alone against the blunt monster that devours forms and time.
I know, I might seems naive to you, but believe me, for once.
Believe me at least now, while I’m fighting my enemy.
It’s incredibly strong and roars with equal vehemence, but it’s not able to steal anything but the ways which things are drawn with and every second we spent in order to know and learn to love them.
If it didn’t eat ourselves, that’s clear.
The fire will never have our memories.
The fire will never affect what binds us one another.
Because the fire is even more alone than us and only destroying it finds a meaning to its existence.
This is why I am not afraid to face it.
Maybe I can understand it better than anyone else.
Alone against it, I hardly win.
Nevertheless, tonight I'm here and you may still find me in the same place, after the next dark, with flames everywhere.
Until I’ll write.
We won.
Because against the fire.
There were…
Us.


Read more stories about life
Buy my latest book Elisa and the wonderful world of objects
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Watch my last storytelling show with English subtitles It's amazing what a little light can do
Storytelling videos with subtitles

Friday, February 3, 2017

Diversity stories: a bad joke

Stories and News No. 953

Last Sunday there was an attack at the mosque in Quebec City, Canada. Six people were killed and nineteen wounded.
In the following days a man was arrested and charged with premeditated murder, Alexandre Bissonnette, 27 year-old, university student with far-right sympathies, especially for Trump and Marine Le Pen.
Obvious rule for “unpopular terrorist attacks”, in a few hours the fact has practically disappeared among the greatest, so-called news sources, not to mention the absolute absence of the usual manifestations of virtual-social solidarity with the victims, as “We are all Canadian” or even Muslims.
However, in a small, local newspaper with high ambitions, Ambidextrous News, something unusual happens...


"Boss?" Says the youngest among the reporters, recently arrived to the newspaper, a freelance and above all no money guy.

"Who is it?" Asks the chief and publisher’s son. He gave the name to the newspaper, believing that it could further stress its political orientation. Nevertheless, only after he registered the magazine, was informed that ambidextrous doesn't mean at all with two right hands.
"Sorry, I know it’s late, it’s Mike..."
"Who?"
"The new one…"
"Who?"
"The kid..."
"What?"
"Ehm… the guy who brings the coffee."
"I see, now. What do you want? It’s… it’s two in the morning..."
"Forgive me, boss, but it was you..."
"I called you? I don’t think so."
"No, I was saying that it was you who said that while journalists occasionally stop, news never do."
"When I told that?"
"This morning."
"Where?"
"When we made the editorial meeting…"
"What?"
"Ok, when I brought you the coffee."
"Right. Tell me about this news."
"Well, it’s not a proper one, it's a rectification…"
"What? You wake me in the middle of the night to tell me about a trivial modification? You're fired."
"Actually, you never hired me."
"What do you mean? You don’t work with us? Who gave you my number? "
"You did."
"Why?"
"Because I'm part of the staff..."
"Who?"
"All right: because I brought you the coffee."
"Yes, the little one, now I've focused. Anyway, since it's the last time we speak, what is this rectification?"
"Do you recall that attack a few days ago?"
"What?"
"In Canada..."
"Where?"
"Of course, the one we spoke of on Monday morning, when I brought the coffee."
"That one, now I remember."
"Well, there's an important press agency that informs us of a mistake. It was not a mosque, but a church."
A suddenly peppered with agitation and excitement silence follows the latter words.
"Did you say church?"
"Yes, boss."
"Are you telling me that the attack in Canada was done in a church, and that the dead are Christians?"
"Exactly."
"Call everybody, soon! In maximum twenty minutes I want the entire editorial staff in the office.”
"No, boss."
"What do you mean?!"
"Because I just got another rectification."
"What?"
"It was a mosque."
"A mosque?"
"No, a church."
"A church or a mosque, idiot?"
The young man laughs with a clear note of bitterness in his voice.
"What's so funny? You know what this is? A bad taste joke."
"You’re wrong, boss," replies the guy of the coffee.
This is racism…


Read more stories about racism
Buy my latest book Elisa and the wonderful world of objects
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Watch my last storytelling show with English subtitles It's amazing what a little light can do  Storytelling videos with subtitles

Thursday, February 2, 2017

Horror movies 2017: and the winner is...

Stories and News No. 952

Following the election and especially the settlement on the most powerful chair in the world of the Crimson King - for those who have read Dark Tower series - many increasingly disturbing reports come from the now former Land of Opportunity, just renamed as the Country the Great Walls.
Among the most recent, the possible sending of troops to Mexico, the likely dismantling of the Environmental Protection Agency and the latest chapter in the Crusade against the Refugees.
Old story, right? The big screen is visible to everyone, main actors and supporting ones are in the middle of the scene, music and lights create tension and suspense and the global film comes alive.
A horror movie.
However, as it has always been and always will be.
The spectators will decreed its success...

Come on, let's sit down, it’s about to begin.
Actually, no, we arrived late, it's already dark.
Let’s find a seat, then, hoping not to have lost anything fundamental.
“Shut up,” says someone behind us and he is right, after all.
He paid the ticket, he wants to see how it ends.
If the monster will win or the victim, just at the end, will survive.

Look, the creature approaches, opens the mouth and drools of unspeakable anger.
They are pure evil lakes, those which the cold eyes are floating in.
And the victim, well, it's already seen stuff.
Think about it, the monsters are different each time, in the mask as in the voice.
But the sacrificed lives to satisfy the irrepressible, human need to exorcise violence and repressed hatred, have always the same expression.
Of terror, of course, but also often of noble and proud resignation.
“We will do our part,” they seem to think before succumbing, “as long as you do yours.”
“But what is ours?” I wonder.
“Silence,” still repeats someone in back seats.
He's right, but it's stronger than me.
I want to not only watch the movie, I also want to understand it.
So I try to answer the above question, I turn and look.
Us.
Those who sat watching the whole story, frame by frame, convinced by the artificial darkness and digital effects, to be something more than mere witnesses.
As if the bitterness of the infamous creature and the suffering of the martyr were really ours.
As if the fear of the movie was real.
And then I find the spectacle that lies between stalls and gallery.
Those with wide eyes and pounding heart, and those who regularly bring hands over the face, but never completely, those who try to alleviate anxiety with popcorn and those who do the same, but with the nails, the ones falsely laughing to appear indifferent and those who are really so, but pretend tremor and panic, those who enjoy feeding on strong emotions and those who are just waiting for the two dimensions deaths to choke it in the chest. It, yes, the ineffable fear.
Careful, now, let's get ready to leave.
It’s about to end.
We arrived in time to see who will have won.
Among the monster or the victim.
And this time, with the end credits on, the gloomy theme song in the ears and the light that comes back in the room, whatever will be the final outcome, we’ll feel the usual relief.
Saying to each other that we were not the ones who kill or die...


Read more stories with morals
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Wednesday, February 1, 2017

Diversity stories: Freedom of expression explained

Stories and News No. 951

In times of Fake News, Post-Truth and Pre-Lies, alleged right to insult and commentators professionals, Stories and News could not remain indifferent to the clash.
Indeed, let's say that the following is an attempt to stay out of it...


We are in the future, ladies and gentlemen.
Here, now, on this page.
Well, I remember that in other times we used to

begin a story in very different ways: once upon a time, for example, a long time ago and even in a far, far away kingdom, and so on.
We people of tomorrow start saying... we are in the future, ladies and gentlemen.
We do this to remind us that, luckily, we are no longer in the past.
With all due respect, but now things are very different, and if you knew how little would be enough to... but I don’t want and cannot say anything, forgive me, or we might tangle the time stream and we could disappear.
That’s my never defeated childish terror.
My mother always told something like that to warn me: Eat everything, otherwise I’ll change your past and you’ll disappear.
Once she was going to do it seriously with Dad, when she discovered that cheated on her, but then she realized that I would follow the same fate, and then chose to make us disappear both in the traditional way and they divorced.
I said, we are in the future, ladies and gentlemen, but sorry, the story I'm going to tell you shows that the people of the next world still have to learn.
On the other hand, although we have made true giant steps about racial discrimination and relationship with diversity, no one could have predicted what would happen after the arrival of him, the very first extraterrestrial landed on our planet.
Before you’ll start to paint in your archaic brain the usual image, with the metallic gray ship that emerges between the clouds and silhouetted in the sky over a city at random – but it must be in the US, with the usual tall alien with the big skinned head, almond eyes and large hands outstretched on you, stop immediately.
The first one will land, or precipitate in Karakorum, Mongolia, with a really poor spacecraft, a straw yellow one that calls to mind the typical dilute urine color.
Excuse the perhaps inappropriate similarity, but my job is to mainly cure incontinent robots. Such a nasty problem, believe me, they got quickly a short circuit, a true pain in the ass, I assure that.
Anyway, the pioneer among the visitors from the stars will be very different from literary and cinematic cousins, I tell you that.
A small, obese and dark-skinned creature, even more than the night, with a multiple and moreover confused sexuality, undocumented and without log book, devoted to the divine interstellar dust, with obvious signs of mental imbalance but nice, I have to say that.
I’ll go on speak in the present tense, now, to give you a more realistic explanation of the facts: characteristic of his species, the guy seems to smile with eyes and mouth, but also ears, nose, hair, hands and elbows, hips and heels, because they express emotions with every single part of the body.
Now, in his particular case, at the time of the impact he has been victim of a stroke and the happy paralysis is just one of the consequences, but the result doesn’t change, that is the effect that his glad face has on me.
However, as I said, even there, beyond the limits of your calendars, we have yet to take steps forward to build a completely modern society.
In fact, as soon as the alien's images are spread everywhere, wherever people may express their views, we start to read an impressive and disturbing number of offenses and verbal abuse against the newcomer, especially about his physical appearance, his religious beliefs and his private preferences, inviting him to return to his planet, and I quote.
The alien is aware of the unpleasant remarks against him and an ambassador in charge of welcoming reminds him that, being a very evolved extraterrestrial - as many science fiction movies and stories show, he should understand the consequences of freedom of expression.
The creature, very puzzled, frowns and stops smiling, healing instantly from paresis. We then learned that  a strong doubt is one of the most successful remedies in cases of stroke
for his race.
Then he begins to say no moving his head, as if to say I do not understand. Or maybe, you’re wrong, human, I don’t know.
Translating the essence of the message, he replies to perfectly know what freedom of expression is, particularly the latter. He adds that even on his planet inhabitants express themselves in billions of ways and everyone has the right to do so in every place.
However, he needs to point out of having no idea how it works for us, but when someone pulls down his pants, freeing intestines from the personal organic waste and instead facilitating the disposal in a silent and hopefully odorless way, he prefers to throw them on others, it’s absolutely not to be considered a form of expression.
Even less free...


Read more stories about diversity
Buy my latest book Elisa and the wonderful world of objects
Listen my song Wolves
Watch my last storytelling show with English subtitles It's amazing what a little light can do 
Storytelling videos with subtitles