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World Refugee Day story at Mary’s Home

Stories and News No. 1007

Yesterday was the World Refugee Day and at Mary’s home the event was especially celebrated…

"Dad," says Mary, six years old and many more freckles on her face, which one day will be the foundations of her beauty, "I've been good today."
"Yes, dear..." reproaches the man, almost completely bald, the current foundation of his stress, rather than the inexorable passing time.

Nonetheless, he seamlessly resumes the discussion with his wife and all relatives gathered for the occasion.
Of course, it doesn’t concern the aforementioned recurrence, but a much more pressing argument, that is, what to do with the generous legacy left by the grandfathers.
"I was good," Mary proudly says, "you know, mom?"
"Well done..." she tells her, equally taken by the debate, that has also come to the precious, shared property.
For the record, in addition to the child’s parents, those interested in the valuable legacy are uncle Donald, single and tireless exotic beauties hunters - strictly under twenty-five, aunt Jennifer and her husband aka the dummy - secretly renamed such from Mary's mother, and cousin Fred, a busy engineer away to the north, granted for missing in the last years, but it's a pleasure to be here, that’s certainly not a matter of money, his exact words.
"I did as the teacher and you too always suggest," says the smallest one in the scene.
"What?" Asks her father without even turning his head, entirely focused on his sister-in-law, since Jennifer has just said she would consider the idea of going to live in the old parents’ home. Such an anxious scenario, considering that at least in his dreams - which he has not at all informed his wife of, he has already invested the majority of their portion.
"You all said that we must help the poor people," Mary responds, as if they are really conversing with her. "You also said we're lucky to have a home, something to eat and water to drink."
"Of course you have to help them," her mother approves with her head somewhere else, before looking for the cigarettes in her bag. She had just quit a week ago, but how can you stay calm and at the same time follow those commitments, when you have to decide about such a heritage? Can you leave all the decisions to that maniacal uncle Donald?
"You've been very good," adds her daddy, however just as distant. "Everyone must be helped, whenever it's possible."
"Thank you!" Her daughter rejoices, with a flare of unprecedented purity in her eyes, future foundations of love by a lot of pretenders. "The kid I just took home will appreciate that."
A dark silence, at the same time so tense, falls into the living room like a guillotine’s blade.
"What kid, Mary?" Asks her father in a trustful tone, sure she is lost inside a yet another imaginative escape from reality.
Despite this, the attention is now complete, with an invisible light spots on the little one.
"I’m talking about the child refugee I met in front of the church. At school they said that today is their day. I asked him if he was hungry, he didn’t speak, but I saw that the answer was yes. And then I invited him. "
"She was with you," growls her dad, staring at his wife. "As usual you was distracted by your cell..."
"Are you serious?" Replies the woman. "What about when you left her in the park to buy the phone recharge?"
"Calm down," intervenes the already introduced dummy. As a proof of the nickname he never speaks, but given the importance of the inheritance, he makes an exception. "Sorry, do you really think it's possible she brought someone home without you noticing it?"
At that moment a noise comes from the kitchen.
Like a cutlery that hurls the dish with excessive rush, a widespread world phenomenon due to two specific reasons, awkwardness and hunger.
The whole family suddenly stands up, and under Mary's attentive eyes, they get at the entrance of the room.
The door is closed and the dad feels accountable to shed light on the mystery.
Here I’ve done, sorry, but I won’t tell you more.
I'm persuaded the story is all here, that the real difference isn’t really between a tale with a calming ending and an incomplete one, but among the exorbitant amount of words and phrases we say every day with the only effect of giving each other fleeting relief and halo’s caresses, and what we actually do with our actions.
And what we can still do…

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