Where nothing is.
Where there is nothing, fourteen years old Wesal Sheikh Khalil has died.
She was one of over sixty victims in Gaza last Monday while Israeli snipers fired tens of thousands of protesters along the perimeter fence.
Where there is still now a whole nothingness, a young girl had already made plans for her funeral: "If they were to shoot me during the protests at the border, Mom, bury me in the exact spot where I died, or maybe, next to my grandfather's grave."
Because where there is nothing, Wesal thought death was better than her life, that’s what her mother said the day after her youngest daughter’s disappearance.
This happens where nothing was and still is.
Because where there is only emptiness, with an unprecedented ease, you could give love. Almost as much as that which allows you to sell hatred and resentment, masking them for the latter.
In fact, the power of nothing in the hands of others is immense.
Everyone can write about it, no one will claim rights.
You can lie without restraint, on nothing, so nobody will understand the mistake.
Anyone can take advantage of that same nonentity, since there is no crime and no penalty for that.
Yet, from nothing you may come to light, and then grow up with the illusion of being the latter’s children, as well as the flesh’s, composed of the same ability to get anywhere with the speed that hope deserves.
Everything, except nothingness.
Really everything, except to witness the rise of barriers dictated by a logic that only madness can create, and at the same time see the boundaries of your own soul dissolving, to become one with your shadow.
Because where there is nothing, nobody must aspire to anything else.
There is a plan, for nothing, you know?
There has always been and ever will be.
In short, convincing its inhabitants not to exist at all.
At the same time, as monotonous and incessant refrain to share with the seemingly unsuspecting spectators, nothing has happened, that is, everything, until both the negatives will annihilate each other, and the thread that leads to this diabolical labyrinth’s exit, we’ve hidden life and truth in, will be definitely lost.
It’s tiring and very expensive to put on such farcical but tragic game of geographic cards.
It takes important sponsors, suggestive, almost hypnotic choreographies and writers with a strong stomach and a pen supported by regime critics.
In order that those who should dare to stand up for nothing, could be accused of everything, the rules must be written in simple words and, especially, imposed with maniacal assiduity, seeming reasonable to the most doubtful mind.
Where there is nothing, it’s useless to look at.
Where there is nothing, going there is superfluous.
Where there is nothing, nobody lives, and everyone has to do nothing but die...
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