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War of the deaf - Prologue

By Laura Costantini e Loredana Falcone - Maprosti & Lisanti Publisher


Since the hole in the fence began to flow a small crowd of ragged T-shirt. The CD player that Sweta Ali proudly showed his classmates had finished with the draw around him the most how many kids pass the headphones could be satisfied before the end of the recreation.
"I gave it to my brother. Rhamul gave me for my birthday, "he kept repeating.
Not that the other persons, at least not since the last successful Planetfunk that echoed almost to distortion in the ear ...
about the same volume, the same song, Who Said, Shaul helped to imagine a completely different world beyond the hull of the tank. A world where a boy as he spent his eighteen years to fuck around with friends rather than waiting for the order to unleash a storm of fire on civilian homes. The crawler was stuck in a road that was just enough to contain it. The goal, as far as I knew Shaul, was a shed where members of the Brigades of Al-Aqsa Martyrs preparing explosives for their attacks. He knew that area of \u200b\u200bEast Jerusalem while he was still a boy, had become a duty, along with his fellow bravado, to prove his mettle by going to exchange with Palestinian children throwing stones. He also knew that between their position and the goal were civilian homes, and especially a school. He was sure that if he turned off the CD player, he could hear the noise of schoolchildren spent in the recreation yard ...
"How lucky you to have a brother Rhamul size, "said Yunis, fascinated by the glow of silver from the sun drew small player as he tried to ask for the courage to touch it.
"Rhamul is very strong," Ali inflation. "When this country we will be in the hands of Palestinians, he will be a very important person, the right arm of Rais, because it is a great warrior of Islam. And then I will buy a Playstation with a bunch of games! "
" I swear that I'll play it! "
" Sure. You are my friend and Rhamul always say that friends are sacred and that we must share what we have with friends. "Grabbed
Yunis ball and stretched his hands toward the CD player.
"Five minutes ..." assured by the disc from the beginning again. Even

Shaul would gladly listened to the cd from the beginning, but at that moment the intercom began to croak orders. Although the approach maneuver had been carried out with great care and on Saturday, the day when Palestinians hardly expected retaliatory action by the Israelis, the surprise was going to fuck off. They had to act now and the commander ordered him to prepare to fire the second coordinate set.
"Lord, here we will also take the school ..."
"These are the orders, soldier. "
" But this time the children are all there. "
" Shit, Levy, I gave you an order, run it! "
Shaul was tempted to say that those same words have been repeated ad nauseum during the Nuremberg trials. His grandfather had told him. But he knew that would not be served. Set the coordinates, but imperceptibly raised the bar, hoping that the bullets were flying over those kids, encouraging them to save themselves ....
"Yunis, the master calls ..."
"We expect that all fell within the other, come on!"
They had each a headset, the volume to the fullest extent player's feet and trying to keep pace with steps to improvising music that belonged to another world. Virtually
not heard the whistle of the cannon. The blow is struck in the narrow alley between the school yard and shed, causing a hail of red-hot shrapnel. Ali saw the sparkle and thought they were beautiful, much nicer than any video game. I feel no pain. He managed to realize, before dark, the game was over.

Editor's note: Any small errors are caused by inaccuracies of typing. The song was copied from the book and not by copying and pasting ....

Disclaimer: courtesy of Laura Costantini e Loredana Falcone - All rights reserved

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THE KISS OF ANGELA

of Francesco Scipione

sleep I was leaving, I took hand in hand consciousness, the world reappeared. But it was not complete, there was the usual use or gnawing on awakening, it was as if everything is mixed, something was wrong. I knew what it was, I knew that pain memory. The opposite was increasingly dense pulsating and began to take hold of me. The leg pain, nausea, lightheadedness. Still, once again, I thought, I turned to look at Sandra, who was sleeping quietly, at peace with itself, with me, with the world. I tried to get up and go out on the couch watching television, hoping to Pallos to find something so I can sleep again. An hour passed, but the situation showed no signs of improvement, indeed. I tried to take a shower, hot for a while 'I gave relief for only a little', not enough. Six in the morning, had six in the morning and I wanted to disappear with my pain, look for a dark ravine to scream and cry no more in silence. The head began to spin for the pain. I was at the point of no return. Sandra awoke with a kiss and I saw immediately understand the situation. He jumped up and got dressed to run, but these gestures seem to me to put on glasses as a priest. I went down the stairs slowly with the side that throbbed more and more violent, with no respect, as if to prove who was the strongest.


The machine was of course as far as possible, where fate had given the gift of a car all the time at which they fall. Walking became painful to breathe, think. Can not wait to hear the Toradol come in and sweep away all my veins. A few hundred meters and I would have taken revenge. I tried to smoke half a cigarette for distraction, but the nausea made me turn off almost immediately. Sandra was driving and turned occasionally to look at me without speaking with deep respect reached out to touch the leg. He knows when I'm bad I do not want to be touched, but still wanted me to know it was there. But I knew it, and still suffer from more.

arrived at the triage booth almost bent in a low voice. And I saw her, round face, hair, tail, arms crossed over his chest as he spoke with fellow nurses. Angela smiled at me and recognized me, between the beautiful and fun. Immediately pressed the button to access all'astanteria. The automatic doors opened with a breath and the smell of disinfectant greeted me in that group of pain varied and dramatically real, where everyone is serious, where everyone is wrong about yourself and where you're hurt more than others.

Angela took me to a stretcher, made me lie down and disappeared shortly after giving me a reassuring pat on the shoulder. He went back to my personal watch, after about an hour, but they were only a few minutes. In a small plastic tray shaped bean was everything you need to win my battle bibitone a half liter of saline labeled "Toradol, Antra, Rilaten, a cannula, a venous catheter, two blood collection tubes, two patches and a tourniquet. I prepared my right arm for the win. The needle went in with indescribable grace, as though asking permission, as if trying not to bother with more pain. And so sweet as a kiss between two lovers at the first meeting. Angela smiled made me sit in the hallway outside the visiting rooms, and passing, threw a blind eye to bibitone waiting for it to end, waiting for my face pulled by yet pain go away. Three quarters of the drip, the pain eased, I began to think, to be hungry, to feel alive. Sandra figured in the waiting room reading a newspaper or watch television with the volume too low to be heard and too high to remain silent in the early morning of early summer. The sun filtering through the windows automatic torn from some patients disappointed. Drunks and tramps began to pack up and leave their beds at night. Angela was to close off the drip and the needle cannula, while the doctor on duty drew up another piece of my collection of reports. Battle won, at least for now, until next Angela chaste kiss to my veins.

Disclaimer: This story is the intellectual property of the author. Although not covered by copyright, is the fruit of his genius.

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EYE, THIS POST MAY irritates severely non-smokers. NOT A CASE 'WAS WRITTEN BY MY GOAL' DARK, smoking convinced.

of Laura & Lory

I was born in the 60s, when the cigarette was a status symbol, a clear sign of emancipation for women and macho for men. He was smoking everywhere in public, in meeting places, cinemas, buses and even in hospitals. There was no respect for non-smokers, studies of active and passive smoking were to come and, even worse, there was even compared to the health of children. The blondes were celebrated in the newspapers, advertisements, movies .... who among us can forget the great Bogart?

The 70's brought to the fore another type of smoke, the hippies at Woodstock immortalized it passed with guns as easily as children, had turned the bottle of Coca Cola. In the 80
something began to move, they began to talk about the damage that smoking causes, its close link with the onset of lung cancer and vascular diseases. Timidly went to the house to the fore the first contest, the proposed restrictions, no more smoking on public transport (but you could smoke on planes and trains), hospitals (except in the waiting rooms) and in some public office.
With 90 years came the realization that he went behind the first and prohibitions, as a sort of side effect, the two crusaders in the fight against smoking, and Veronesi Sirchia. Illuminated by two ministers to the smoke-free laws in the new millennium the pace was quick
... But this is history that belongs to the past, most recently last limitation we imposed on smokers in quell'isoletta fishing that is dear old England: the ban on smoking in your car. Of course the ban is part of a broader campaign for road safety but, as usual, is part of the discussion on land is much broader than that of personal freedom. That's right, my dear health-conscious, why is not it a coincidence that one of the worst enemies of a cigarette that was Adolf Hitler (his anti-smoking campaign was intended to preserve the health of the Aryan race) from all of us known as the greatest defender of human rights ... is not it?!?
am a smoker and I said yes to the anti-smoking law, it was unthinkable to entrust such a delicate matter of common sense people, Italians, you know, the threats they need to behave like good children. But now we're really exaggerating! Although it is true that it is dangerous to drive with a cigarette between your fingers is just as dangerous to remove his hand from the steering wheel to place it on the thigh of your girl, it's dangerous to take off that annoying snots that will obstruct the nostril as a truck sideways in the Frejus tunnel, it is dangerous to blow your nose, scratch my ass, check the hairstyle mirror, listen to the stereo, talking on the phone with the headset though, it is dangerous even to think about your caxxi! Yes, because any distractions in the car can cost you your life, not just the fumarti a cigarette.
We're really scraping the bottom of the barrel ... to reach this step to ban smoking in our house (in the U.S. there are apartment buildings banned smoking)! Not just put them in front of the specter of cancer, not just ghettoized off the premises, the subject of the gaze of those accusers have maintained the purity of their lungs (poor deluded ...), not enough smaronarci with television specials and public service announcements, the biggest joke is sell our beloved 20 enemies / friends in a package that is a hymn to the entreaties, strictly designer State Monopoly! Yes, because in spite of all legislation passed and to be launched, is the state to ensure that we may never our daily dose of poison, is the state to make money on our health. And then, let's face it, that brought her is a smart package that is neither in heaven nor on earth, good only for the jokes on us ... (the one you know of someone who enters a tobacco, cigarettes and takes on the package reads: smoking causes impotence. Then back on his feet and asks shyly at the tobacconist: I could have those with cancer, please?)
Smoking is a vice condemned (I agree!), you should stop smoking (condivido!), you must protect others from our smoke (well said!), but I would add, not even the case to let each of us decides to death that he wants to die?
No, I'm responding, because the smoker who is ill with lung cancer is a cost to public health. No more alcoholic who becomes ill with cirrhosis of the liver, I answer, no more obese you do an overdose of cannoli, but nobody came up with a law prohibiting the selling of alcohol or prohibit people with diabetes, to enter the colesteroglicemici pastry. Perhaps of stroke or diabetic coma and is allowed to die of emphysema is not it?
What we're really pulping bales, non-smoking loved ones, not so much the laws which, I repeat, when for the Protection of non-smokers are valid, what we are drilling the brown is the invasion of our free will, is constantly being singled out, being constantly called into question. In essence, the smoke is a choice, not shared, but voluntary. It possible that a poor man can not smoke a cigarette in peace without someone feels the need to give him the moral?!
I once read on a lighter: smoking takes away the pain in the ass ... now, alas, even this is no longer true!

Disclaimer: This story is the intellectual property of the author. Although not covered by copyright, is the fruit of his genius.

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Hello everyone and thank you ....

... very much for the applications received. It means that someone still has something to say and I feel very refreshed. I will begin to publish on the blog shortly, in the order arrival of the material. It will take some 'time because they do not want to be a simple copy / paste, especially for things that go to "plunder" from blog friends.
I embrace you and I thank you
Francis

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How nice write ....

I think I've always had two passions in life: reading and writing. When I was young, internet, blogs and social mischief that we all use today with varying degrees of expertise were in the mind of God so filled diaries, notebooks, napkins and pizza bar with weird but romantic (in the sense of epic ) phrases, feelings and moods.
This blog was created in the ill-concealed ambition that each of us has much to say, regardless of form and method of expression. I wish none of this "would be lost like tears in rain"

Francesco Scipione

PS: For those who will give me their "literary delusions", please no politics, no PAPY, none of the sadness of mind, every day we are forced to suffer from pennivendoli regime. THANK YOU.