I remember two kids that were in my neighbourhood just across the street. From me. I was friends with them when the stopped coming to play with me. What I remember is that the children's home was filled with religion and terrorist art work, a pick true of Osama bin Laden and frame calligraphy of violent poetry. I have seen this mother. Tree Ana and nils like s**t. When the boy beat on his sister because of the lack of crayons, the other came out screaming and yelling in Chechen probably swear words; slipped the girl and stretched the boy ears without the age of ear expanders. That was that the last I saw of them. One even after a fight about mother home I go to bed playing with the children a cross the street. I woke up at midnight my usual time to get and go for a walk to cool after math assignments only to be confronted with the sound blood curdling screaming and crying. And the mother yelling at them. I saw that the basement light was on. There were to beds where I assumed the children sleep but they were chained up to a wall with Arabic calligraphy depicting violent poetry the same crap I saw upset, but the children where tortured. One them Ana, the girl looked at me with despair as she hung there dying. She was the first to go. Then as if seeing a car crash or train wreck I couldn't tear my eyes away from what I was about to hear and see. She said I think don't quote me as I a, rusty in Chechen but she said some thing about if you cannot be jihadists you cannot live. The boy nils says to his tormenting mother "we just wanted to be kids". She struck him repeated in in the legs and left him for dead. It looked like he died. That wouldn't be the last. Of the children. Because I was telling my father one night "2+2=f**k you" and he sent me to my room to sleep with out dinner. Then I woke up in the midnight hour again and actually saw the children in pale pastel colours, almost see through as the played in the street as if nothing really happened. I was so spooked and I let a swear word. Slip out. My mom heard me. And said, "what is wrong dear," I said that I saw the children been tortured and killed, and that I just saw their ghosts. "If you see something like that again you need to tell us," my mom said. Ok I thought But I kept seeing this horrible act in my minds eyes as I slept for 23 years, I was just 8 years old addthe time and was exposed to death. The despair in the girls eyes will haunt me for ever as this is what PTSD does.
Obrigado pela leitura!
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