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| The cold in the heart |
Six people, caught by chance in a dark cold night, on a deserted island, they found themselves each with a piece of wood in his hand.
There was no other wood in the island lost in the mists of the North Sea.
At the center of a small fire slowly dying due to lack of fuel.
The cold became more and more unbearable.
The first person was a woman, but a flicker of flame lit up the face of a dark skinned immigrants.
The woman noticed it.
He clenched his fist around his piece of wood.
Why consume its wood to heat a slacker come to steal bread and work?
The man who was at his side he saw one that was not of his party. [...]
Never ever would have wasted his nice piece of wood for a political opponent.
The third person was badly dressed and wrapped in even more greasy coat, hiding his piece of wood. His neighbor was certainly rich.
Why did he use his branch to an idle rich guy?
The rich man sat thinking of his assets, the two villas, the four cars and substantial bank account.
The batteries were discharged his cell phone, he had to retain his piece of wood at all costs and not to use it for those lazy and inept.
The dark face of the immigrant was a look of revenge in the dim light of the fire is off.
He clenched his fist around his piece of wood.
He knew that all those white despised him.
He would never put his piece of wood into the embers of the fire. It was time for revenge.
The last member of that group was a sad kind narrow-minded and distrustful .
Did nothing if not for profit.
Giving only to those who give, it was his favorite motto.
Do you have to pay dearly for this piece of wood, he thought.
They found them so, with the pieces of wood in tight fists, real estate in death by frostbite.
Had not died from the cold outside, had died from the cold within.
Maybe even in your family, in your community , in your presence there is a fire that is dying. Certainly squeeze a piece of wood in your hands. What will you do?
At the center of a small fire slowly dying due to lack of fuel.
The cold became more and more unbearable.
The first person was a woman, but a flicker of flame lit up the face of a dark skinned immigrants.
The woman noticed it.
He clenched his fist around his piece of wood.
Why consume its wood to heat a slacker come to steal bread and work?
The man who was at his side he saw one that was not of his party. [...]
Never ever would have wasted his nice piece of wood for a political opponent.
The third person was badly dressed and wrapped in even more greasy coat, hiding his piece of wood. His neighbor was certainly rich.
Why did he use his branch to an idle rich guy?
The rich man sat thinking of his assets, the two villas, the four cars and substantial bank account.
The batteries were discharged his cell phone, he had to retain his piece of wood at all costs and not to use it for those lazy and inept.
The dark face of the immigrant was a look of revenge in the dim light of the fire is off.
He clenched his fist around his piece of wood.
He knew that all those white despised him.
He would never put his piece of wood into the embers of the fire. It was time for revenge.
The last member of that group was a sad kind narrow-minded and distrustful .
Did nothing if not for profit.
Giving only to those who give, it was his favorite motto.
Do you have to pay dearly for this piece of wood, he thought.
They found them so, with the pieces of wood in tight fists, real estate in death by frostbite.
Had not died from the cold outside, had died from the cold within.
Maybe even in your family, in your community , in your presence there is a fire that is dying. Certainly squeeze a piece of wood in your hands. What will you do?
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