Brain storm

“I think of drawing a brain-storm each time I’m about to tell a story… But honest storyteller doesn’t calculate… All I can remember is that it was a cruelly hot day of July. Some people with guns hated us. Then one of them took my father away; as he pushed my father away he looked back at me. I was afraid of the joy I saw in his eyes, and a sense of promise that he won’t do it quickly. Then my father caught my stare, mimicking me not to worry, and not to forget. And I remembered it well. Well enough to tell a story of how such knowledge can be tough. And how it must not be repeated!”

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