Although the evening was coming to an end the relentless heat continued without succumbing to the march of time, because their origin was beyond the powers of the sun was a heat sprang from the bowels each of the demonstrators who crowded around the main stage. It was a warmth, a common heat, a child born of a great brotherhood of strangers. Cheeks painted red, blood red, like the flags waving in the air, hands made by bold, revolutionary and idealistic. We all breathe the heat, regardless of class or race. I breathed with joy, because it was yours, was a common good, a strong bond invisible but palpable, that met, that kept them together even though they were separated, which obliged them to take their own individual value for the collective welfare.
A musical set stoked these arms from the stage. Ali Primera lyrics passed from mouth to mouth, starting on the vocals, augmented by the speakers, and ending in a small, located in the rear of a large group of people, that hummed through ignorance of letters. Then, amidst great applause, took over care of all a venerable old man who touched their hearts to recite, with the accent humble and clear of the good men of this village, a beautiful poem of social character of the poet Andrew E. White. And the irrepressible tears from some, who tried in vain to hide with a soft brush of the forearm when the final lines fell like needles in the soul, evaporated to enter contact with infinite heat, and integrated with the endless applause lavished the good orator.
Cold and serene was the face of the man who watched the crowd from the window of a building. His eyes, more human-eagle, moved slowly in their sockets, watching them all, from one to another, without stopping to none. At his side, resting on the floor, was a medium-sized brown bag, the contents soon attracted interest. He took his hands and opened it. In each of the halves, locked by leather straps, they were the parts of a building block rifle. As a ritual, with precise movements and quiet, he began separate each packing: barrel, scope, silencer ...
The mood of the group of people came to a head. The main speaker, a young revolutionary named Alberto Alvarado, just sit in front of the microphone from the podium, ready to proclaim his rousing speech. Received poor applause and smiling, clapping too, saying: "My most sincere respect and love to you all ..." Whenever
released a piece, the rest with integrated controller movements, forming a charged object a deadly form in his hands, aligning a puzzle of steel, wood, lens and screws, gunpowder and death. Now his gaze alternated between the mechanical work of his fingers long and dry and popular singing group in his innocence. When Albert went on stage, a slight shudder ice furrowed his face. Focused the eyes of birds of prey in their target. It would be an easy target. The path that the projectile would be free of obstacles. In his hands hung the rifle and fully armed. Just missing the rear sight graduated: 500 meters ...
"What an honor to be able to address these words!" Said Alberto Alvarado to the crowd, "Well, I have some things crossed on the chest, not to share with you, they will end up killing me ...". "Long live Albert, long live!" Shouted the people, sharing some of its heat red and black with the young revolutionary. "They say," continued Albert, "that our struggle is not going anywhere ... Who, having a healthy view, may believe that the struggle of this people, tired of being humiliated and excluded, giant, when necessity requires, warlike, because we have in our veins the blood of freedom, tell me who, not is completely crazy, you may think that our struggle to seek social equality is a futile effort? ". "No! They shouted in unison. "" But I I say, "continued Albert," which are quite those of us despise. Despise us because we are poor, because we are mestizos, because we have not had the opportunity to learn more than to survive ... is enough, gentlemen, because they have multiplied, and multiplied because they eat the handful of food is lacking in our tables because they have wrapped their children with cute pink blanket was taken from us because they have learned a thousand things in the books that allow us to read ... and so, because they got used to seeing ourselves as the stray dog \u200b\u200bwho is humble and tail that moves them, because they believe that poverty is synonymous with ignorance and stupidity, because we see them as pets do what the masters are prescribed, do not believe our social revolution arrives anywhere. They will not believe it, hear it well, because deep down they fear us, and prefer to suppose them stupid and disabled before they face ... afraid that we organize ourselves, afraid that one day discover the true power that hold our hands of farmers and workers, you have fear that one day will reclaim what the eyes of God belongs to us: a dignified and just world where we have a good life for ourselves and our children ... "
From the window the sniper performed the last adjustments to his rifle. He was a professional, and his motto was to never use more than one ammo for each job. Fit the butt of the gun to his shoulder, gently placed the index finger on the trigger guard and closed his left eye while the right closer to the scope. The distant world is so close to his eagle eye, which could see a drop of sweat that furrowed the face of Alberto. Moved the index finger, serene and accurate, the trigger guard the trigger ...
"... Recently I heard a heartbreaking news, my brethren, "continued Albert. It turns out that five hundred, five hundred richest men and women of the land must be in as much money as HALF THE WORLD POPULATION fewer benefits. What seems such a thing? What do you think that only five hundred men have equal resources to three billion human beings? At that, I wonder: Is it that justice and freedom advocated by the extreme right of our country? Is it that the way that everyone is equal? Is it this what they call an emancipated world of possibilities? Could it be that they are more human than any of us? But why continue saying things that you know, we all know, we discover every time we suffer hunger or exhaustion haunts us, or illness before time kills us? Why keep complaining about the premature aging and unjustified that we have to sacrifice in inhuman work we do for and to them, in exchange for some petty coins with which to survive another day? ... no, my friends, brothers of my soul ... not worth it to continue complaining, or turning over and over again on our own misery without doing anything out of it ... We can not waste any more time ... I beg that we'll dry the tears we cry green for all the suffering endured, and we decide to fight, without rest, to achieve a fairer, more rational, because Venezuela, the country poor wound will not be truly ours as food that the extreme right boot swallows sighted in their trash, "Because jorgito already filled", is better than our petty dinners at the holidays ... "Nothing else could
fighter Alberto Alvarado add to his speech. A bullet struck blind air and crashed into his skull. A few grams of lead discharged by a glacial finger, blinded, forever, the life of the young revolutionary. It was the shock of the reasons for the oligarchy gagged, powerful, inexorable any reply speech against the humble peasant, the worker, the peddler, the unemployed, the excluded majority of our people ...
The heat suffocated the crowd went extinct along with the life of Alberto ... in its wake was an endless thirst and large, a sadness of orphans, a piercing scream, a single pound tucked withered hearts of the crowd, which implored its nostalgia: "Justice ... Justice! ".
A musical set stoked these arms from the stage. Ali Primera lyrics passed from mouth to mouth, starting on the vocals, augmented by the speakers, and ending in a small, located in the rear of a large group of people, that hummed through ignorance of letters. Then, amidst great applause, took over care of all a venerable old man who touched their hearts to recite, with the accent humble and clear of the good men of this village, a beautiful poem of social character of the poet Andrew E. White. And the irrepressible tears from some, who tried in vain to hide with a soft brush of the forearm when the final lines fell like needles in the soul, evaporated to enter contact with infinite heat, and integrated with the endless applause lavished the good orator.
Cold and serene was the face of the man who watched the crowd from the window of a building. His eyes, more human-eagle, moved slowly in their sockets, watching them all, from one to another, without stopping to none. At his side, resting on the floor, was a medium-sized brown bag, the contents soon attracted interest. He took his hands and opened it. In each of the halves, locked by leather straps, they were the parts of a building block rifle. As a ritual, with precise movements and quiet, he began separate each packing: barrel, scope, silencer ...
The mood of the group of people came to a head. The main speaker, a young revolutionary named Alberto Alvarado, just sit in front of the microphone from the podium, ready to proclaim his rousing speech. Received poor applause and smiling, clapping too, saying: "My most sincere respect and love to you all ..." Whenever
released a piece, the rest with integrated controller movements, forming a charged object a deadly form in his hands, aligning a puzzle of steel, wood, lens and screws, gunpowder and death. Now his gaze alternated between the mechanical work of his fingers long and dry and popular singing group in his innocence. When Albert went on stage, a slight shudder ice furrowed his face. Focused the eyes of birds of prey in their target. It would be an easy target. The path that the projectile would be free of obstacles. In his hands hung the rifle and fully armed. Just missing the rear sight graduated: 500 meters ...
"What an honor to be able to address these words!" Said Alberto Alvarado to the crowd, "Well, I have some things crossed on the chest, not to share with you, they will end up killing me ...". "Long live Albert, long live!" Shouted the people, sharing some of its heat red and black with the young revolutionary. "They say," continued Albert, "that our struggle is not going anywhere ... Who, having a healthy view, may believe that the struggle of this people, tired of being humiliated and excluded, giant, when necessity requires, warlike, because we have in our veins the blood of freedom, tell me who, not is completely crazy, you may think that our struggle to seek social equality is a futile effort? ". "No! They shouted in unison. "" But I I say, "continued Albert," which are quite those of us despise. Despise us because we are poor, because we are mestizos, because we have not had the opportunity to learn more than to survive ... is enough, gentlemen, because they have multiplied, and multiplied because they eat the handful of food is lacking in our tables because they have wrapped their children with cute pink blanket was taken from us because they have learned a thousand things in the books that allow us to read ... and so, because they got used to seeing ourselves as the stray dog \u200b\u200bwho is humble and tail that moves them, because they believe that poverty is synonymous with ignorance and stupidity, because we see them as pets do what the masters are prescribed, do not believe our social revolution arrives anywhere. They will not believe it, hear it well, because deep down they fear us, and prefer to suppose them stupid and disabled before they face ... afraid that we organize ourselves, afraid that one day discover the true power that hold our hands of farmers and workers, you have fear that one day will reclaim what the eyes of God belongs to us: a dignified and just world where we have a good life for ourselves and our children ... "
From the window the sniper performed the last adjustments to his rifle. He was a professional, and his motto was to never use more than one ammo for each job. Fit the butt of the gun to his shoulder, gently placed the index finger on the trigger guard and closed his left eye while the right closer to the scope. The distant world is so close to his eagle eye, which could see a drop of sweat that furrowed the face of Alberto. Moved the index finger, serene and accurate, the trigger guard the trigger ...
"... Recently I heard a heartbreaking news, my brethren, "continued Albert. It turns out that five hundred, five hundred richest men and women of the land must be in as much money as HALF THE WORLD POPULATION fewer benefits. What seems such a thing? What do you think that only five hundred men have equal resources to three billion human beings? At that, I wonder: Is it that justice and freedom advocated by the extreme right of our country? Is it that the way that everyone is equal? Is it this what they call an emancipated world of possibilities? Could it be that they are more human than any of us? But why continue saying things that you know, we all know, we discover every time we suffer hunger or exhaustion haunts us, or illness before time kills us? Why keep complaining about the premature aging and unjustified that we have to sacrifice in inhuman work we do for and to them, in exchange for some petty coins with which to survive another day? ... no, my friends, brothers of my soul ... not worth it to continue complaining, or turning over and over again on our own misery without doing anything out of it ... We can not waste any more time ... I beg that we'll dry the tears we cry green for all the suffering endured, and we decide to fight, without rest, to achieve a fairer, more rational, because Venezuela, the country poor wound will not be truly ours as food that the extreme right boot swallows sighted in their trash, "Because jorgito already filled", is better than our petty dinners at the holidays ... "Nothing else could
fighter Alberto Alvarado add to his speech. A bullet struck blind air and crashed into his skull. A few grams of lead discharged by a glacial finger, blinded, forever, the life of the young revolutionary. It was the shock of the reasons for the oligarchy gagged, powerful, inexorable any reply speech against the humble peasant, the worker, the peddler, the unemployed, the excluded majority of our people ...
The heat suffocated the crowd went extinct along with the life of Alberto ... in its wake was an endless thirst and large, a sadness of orphans, a piercing scream, a single pound tucked withered hearts of the crowd, which implored its nostalgia: "Justice ... Justice! ".
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