walked with small steps, small as his feet. Barefoot, a microbe compared to the immensity of the earth beneath him, the boy was playing to stay in balance over some wooden planks. Splinters and lumps of material were not a problem because him, barefoot, always has been. Playing, smiling, the sun had become red and penetrated to the middle ground, hopping between the gaps left by the cross-axis to the ground like a kangaroo, then fell, it was a laugh and get up to start over. The silence around him was complete, the few cries that sounded issued undisturbed km.
Time stands still in this place hundreds of years ago, perhaps thousands, seems to see the earth in its early days, without any visual and noise pollution caused by man. The sun and moon are larger, the earth greener, the air smells good, the child smiles. Despite all of this is real, it is actually an illusion.
The wooden planks on the ground are the remains of shacks destroyed, and once was a village here. The air smells because wind and weather have removed the human remains that until recently lay on the ground. The land is green because of heavy rains that have washed red blood of tens of souls. The baby smiles, his eyes very young have forgotten images so horrible to make them look dream. He smiles because do not remember who until recently stroked his forehead before going to sleep. He smiles because the deep cut in the small arm now hurts the most.
I do not know whether to call this a land forgotten by God, however, admit that the world has already done so long ago it seems a step forward
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