Micas and the Danger of the Far Right
Versandkostenfrei!
Versandfertig in über 4 Wochen
16,99 €
inkl. MwSt.
PAYBACK Punkte
8 °P sammeln!
Monsters don't just grow in silence. Sometimes they take root in the sly whispers of deceitful words, in the subtle seduction of comfortable speeches and in polished phrases that hide rusty blades. Micas didn't know it yet, but on that quiet night, under the spectral light of the television flashing in a restless cadence, one of the many human abysses that history insists on repeating was being drawn. The words, which at first meant nothing more than a background noise, quickly turned into verbal barbs, inciting awkward, pointed questions that were almost indecent in their devastating simplici...
Monsters don't just grow in silence. Sometimes they take root in the sly whispers of deceitful words, in the subtle seduction of comfortable speeches and in polished phrases that hide rusty blades. Micas didn't know it yet, but on that quiet night, under the spectral light of the television flashing in a restless cadence, one of the many human abysses that history insists on repeating was being drawn. The words, which at first meant nothing more than a background noise, quickly turned into verbal barbs, inciting awkward, pointed questions that were almost indecent in their devastating simplicity: "Daddy, what is the far right?" A question thrown with the perverse innocence that only a child masters, capable of dismantling the false peace of a routine dinner. Daddy, with his beard carefully trimmed, like someone trying to control the world through small details, felt his pulse quicken in his temples. He wasn't ready to dissect the elegant cruelty of politics in front of such a clear-eyed son. But innocence never waits for permission, it invades us, brutal and gentle, demanding answers. Each word chosen was a fragile attempt to encircle an ancient monster, a creature made of fear and prejudice, always lurking, its claws buried in the fertile soil of oblivion. At that moment, Daddy became the involuntary guardian of a collective memory and the bearer of a testimony that burned his tongue like red-hot iron. As he spoke about Hitler, Mussolini and fear transformed into politics, he found himself on the edge of a cliff, holding his son's hand as he explained that horror sometimes wears a gentle smile and speaks beautiful words. Micas listened, fascinated and restless, like someone watching fire for the first time: mesmerized and not fully understanding the danger hidden in the beauty of the flames. It was impossible to go back and impossible to pretend that the moment hadn't happened. The little boy's curiosity was now an open road and every sentence his father said was like throwing small stones into a calm lake, causing endless ripples of curiosity and understanding.
Andere Kunden interessierten sich für
