Even today, if I close my eyes and I start to think, I can still see it, like an action movie:
Balas.
"They shoot blacks, or not fire?
Impossible to say: I have never felt so alive, so much so that it is impossible to see anything more than that. Or do I have plugged ears to receive as much host? I said, impossible to know.
I run a lot. Like a cheetah, a gazelle Thompson, and competing against blacks, already known to be the fastest. From time to time, jump gravel ground into my eyes: yes, it must be that they are shooting.
The villa of Charo.
Twenty meters.
Ten.
Jump the fence, screaming in Cameroon.
The piece of glass door that separates the dining terrace. Only one option: to throw against it, through it, get rid of the curtains, attached to my body as a network game, and keep running, hiding.
I do. Jump in iron.
may be the last thing to do. Or maybe not.
On the air, turn my head and I still see black people, perched on the fence at that time.
but had not counted on one thing: after the curtain comes the metal gate to protect the house of the Romanian winter.
and was closed.
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