CAMELIA CONSTANTINVAGRANT CHILDA cold, void night lays down on Earth, making the frightful rumble of the wind sound like thunder strikes. Not a single person in the street...just a vagrant, ragged child, shuddering and trembling withfear. He can hardly walk, feeble and hungry, banished by all the peoplein his way.He knocks at the doors hoping to get shelter or mercy. Some people open and offer him some water or a loafof bread, some others just chase him away. He eventually sits down on the threshold of a house, weary andall in tears. His teeth chatter with cold and the fear that the shadows of the night haveturned into monsters hunting for him. ‘Who are you?’ a man whoseems to have come out of nowhere, asks the little boy.The child fearfully shrugs his shoulders, his eyes sparkling with fever: ‘I have no answer to that’, he whispers... ‘Where do you live?’ ‘Don’t you have parents to take care of you?’ The little boy shakes his head, ‘I have no parents, no home...nothing.’ ‘Of course you do’. The child, with his eyes widely open, looks above towards the voice he can hear. The shininessreflected by that man is almost blinding him. He backs away, frightened,closer to the wall in his back. ‘Don’t be afraid, I am just someone toprotect you, your guardianangel’The angel points to the way he should walk, saying: ‘That is the way to your home’. The little boy turns around to face theangel and thank him, but... there’s no one there, he has vanished! Now, he no longer feels cold or hunger, fear or pain. He starts running on the path he has been shown until he gets to agiant, metal gate. He notices, the beautiful flowers and the greengrass along the walls while he hesitatingly pushes the heavy gate andsteps in, faltering but hopeful- he’s finally home! He enters and then he remains still- instead of the warm, familyplace he has expected to see, he finds himself surrounded by saddeningscenery: ruins, darkness, a lifeless garden with its flowers faded... aterrifying nightmare. The little boy falls down on his knees shedding bitter tears. He lays hisforehead on the cold pavement/ ground, his feeble body shivering with somuch pain.Too many trials and tribulations after having wandered for so long. ‘What are you doing here?’ The child stands up, more confidently now. He notices a grey-haired old man standing propped up ona staff. ‘This is where I live. Who are you?’the old man continues. The boy answers staring into the old man’s eyes: ‘I am Peter Pan and I am back home.’‘It’s too late; the very heart of your home is no longer here’.The child says nodding ‘I don’t believe you, who are you?’‘I am TIME’... ‘Don’t let the Peter Pan in your heart die. In every tearMichael has shed there is one of us and this is why these tears are sosignificant to God when He judges the ones guilty of his death.I am Peter Pan ...YOU are Peter Pan...WE are Peter Pan... TRANSLATE IN ENGLISH-ADRIANA FULEA
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