It is a call. Nothing more than a call. A call to justice, the justice that you cannot see in this world.
It is a fight between you, your instinct to life and the instinct to justice that becomes so powerful, irrepressible.
This scream of justice is such a big howl that you can't suffocate it. It urges because you want justice hic et nunc. You can wait no longer.
That scream perforates your night, and when you wake up it doesn't stop piercing your brain.
It has become a sort of invisible blanket between the world and you. You live wrapped in that blanket.
Injustice is everywhere. You breathe it, you feel it, disguised, mocking at you, laughing at you, it challenges you every moment you live in this false reality.
There are moments, unexpectedly, when something inside you tries to assure you that you don't really mind so much, not so very much, after all.
Justice is not the whole of a man's life.
But then it comes, that thrill, it starts again that whistle drilling your mind. And you can't get over it. It is a sudden jab of red-hot wrath.
For the sake of that justice, of that red hot-hot wrath, he moved toward the convoy escorting the car and launched himself under the wheels with his jacket full.
It was a big bang, whose sinister sound bounced up to the sky.
And he saw the paradise.
Because there is a paradise.
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