BY WRITER MATTEO DI GENNARO
Right now, as you are reading these lines, thousands of children are being torn away from their families.
Children raised on the streets in the indifference of the world, are kidnapped and taken to hell; no one will cry for them.
Young lives become slaves of unscrupulous men; forced into prostitution to satisfy perversion and greed. Locked up in malodorous cells where the deafening silence of terror reigns.
For them, there is no way out. Hope ceases to exist.
Despite everything, however, the courage of policemen, ready to sacrifice their lives to save even one, of those children, reminds the whole world, that we cannot, under any circumstances, turn our backs on such an atrocity.
Every tear that falls down the face of a child is a crime for which we are all responsible.
Excerpt from the novel
Not far from Varadero – Cardenas. Cuba.
A scorching August morning suffused with heavy sun and surreal silence imbued every grain of the white Caribbean beach with evil. Everything stood still in deafening silence; even the sea remained helpless before the drama that was about to unfold just a few steps away. A squalid hut of horrors, a soulless prison of lives yet to blossom, sternly guarded the helpless body of Angela, a little girl only 10 years old: yet another innocent creature snatched from life. His existence ceased to make sense six months earlier in a Havana market crowded with tourists, busy buying a cutout of paradise. Then life did have meaning. Angela’s big black eyes peered curiously at the passage of time while her long brown hair danced with the wind weaving wondrous acrobatics. Her world was made of small, great joys, endless blue skies and pristine prairies of dreams sprinkled with whipped cream, of a dance, of found love, of a child, of a job. Dreams to be realized that would simply stay that way or suddenly, without warning, come true; dreams that time would sprinkle with silver. Angela furtively secluded herself in the company of her cream and pistachio ice cream, playfully hiding from the almost always watchful eyes of Dad and Mom; for a moment the desire for freedom took over. That brief feeling of freedom was the last memory of a life broken forever, and that fresh cream and pistachio ice 5 cream, remained at the edge of an anonymous sidewalk slowly melting into the indifference of the world. Suddenly everything changed, and the blackest hell took over his time. Huddled above a scorching wooden floor overlaid with a thousand whys that would never be answered, Angela was covered only in a small black loincloth, and her frightened eyes, trembling ceaselessly, followed the faint convulsions of a now exhausted body, tested by endless abuse…