Photo Of The Day: 06/02/2011 "The message never came"

As a child, at school, had a child who was always sad. Do not talk much. No laughing ever. Almost did not play. Always suspended. I generated a great curiosity, I respect his expression filled with downcast and melancholy. One day after school, I decided to follow him, to know something more about him. He was heading to the beach. Drew a backpack with books, as if she weighed twice their body. He drew from his pocket a bottle of crystal, green, unlabeled. He seemed to have been filled at some point, some kind of alcohol. He had a note inside was twisted and covered with a cork snapped. He threw with great force, until it is floating and frolicking in the waves. He sat on the sand. Very close to the shore. Looking at infinity. The knees wedged between her tiny arms. He stayed there for quite some time and then just walked sadly to his house. He lived in a ground floor with a small courtyard to street level, surrounded by a scruffy wooden fence. Inside there was shouting. A drunken male voice, was pounding the glass. He came to the door. Waited a few minutes in the doorway, motionless, as if the next thing to happen, was part of a daily script that he knew perfectly.

With violence, opened a side window. A large bottle of green, like the one just launched into the sea, flew out and bounced on one of the bins outside. The boy went to pick it up. He held in his hand, gently pulled the label. He took from his bag a piece of paper, wrote something, curled and inserted inside the glass. The stoppered with cork and put it in the backpack. With trembling hand, introduced a key in the lock of the door and entered his house. Where were you lazy?, Was heard shouting from inside. Leave the boy alone!, A woman's voice snapped. Continued to beat, the sound of furniture, doors, screaming and sobbing. Children and female voices. After silence. Overwhelmed, I returned to the beach. I needed to know what to put in that message floating, traveling to nowhere. Not with little effort, rescued the bottle. Unscrewed the note. "Dad, do not drink more. A mother and I were hurt more you scream and your contempt for your shots. Please quiérenos if only a little. I wish to read this message and understand that your violence, made love in fear and fear to hatred. " My tears soaked the sheet.

Cried helplessly. Of sadness, understanding the reason for his attitude desolate. Of distress, finding that the distress message to a helpless creature, never reach its destination. I ran to my home in despair. I handed the bottle to my mother and explained my horrible discovery. "I will fight for justice to be done," he said. That night I could not sleep, but his words comforted me. I knew that justice would be done.

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Photo: Edurne Iza

Text: Iza Otamendi Onintza

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