Ok, so I really liked Pete's challenge/Haiti plea. REALLY liked it. And when something strikes a chord like that, my immediate reaction is to write something. Also, as it was so inspirational, I shall be donating to the Tearfund Emergency Appeal in aid of the Haiti victims. Little example of how a piece of writing can move someone.
"It was ok, for a while,
My first ten years of life.
Sure, interspersed with the odd and occasional famine, financial difficulties, domestic problems and such like.
But it was ok. I got through it.
No worse for wear, I'd soldier on, and oh how I've come to love the tenacious and unapologetic adrenaline that comes, part and parcel, of the child's spirit.
It's got me through some tough times.
My family too, though not the best off, we did ok, those first ten years.
Yeah yeah, always hungry and nearly always beat, but we were family.
I think that's great, don't you?
We stuck together. Bit of a miracle really.
The glue that held us fast wore off long ago.
Maybe it's force of habit.
My friends and I, we weren't much different.
All lived around the same places,
No difference in the houses, little difference in the homes.
I liked that. It gave us something to share.
And when there's not much around to begin with, that's something.
So, that was me, didn't have much, but didn't need much else.
I certainly didn't want it grabbed off me like that.
No sir. I was quite happy where I was actually, thank you very much.
Human suffering is such a heavy load on the heart.
Makes you collapse, from the inside, gives the pit of your stomach a real run for its money.
I don't like screaming. Not screaming children, screaming sirens, screaming pain.
I hate the way things can just...disappear. Crumble. Vanish.
I liked them where they were. I liked the fact that our houses were all upright and not piles of rubble, that the roads didn't have massive wounds gaping right down the middle.
I liked it when the people weren't crushed under piles and miles of rock.
I even quite liked it when I could breath, without the fear of being suffocated by dust. Good times.
God didn't seem to care about my preferences when He decided to break our island in two.
Maybe it was a mistake.
Maybe He just wasn't looking and His hand...slipped. Or something.
But whatever it was I really wished He hadn't done it because now I'm gone and my family are too. And our house, and our dog, and our back garden that looked onto the sea (which has swallowed it all up now, mind you. Greedy bastard.)
But I don't feel any better, because I know they're all still down there. And they're screaming. And suffering.
And I can't stand it you know? That was a real body blow.
That was below the belt."
Created: Jan 15, 2010Document Media