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They do not know. The children don’t know why that is what happens to them, and not something else. Neither do the parents. And they go on living. And they keep on dragging their feet. On the asphalt or in the mud. And the children step on their shoelaces; they trip, and they fall. They hurt their knees and get dirty, but they get back on their feet and go on. Same as every day. Same as throughout life. Theirs and their parents’. And that of previous generations, who went on with their lives until they were gone. Always. The same. Until something, perhaps, happens. Something that changes everything. Something that occurs or which someone causes that is still surprising, unexpected, even though it was apparent and in hindsight no other outcome seems to have been possible. It is as if they do not see, as if they do not hear, as if life brushes their skin and moves on. As if they have become accustomed to the abrasions, the burns, the bruises. As if lethargy prevents them from recognizing that this is their life. And what happens changes everything. And then they realize it could indeed be worse.

Claudia Hercman