Bumerang - Yazarkafe
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The Dreamers...


The little girl, about ten years old, was in such a hurry while trying to button up her school apron; his hands were tangled from his panic. He rushed out, rubbing his swollen eyes from sleeping. His walking, trying to put his shoes on, made him wobble on the road. Recently, he was constantly waking up late and could not catch the first lesson. It was tiring of his little heart that he had to lie every time, rather than the punishment the teacher gave. This time he would be angrier than ever. He had promised his mother. No matter what happened to him, he would never lie. In his late days, he was hiding in despair behind the lies from the heap of straw against the fire, which blazed with the teacher's gaze.

When he arrived at the school door, he was sweaty from running. Silk strands flowing from her hair made the writing written in an ink of ink on her forehead more distinct. She was looking around with puffy eyes on her red cheeks and was walking timidly down the corridor. His small body came before the class in captivity of a bag that was too heavy to carry. One last time he straightened his apron and collar and leaned his ear lightly against the door. There was no sound inside. He took his purse by the back and hit the door several times with his tiny hands. The silence in the classroom gave way to laughter mingled with whispers as he entered with timid steps. Some of the children were angry with him for being late, some were riveting their mocking looks with laughter. As the little girl prepares to take her place; The teacher started his speech, which silenced the class, chased the laughter, and made the little girl's heart tremble.

''Let stand! Don't sit back! Tired of warning and punishing you over and over again. You are not tired of being late. Get near the board and stand on one leg until the lesson is over. I will do this until I put an end to your irresponsibility... Let me not see you lower your feet!''

The teacher injured a small heart in the middle of the target. A painting of sadness, created by a brutal painter, was sitting in the middle of the classroom. The resuming laughter of the other children was the last blows of the brush struck on the painting.

Resisting the clouds that we're preparing to rain, the little girl moved to the board and when she lifted her feet, the lesson resumed where it left off.

As his tiny feet were running out of cure, the anguish and the bell that ended the lesson finally rang. The children, who rushed to the door like a fire, had long forgotten what they had left behind. While the teacher was collecting his books from the table, there was no room left in the classroom. Without even looking at the little girl's face, she said, "Okay! You can go out, '' he called again as if he suddenly thought what he had to say, to the girl who took a few steps with numb feet.

"Wait! You are late for class every day. This will not go like this! Either quit sleeping or school! I'm tired of you trying to do both at the same time. What kind of mother did you have, unable to prepare you for school, carefree to your future? Although I have called it over and over, I haven't seen it once at parent meetings. I will not let your irresponsibility set an example for other children. Either tidy yourself up or... ''

"Wait! You are late for class every day. This will not go like this! Either quit sleeping or school! I'm tired of you trying to do both at the same time. What kind of mother did you have, unable to prepare you for school, carefree to your future? Although I have called it over and over, I haven't seen it once at parent meetings. I will not let your irresponsibility set an example for other children. Either tidy yourself up or... ''

“Do you want to study? If so, neither you nor us! ''

The little girl's head fell in front of her.

"No, teacher," he said. “I want to read so much. A lot indeed; but I have the same dream every morning.''

`` What are you dreaming about?''

“I see my mother in heaven who left me alone last year. He says he misses me very much, he wants to caress my head with his cotton hands; stretches out his hand, I wake up. ''

After wiping the tears on his cheeks, he sighed deeply and continued his words.

“I miss him so much... Maybe I will see the same dream again, maybe he sleeps again just because the dream continues from where it left off, I don't want to wake up, but the dream does not continue where it left off... ''

He didn't have the strength to tell more. He made the last sentence with his trembling voice.

`` Even in my dreams, I would love to have him caress my head once and hug him to the fullest... ''

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