Last Steps

„This is our land“

„We are the people“

Shouting people. I can feel the hatred in their voices and their words represented nightmares of my childhood. I thought this part of my life was over. Some of them were pointing at me and their faces were about to explode. Liquid flew from their mouths, their red faces could enter a competition against tomatoes. Where the hell am I? How can this still be a thing? I licked over my lips and prepared myself for my walk. What I would give right now for music in my ears. I took the first step…and the second.

“Go back where you belong”

“Here is nothing for you”

I belong here. Do they know that I can understand them? That I can speak their language better than most of them? That I went to their high school. With their kids and even studied their language in one of their colleges? Do they know that I am friends with their kids? Do they understand that I can see the bigger picture and pity them for their small and meaningless actions? Do they know that I walked thousands of miles to get here? To the point I am? Do they know that I cannot be broken so easily by words? Or is hatred the first step to complete stupidity? How can people be so blind? How can people be so egoistic? How can they think that I am their enemy? What war are we fighting for or against?

Their voices are hurting my ears and I can feel some of the words sticking. Before I could understand what was happening, I felt a liquid ruining through my clothes and wetting my body. I stopped and turn to side and for a second I could feel everything coming to a stop. A blond woman kept screaming at me, the bucket still in the hand and desperately trying to break through the barricade. I turn my head and smiled at her and stepped towards her. She abruptly stopped. I reached for the bucket and without resistance freed it from her hands. I wet my naked feet and rubbed the dried blood from them. It seemed like the noise became more silent and I felt a lot of eyes resting on me. The woman was watching how blood and dirt from my feet mixed with the water as it runs through the holes between the little stones on their street. I gave her the bucket back as she stared at me.

“Our country doesn’t have any money”

“You are not welcomed here”

Soon I will made it. To the other side. And as I thought so, I could see a black spot becoming bigger at the end of my path. The black dot clarifies to faces. Smiling. At me. I reached them faster than I thought. My eyes met eyes of pity. I don’t care. I would look at me the same. I turned back and saw the people on the side road becoming blurry. The touch of somebody’s hand at my shoulder made me face the people right in front of me.

“Refugees welcome”

Street

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