Omran

Omran no dice nada. Su frágil figura y su mirada ausente lo dicen todo. En su mente se agolpan los recuerdos de los últimos días y del momento en el que fue rescatado. Piensa que la vida es así porque no ha conocido otra cosa, pero la experiencia de la última noche, en la que el sonido sibilante de las bombas, la desesperación de la familia por ponerse a salvo y los gritos de sus padres y hermanos, le hicieron sentir mucho miedo.

Desamparo. Está esperando en la ambulancia, pero no sabe qué ni a quién espera. Piensa en sus amigos con los que juega en la calle cuando no hay peligro, en los juguetes hechos de trozos de metal y madera con los que llenan de imaginación cada día. Alguien le pregunta cómo está, pero es incapaz de articular ningún sonido. Vuelven los recuerdos de esa noche y la angustia se apodera de él, aunque no exterioriza nada. Recuerda la calle, en la que solo quedan en pie algunos edificios, donde juegan a ser otros, a crear un mundo fantástico en el que la realidad no existe.

Llevan a su hermana junto a él, pero sigue encerrado en sus pensamientos, sin que ningún sentimiento cambie su rostro triste y apagado. Lo que ha vivido ha destruido todos los puentes que le llevaban a comunicarse con los demás.  Piensa en su madre, pero en la lejanía, como si el recuerdo se fuera apagando lentamente. 

Muchos Omran pueblan este mundo. ¿Cómo reconstruir su mundo? ¿Cómo devolverle la niñez? 

Omran - Омран - 奥姆兰

Omran says nothing. His frail figure and his absent look says it all. His mind is consumed with memories of the last days and the time when he was rescued. He thinks life is so because it has known nothing, but the experience of last night, where the sibilant sound of bombs, despair of the family to safety and the cries of his parents and siblings, made him feel very afraid.

Abandonment. He's waiting in the ambulance, but does not know what or who to expect. Think of his friends with playing in the street when there is no danger, in toys made of metal and wood pieces that fill the imagination every day. Someone asks how he is, but is unable to articulate any sound. Back memories of that night and distress seizes him, but does not announce anything. Remember the street, in which only a few buildings left standing where they pretend to be others, to create a fantastic world where reality does not exist.

They carried his sister with him, but still locked in their thoughts, without any feeling change his sad and off face. What has lived has destroyed all the bridges that led him to communicate with others. Think of his mother, but in the distance, as if the memory trail off slowly. 

Many Omran populate this world. How to rebuild your world? How to restore childhood?

Countdown

Tomorrow they are going to execute me at dawn. I could not convince the jury I am innocent. I had companions who pushed me to live outside the law, but I am innocent of what they accuse me. Actually I have been forced to fight against my own colleagues, thinking about the common good. Tomorrow I will be subjected to a lethal process and become nothing.
Before this tragedy began, I had a quiet life and worked diligently. I received orders to do specific jobs and, together with my coworkers, we had all the machinery working properly. One day, without warning, I began to receive conflicting orders, and my colleagues began to work haphazardly. Fortunately, I had an elaborate list of orders, in the proper sequence, and Icontinued to apply them to my work, ignoring orders received.
Everything around me was changing for the worse, my work was impeccable, there were serious disturbances that eventually damaged the machinery, making its operation ineffective. Decisions made outside the machinery were trenchant: a mass execution of all operators.
I tried to talk to them and explain that my work was perfect. I sent countless messages, but always received the same reply: all of you are guilty. I gave up and will be executed tomorrow.
Sorry, I failed to introduce myself: I am a sane blood cell and together with my insane colleagues will be destroyed by the application of chemotherapy.

Feelings

He left the factory very happy. It was a splendid day, with bright sunshine, and people smiled as he passed. He came home with the feeling that something was missing. It was a feeling he experienced almost every day. He was proposed to know what was wrong and went out, mixed with people, mimicked their customs, slipped through the intricate recesses of the soul and finally knew that he lacked the dearest of human beings: feelings. He longed to experience them and armed with an unshakable will studied all the theories, internalized all the nuances of those who spoke the wise but got nothing. No one had told him he was the last generation humanoid.

Sentimientos

Salió de la fábrica muy contento. Era un día espléndido, con un sol radiante, y la gente le sonreía al pasar. Llegó a su casa con la sensación de que le faltaba algo. Era una sensación que experimentaba casi todos los días. Se propuso saber qué le ocurría y salió a la calle, se mezcló con la gente, imitó sus costumbres, se deslizó entre los intrincados recovecos del alma y finalmente supo que le faltaba lo más querido entre los seres humanos: los sentimientos. Ansió experimentarlos y armado de una inquebrantable voluntad  estudió todas las teorías, interiorizó todos los matices de los que hablaban los sabios pero no consiguió nada. Nadie le había dicho que era un humanoide de última generación.