So I’ll tell it in a soft voice, whispering the words like the wind whispers through the yellowed leafs…secrets of life itself…

Long, long time ago, in a far away place, there was a little prince. His big blue eyes had a certain gentleness that only noble souls are carrying. His smile had a note of blue, adding even more charm and sweetness to his figure. His firsts eleven springs on this far away place had the smell of blossomed cherry trees and the sound of birds chirping.

He knew stories about dragons and princesses. And he had a secret plan…to marry a princess one day, to build a stronger castle and to live…happily…ever after…

He used to talk to God. His faith was that strong…He believed that prayers are always listened. He trusted Heaven above to send an army of angels. Because he needed help…

His castle was under siege. A wild, tremendous dragon used to come every year. With red eyes and an unstoppable force…the dragon claimed sacrifice. And the little prince felt so helpless, so scared…

With tears in his eyes he confessed his fears in front of his beloved princess. She listened and the love and compassion grew ten times stronger in her soul. And her anger…they planned to escape. Summer, with its white roses would had been the perfect moment. To escape the red eyed dragon…

But summer came and the little prince never showed up…So she knew.

The dragon claimed a life. The life of a little prince. He was given wings to fly high, to join the army of angels.

It is unfair and deeply wrong. A little girl that never felt like a princess, never again. A world that ignored the evidence. A broken heart in a broken castle.

Humanity, where are you when little princes’s castles are under siege?

Dedicated to all the angels who flew to Heaven much too early, abused by the ones they trusted the most. And to my friend Sebastian…your princess never forgot you.

8 thoughts on “This is the hardest story…

    1. Thank you so much for your kind words and for reading my post! Sebastian was a sweet child, my best friend when I was a child myself (I was 9). He used to write little notes to me, little love poems, with all the innocence of an 11 years old boy.
      He was killed on an Easter morning by his abusive father. And, unfortunately, even if he told me how afraid he is, no one believed me. A tragedy that marked my life profoundly.
      I work with abused children in the present and, every time I help a child, I know he’s smiling from above.
      I hope I gave you an idea about who he was and what he meant in my life. Thank you for honoring me with your presence here!

      Liked by 2 people

      1. That’s very sad to hear. his father I think must be an alcoholic or a regular consumer of liquor . I have seen in my society too and my father is a trustee of an organization to rehabilitate alcoholic people . But I have heard their dreadful stories but this is something very unexpected.

        Liked by 2 people

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