THE WORLD has published the latest installment on the financing of the jihadism of an extensive article on islam in Spain. The work is the result of the collaboration with Telecinco, which emits today (0.30 h.) a special, audience leader in its time slot in the first two episodes.
If John Lennon transferred those dark regions that there are between being and non-being, if you cross the avenue of the nothing to get to Barcelona, if from above to open the eyes, you would see under the beautiful sun of a Sunday morning to those who still have life singing Imagine, that anthem blue of the hope. Their empty eyes look to the forest to human and plant of La Rambla, a year after the terrible terrorist attack.
The pro-independence, then, confused their flag in the blood of the innocent, he wanted to show the world a state of their own that comes from the placenta of a pain of others. When you finish the act, The Rambla puts on her best dress of crowd walking. The tourism flashes under a pacific sun. The positions of newspapers, flowers, banner quaint, bleed in the hustle and bustle for exhausting their stock. The people on the outside continues as if nothing had happened but inside a acidic water burns the throat.
Ana Terradillos, with the severity of the exceptional and bitter in his face, listens to an elderly woman say with eyes of regret that they don’t return to kill more. You try a move but can’t, says Matilda in front of a Boqueria which now vibrates happily in the peering eyes of foreigners, and yesterday silenced his human soul with the cries of the mossos behind the escape of the terrorists.
The floor skin of the zebra of The Ramblas hears the tear of the sneakers. In the memory the sound sideways of the white van. The voices of alarm. How quickly death came. I Desalojen the square, terrorist attack! There are images that still aterran because they are writing persistent of an islamic terrorism of cruelty endless. Debris, bodies, blood, sad, motorcycles games… Carlos Andrés had not returned since then. The van broke an elbow. He wanted to run away from her and approached his tour. To point was not to meet the 38 years. With the countenance of the traveler, your backpack, look of remoteness, tells Ana that carries a year in Spain, which is from Colombia.
The memory dissolves in the rumor. The wind of The Rambla is full of looks
Among the crowds of people within the global heart of The Rambla, tells Carlos that suddenly the world is rid of its monotony, he saw the blood of women and children, the sidewalk, pondering loneliness and disorder, multiple runaways. He confesses that it still takes painkillers to sleep, and that was eight or nine months without leaving the house. With tears flowing looking distressed, staring at the place where he was, he says, who believed not return to ever see their daughters, they were in Colombia, six and seven years.
The wind of La Rambla is full of glances. The memory dissolves in the rumor of any day. The velocipedes, sesteando on the sidewalks, waiting to return to the roar of the streets. Many people do not know that is going through the floor that had the blood of the slain, but you have to move on, the terrorists should not blow up our daily life. Oscar, a witness, account that was from five in the afternoon until half-past eleven of the night hidden in a trade. After the mossos took them in a row until the Square of Catalonia. Never forget, says Matilda in front of her as The Flower of the Rambla. She feels that she can re-occur. He held the position closed as from Thursday until Monday. It happened in the time bad of the nap, if there be five less than ten is at six in the evening cause a massacre. Matilda has a blue uniform and a white shopkeeper where boiling in the morning sun. Rachida, a moroccan, nineteen years old in Catalonia, behind the counter of the bakery says that the terrorists have no fucking head. I eat the brain and they lose the reality, are lost in the insanity sentence.
Under the sun still hurt from The Rambla, head towards Ripoll. We crossed and shady ravines, we come closer to the Pyrenees. From the car I look at forests of oak, beech, solanas green. The names of the terrorists give a pulse bitter taste in my head. Moussa Oukabir, Said Aallaa, Mohamed Houli Chemlal, Younes Abouyaaqoub… We have been left with an intimate friend of most of them. As we cross the sierra Milany-Santa Magdalena I look at the clean sky. I have fresh in my memory some data in the Qur’an. 80 verses talk about gehenna, the place of torment for sinners. The kufr (rejection of God) and its derivatives in 518. The ordeal in more than 370. 3,000 verses 518) deal with the punishment. Hell is mentioned 80 times. It is insisted that the infidels will live eternally in the fire. “Those who are infidels, they shall make a dress of fire; and from his head will pour boiling water, with which it is licuará what is in your belly and your skin. Will be whips of iron. Each time, distressed, want to get out of the fire, they will say to them: “Taste the torment of the fire!” (22,20-23).
we Arrived in Ripoll and we started looking for the trail of the young killers. Streets with houses of a few floors, narrow, countenance workman. The tumult of containers in the corners. I imagine the transfer of these kids out there looking at the tunnel that crosses the city, sitting in any of the banks of the square, laughing or staring into the unknown. We talked with many people and no one imagined, not even his most intimate friend, the madness that seethes in those heads instigated by the imam Abdelbaki Is Satty, who died in the explosion of Alcanar.
In Ripoll, nobody could have imagined the crazy murderer of the imam Abdelbaki Is Satty
One was born here, Moussa, the smallest, the others were coming. His brother, Younes, was a little bit older. Speaks to a close friend that you want anonymity or to collect money that Ana denies. The previous night he was with them. Liked the jersey Said, and told him to leave him one day. Stealth says that it has broken down it all and is sorry. Speaking of hidden behind a tree. Wearing a jacket of dark leather. The river below breaks your step with the profile of the stones. It says that the magnet is not made to note, went from the mosque to his house and vice versa and then aleccionaba to the kids to sneak.
we Arrived at the plaza Great. White stones, trees skeletal, arcades, profile girona, banks of modern effigy. The peace of the morning is immense. The relatives of the terrorists just come to the street. You don’t see the people. We asked each other. They say that there is islamophobia or it twists the memory by the slaughter of The Ramblas. After the attack, there was a manifestation of the neighbors exculpando families. The killers are a minority. Parents are destroused. The educated as all. The peace, the love, the love, not killing anyone, not doing harm to anyone.
Ripoll has an air to Gerona in the beauty adusta and mediterranean. The terrorists broke off their education with the fiery speeches of a magnet filled with the craziness of a vengeful God. This people lived here, they knew from watching them go and they never imagined what they would do. Walked around, went with friends, playing football… you walk by Ripoll and it seems that never happened that, who ever in the darkness of the words of a magnet it was hiding the death to put his stamp on the children, on anyone, the chance put in front of his scythe.
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