The sun was looking up behind the big mountains that surrounded the village and chased the last glimps of the night away. Down on earth new life began after a cold, long night. It was still in the early morning for most of the villagers in Fuente Vaqueros, in the proud country Spain, but there were some people who had left their warm beds to start the day.
The sun was shining in through a window and hit a young man that sat alone, bent over a table in his big living room. Everybody who knew him knew that he was writing a new play. "This man never rests", the old ladies used to whisper to each other. "He is always up to something. As usual a play or a poem or something like that. He's full of ideas." He had never been seen with a woman beside his nannies or anybody else. He was always alone. Nobody knew quite why.
When he was a little boy his parents died in a car accident and he was taken care of by nannies, but nobody stayed for long. In the end he was tired by people leaving him, so he built a wall around his soul. Instead of talking about his feelings, he used a piece of paper and a pen. Because of this, he wrote plays and poems that would show the world what a great writer he was. One of the greatest.
This man was finishing his last play "Sonnets of dark love". He got the inspiration to this poem from the civil war that was going on in Spain, lead by General Francisco Franco. Nobody in the small village wanted to be a part of the bad thing that happened in their country, so they closed this out. They lived their lives as usually.
Garcia stood op and stretched his tired arms after a whole night of work. "Almost finished. Just one small piece left. I just need some food and a bit more inspiration." He said to himself. He went out in the kitchen to see if there was some food left. "Empty as usually. Then I have to go shopping for food again. I hate this."
The warm air strokes him when he opened the door. Warm days were very normal in Fuente Vaqueros. It hardly rains in the off seasons. Out side life was still going its way. The marked was full of peoples that weren't on work this Saturday. Everybody was smiling and said hello to each other. Garcia walked along the road and said hello back to peoples that greeted him. The marked was crowded whit peoples and stalls. It looked like the time had stand still in this town. It was hardly any cars, almost every stores was in stalls. It was all kind of stalls there, food stalls, fruit stalls. People liked it this way so they didn't stop it. Garcia walked up to old Maria's stall to buy bread and milk. She smiled to him and gave him his things. "I loved your last play, but I don't think Francisco Franco liked it." She smiled. "It hit right in my hart. You know this stuff." He smiled embarrassed back to her. It was nice to get compliments, but he always became embarrassed when someone said things like this to him.
He continued is walk and stopped to buy vegetables. He could feel the looks people send him when he walked past them. He knew that many girls wanted him, but he didn't feel anything for them. He fell deep in thoughts.
"I have only opened up for one person. I'll never do that again. I was screwed, betrayed, used. I fell with all the women that experience this. I, who never want to hurt a fly, wanted to kill. How could he do this to me? Why? I thought hi loved me and instead he betrayed me. Now everybody knows. That's why every girl looks at me that way. They know they can't have me. It was suppose to be a secret. They don't accept this in our time. The only thing that stops me from killing my self is that I can write. I know that I take a risk when I write all this. I know about peoples that don't like it. I don't give a dame. This war can't continue. People are dying. Doesn't anyone see it? They don't want to se it.
He walked through the big park in the middle of the town. No sign of war there. Children played whit their dogs and friends. Everybody was happy, no sorrow. Only a child can feel this way. "I want to be a kid again. No, not actually. I like it in the grownup world." The park was green and full and flowers in every colour he knew.
He walks around a corner of a big red house, when he saw four men in the middle of the street. "Why are they standing there? They look mad. Well, I don't care. It's their problem, not mine." They started to walk his way. One of them grabbed his shoulder and said "Come with us." He had a dark voice. His skin was to light compare to the skin colour in Spain. He was a good looking man, but it was sign of a hard life in his behaviour. "Join the club, man", Garcia thought. "Where are we going", hi asked careful. No answers. The only thing they did, was to stare right forward.
They came out on a plain just outside the village. "What do you want?" he asked angry now. This nonsense had to stop. One man walk two meters away, stopped and turned. Garcia looked to his right. In the ground someone had dug a hole and two spades was lying beside it. This was a big contrast in this beautiful, untouched plain. Then he understood. This was his last day. "We don't like people like you" was the only thing the man said. Then he shoots two shots that cracked like dynamites. The first to his heart, the second to his head. "I didn't finish my play", was Garcia's last thought. Then everything was black, no pain, no sorrows, no hate to the man he loved. Only peace. Then everything got bright.