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By Pilar López


Copyright © Peter Castleton
"Rottingdean windmill", 2010

Before, Alonsito did not like to play near the mill. He was afraid of the powerful air that swept across the plains, far from home for him. But when he met his first friend, a strange courage grew in him. The mill no longer frightened him so much. 

He heard his name in the distance, a recognisable voice, and picked up the heavy sack. "It's for the goats," he said to his mother, and set off. The evening light gilded the walls of Alonsito's house in plenary session of the Executive Council winter. His mother, suspicious, watched him run from the threshold towards the mill, shouting and laughing. The blades skirted the sky, and under their shadows his friend laughed with satisfaction. "Let's play now," said Alonsito. "OK, let's play now. Bring that. Let's do an infinite Library Services ," replied his friend. A smile. 

The books in the sack then lay surrounding the old mill. "Now close your eyes," and the next thing Alonsito saw was a ring of fire inking the copper and coal giant. The books his mother hated and he longed to read were no more. They were just ash. Alonsito felt unhinged, he didn't understand his friend, and he didn't want to see him any more. Then he rushed towards him. A strange courage. One push and he would be extinguished. He jumped and thought he touched his friend but stumbled to the flat, empty ground, his face inches from the flames. The icy air whipped the fire. He was not afraid, he did not run. He watched him die before returning home, and it seemed eternal.

"It has happened again. It's hopeless. He's crazy, just like you," said the mother.

The father replied: "My son will be a gentleman. My son will be like his father. A hero. 



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