Michaela Merz

The rage of the desperate

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It is summer. Finally warm and we go to the outdoor swimming pool to swim and to play. Yesterday we witnessed an incredible scene. Two guys were fighting at the edge of the large pool. No, not really, it was not a proper fight. The smaller one defended himself and resisted and the taller, superior guy pushed him centimetre by centimetre closer to the water. Both were fully dressed and had bags in their hands.

 

The taller guy looked like out of a catalogue. He was about 17 years old, blond, muscular and fairly handsome. The other one, 3 or 4 years younger, was slim, pale and did not look very sporty, with short black hair and slightly sticking out ears. Winner and looser were already certain. And only when I got closer to the two I saw the despair of the younger one, his helplessness, the infinite feeling of being lost in this face. But he was not to be helped; the taller one laughingly pushed him into the water and then went to the close-by kiosk.

 

I took care of the loser. Physically nothing had happened, his clothed would dry fast. But his mental state was worrying. He seemed disorientated, sobbed and shivered. My son dived for his sun glasses because he had not even realised that he had lost them and in his state he was incapable of fetching them himself. I tried to calm him with words but it seemed that he did not hear my words. He did not listen and I did not manage to get in contact with him.

 

With an incredible hate in this voice he murmured “my brother, that pig, my brother, that pig” and this features became grimmer. Then he got up. And started to walk towards the kiosk. I noticed an empty glass bottle in this hand. No idea where and when he had picked it up. He ran to the tall blond guy. His rage and his despair were like negative vibrations, which could be felt in the air. I really did not know what to do in that second. The tall blond guy however noticed him and waited for his attack. I don’t know what exactly he did, it was too far away but it seemed that the younger one stumbled over the leg of the other guy.

 

He landed hard on the concrete floor next to the kiosk and the bottle shattered into many small pieces. The older one turned around and walked away, the younger one sat up and touched his face. His lip had cracked and was bleeding. He sat on the ground and cried. The humiliated, abandoned loser, whom seemingly nobody could help. But one could sense that all this is accumulating somewhere in his soul. I thought that there might come a day where the empty glass bottle would not miss its target.

 

Winning seems to become more and more important in our culture. The mode that the winner takes it all and the others go away empty-handed is often present in our actions and is encouraged even further. Ignored is the fact that were there are winners, there are always also losers.

The rage and despair of the losers may cause to take up an empty glass bottle. Thus the concept should be win-win. Only where everyone gains something, everyone can live in peace.

 

 

 

 

 

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