Me and my brother could not afford to enter the travelling circus that was visiting, and as I recall it, it was a rainy day and all I had been talking about the last few weeks was the circus that was coming to town. But the big grownup in the entrence wouldn’t let us in simply because we did not have money. We got to spend the evening trying to peak inside the big tent while the rain was pouring outside.

The shipwreck at the playground was a fairly disliked attraction among the kids, however me and my brother appreciated the solitude it provided us with aswell as the raw and realistic nature of the ship. But this particular day there were some other kids at the boat. And appearantly sharing wasn’t their thing. They threw stones at us which we dodged, it even appeared as fun for a moment, until I got hit by one right in my face.
With a seriously messed up nose we retreated, defeated by inequit abuse of strength. As we came closer to home a stranger appeared and asked me what happened - by that time we had only passed twenty pedestrians whom all appeared to be temporarily blind to my blood and deaf to my crying - he wiped the majority of the blood of my face with his jacket and took a look at my teeth which appeared to have survived the confrontation with the stone. After the mysterious humanitarian had helped us home to grandmother’s building we never saw him again, but the memory of his deed lives on within me until this very day.

I cannot tell for sure how long that passed between that day and the day we moved to a less poor town, but I know that it did not change alot for me, or my family.

I want to believe that there is a humanitarian inside all of us. There isn’t.