Hearing the familiar whistle of the missile, Francesc does not even have time to think. The explosion throws him away from his chair and shakes him like a doll, between crumbling walls and furniture that falls apart like paper in a fireplace. A few seconds later, he discovers the truth about that last moment that precedes death, almost smiling at how wrong everyone was when they said that your whole life flashes before your eyes. The reality is that there is no time for any of that, death is much faster, more practical, more simple.
While flying through the air between infinite fragments of what seconds before had been his home, Francesc suddenly understands it’s all over. There is a single moment in which he is overwhelmed by confusion, when he is even afraid, but it’s nothing more than an instant. Nothing can be felt by a body that no longer belongs to him, a body falling on the driveway of Banyoles street, resembling a pierced kite.
Now he can watch the action over and over again, with eyes that the new being he has become invents, picturing every moment with a mind he does not own anymore. He even attempts to simulate the sadness of seeing a life finished so soon, but he is unable to. Others will feel sorry for him. His mother, his father, his classmates , his aunt Gabriela… But not his brother Daniel . He is only a four years old boy that will soon forget that he ever had an older brother. He will notice his absence at first, maybe he will miss him for a while, but he will eventually grow without remembering about him, and that suddenly hurts. The last feeling that can extract from the withered body is a tremendous pain. An intense, deep, infinite, latent pain. A beat for every second, every minute, every hour someone just stole . He would like to cry, scream, curse with rage at someone who he does not even know.
The first curious approach the scene. A lady stops a second to look at him, crying helplessly. A young man climbs over the debris, screaming in search of possible survivors among the ruins. An old man who lives just two blocks away curses in Catalan; he curses the caudillo, the national army , the Italian aviation.
They cry, scream, curse.
But Francesc Bastida can not do anything at all…