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It was the Christmas'Eve and the priest had come to bless our house. But this year, there was no candy for me and my sister, for we had lost our innocence. We could see by the look in his eyes, by the hand that held the cross, protective, that lambs had turned to wolfs, doves were now ravens. As I bowed to kiss the old, cracked cross, I could see that for me it no longer shone. My faith in God was buried deep inside my soul, too deep to penetrate the thick walls of my mind. I felt sorry for it, living in a tomb for who knows how much time from that moment. Then the priest left, his black robe barely touching the floor. As I looked in my sister's eyes, I could see the ghost of this Christmas, the ghosts of the following covered in mud rather than snow. For we had lost our innocence, our childhood, our Christmas.

------
Stille


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