What is the most traumatic thing you remember?

There was an event that I witnessed as a child – an event that was so sad and so bad that I only understood the meaning behind it after many years.The mere memory of that day sometimes makes a shiver run over my back.

This story begins on a football field.This was not a normal football field, but a sandy football field with many holes. It was noisy and there were a lot of people – the place was limited to the right of the wall of the school and to the left of a busy market.

On this day I am a 9-year-old boy on my way to school when something unusual happens.First I hear the word “thief”, which is shouted first with one voice and then with another voice and then with another voice.

I don’t know how long he’s been running, I just know that the number of people chasing him is increasing from second to second.

Soon he has no escape route and is caught.The mob suddenly develops a life of its own. The suspect, whom I would like to call a victim in hindsight, has a tire around his waist and is dazed by the beatings and bloody and does not defend himself as his limbs are tied up.

First see the man being poured with oil and lighting a match

Then I hear him – the cries of pain of a man who was finally awakened by the fire from the unconsciousness caused by the trauma of the beatings.It is the lamentation of a man who loses his life.

?? That sounds incredibly familiar to me, but I can’t quite remember yet.??

Suddenly I realize that I don’t know what exactly he stole.Most people who carry out this instantaneous form of justice do not know either.

I look at the mob and expect it to be racket types and monsters, the kind of people you would associate with this kind of scene.And as I see her, I also see the mother who breastfed her baby not so long ago; I see my neighbor singing in the church choir; I see my friend’s older brother; I see all the people who are usually the calmest souls of true God, but who are animated and demanding blood as loudly as they can.

At this point, we hear a loud, deafening bang.The fats in the suspect’s abdomen have heated up, and just as a long-warmed sausage bursts into a pan – his stomach bursts, the coals???, that cover his body are scattered, and we children get an early lesson in the human Anatomy. Ironically, it was we who, because of our social stratum, would most likely one day study the subject of anatomy.

Once again I am distracted by my thought process – I know that the police rarely show up here to get justice, but I wonder what kind of virus, what cancer, what triggers these gentle, pious people in the blink of an eye to murder monsters.

This question is difficult to ask, let alone to answer.So my thoughts come back to the past?. It’s all charred right up to the burnt corpse. The mourners leave the funeral. Well, mourners are the wrong word, because no tears were shed and the sound that could be heard was more cheering than crying.

That’s when it hits my brain toddler.

This man was just executed without due process, and no one who disagreed had the courage to face a “challenge.”We were too afraid to be convicted as accomplices.

Yes, he was only burned, not crucified, but the cries of pain now evoke a memory.This wrongly convicted man might as well be JESUS.

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