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—“𝒩𝑜 𝓅𝓊𝑒𝒹𝑜 𝑒𝓈𝒸𝓊𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓇 𝓃𝒶𝒹𝒶”, —𝓈𝓊𝓈𝓊𝓇𝓇𝑜́ 𝓂𝑒𝓃𝑒𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑜 𝓁𝒶 𝒸𝒶𝒷𝑒𝓏𝒶.

𝒯𝓇𝒶𝓈 𝒽𝑜𝓇𝒶𝓈 𝒹𝑒 𝑒𝓈𝓅𝑒𝓇𝒶 𝑒𝓃 𝓁𝒶 𝓉𝓇𝒾𝓃𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓇𝒶, 𝑒𝓁 𝒻𝓇𝒾́𝑜 𝓎 𝑒𝓁 𝒸𝒶𝓃𝓈𝒶𝓃𝒸𝒾𝑜 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓏𝒶𝒷𝒶𝓃 𝒶 𝒿𝓊𝑔𝒶𝓇 𝑒𝓃 𝓈𝓊 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝓇𝒶. 𝐸𝓃 𝒸𝓊𝒶𝓁𝓆𝓊𝒾𝑒𝓇 𝓂𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓏𝒶𝓇𝒾́𝒶 𝑒𝓁 𝒶𝓉𝒶𝓆𝓊𝑒 𝓎 𝒶𝓊́𝓃 𝓃𝑜 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓈𝑒𝑔𝓊𝒾́𝒶 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝓊𝓃𝒾𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓈𝑒 𝓅𝑜𝓇 𝓇𝒶𝒹𝒾𝑜. 𝐿𝒶 𝓃𝑜𝒸𝒽𝑒 𝑒𝓇𝒶 𝓊𝓃 𝓂𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝑜𝓈𝒸𝓊𝓇𝑜, 𝒶𝓅𝑒𝓃𝒶𝓈 𝓇𝒶𝓈𝑔𝒶𝒹𝑜 𝓅𝑜𝓇 𝑒𝓁 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁𝑜 𝑜𝒸𝒶𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃𝒶𝓁 𝒹𝑒 𝓁𝒶𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝓃𝑔𝒶𝓁𝒶𝓈 𝑒𝓃𝑒𝓂𝒾𝑔𝒶𝓈. 𝐸𝓁 𝓋𝒾𝑒𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝑒𝓁𝒶𝒹𝑜 𝓈𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓁𝒶𝒷𝒶 𝓅𝑜𝓇 𝒸𝒶𝒹𝒶 𝓇𝑒𝓃𝒹𝒾𝒿𝒶 𝒹𝑒 𝓈𝓊 𝓊𝓃𝒾𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓂𝑒, 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝒹𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒹𝑜 𝓈𝓊 𝓅𝒾𝑒𝓁 𝓎 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑜 𝓈𝓊𝓈 𝓅𝑒𝓃𝓈𝒶𝓂𝒾𝑒𝓃𝓉𝑜𝓈.

𝐸𝓁 𝓈𝑜𝓁𝒹𝒶𝒹𝑜 𝓂𝒾𝓇𝑜́ 𝒶 𝓈𝓊 𝒶𝓁𝓇𝑒𝒹𝑒𝒹𝑜𝓇, 𝓈𝓊𝓈 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝓅𝒶𝓃̃𝑒𝓇𝑜𝓈 𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒶𝒷𝒶𝓃 𝑒𝓃 𝓈𝒾𝓁𝑒𝓃𝒸𝒾𝑜, 𝒸𝒶𝒹𝒶 𝓊𝓃𝑜 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝒹𝒾𝒹𝑜 𝑒𝓃 𝓈𝓊𝓈 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝓅𝒾𝑜𝓈 𝓉𝑒𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒𝓈 𝓎 𝑒𝓈𝓅𝑒𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓏𝒶𝓈. 𝐸𝓁 𝒷𝒶𝓇𝓇𝑜 𝒷𝒶𝒿𝑜 𝓈𝓊𝓈 𝓅𝒾𝑒𝓈 𝑒𝓇𝒶 𝓊𝓃𝒶 𝓂𝑒𝓏𝒸𝓁𝒶 𝒹𝑒 𝓉𝒾𝑒𝓇𝓇𝒶 𝓎 𝓈𝒶𝓃𝑔𝓇𝑒, 𝓉𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒾𝑔𝑜 𝓂𝓊𝒹𝑜 𝒹𝑒 𝓁𝒶𝓈 𝒷𝒶𝓉𝒶𝓁𝓁𝒶𝓈 𝓅𝒶𝓈𝒶𝒹𝒶𝓈. 𝐿𝑜𝓈 𝒶́𝓇𝒷𝑜𝓁𝑒𝓈, 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝓅𝑜𝒿𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓈 𝒹𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝓈 𝒽𝑜𝒿𝒶𝓈, 𝓈𝑒 𝑒𝓇𝑔𝓊𝒾́𝒶𝓃 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑜 𝑒𝓈𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓁𝑒𝓉𝑜𝓈 𝑒𝓃 𝑒𝓁 𝒽𝑜𝓇𝒾𝓏𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒, 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝒷𝓇𝒶𝓈 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝒾𝑒𝓈𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓈 𝓆𝓊𝑒 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝑒𝒸𝒾́𝒶𝓃 𝑜𝒷𝓈𝑒𝓇𝓋𝒶𝓇𝓁𝑜𝓈 𝒸𝑜𝓃 𝑜𝒿𝑜𝓈 𝓋𝒶𝒸𝒾́𝑜𝓈.

𝒟𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝓅𝑒𝓃𝓉𝑒, 𝓊𝓃 𝑒𝓈𝓉𝓇𝓊𝑒𝓃𝒹𝑜 𝓇𝑜𝓂𝓅𝒾𝑜́ 𝓁𝒶 𝓆𝓊𝒾𝑒𝓉𝓊𝒹. 𝐸𝓁 𝓈𝓊𝑒𝓁𝑜 𝓉𝑒𝓂𝒷𝓁𝑜́ 𝒷𝒶𝒿𝑜 𝓈𝓊𝓈 𝓅𝒾𝑒𝓈 𝓎 𝑒𝓁 𝒶𝒾𝓇𝑒 𝓈𝑒 𝓁𝓁𝑒𝓃𝑜́ 𝒹𝑒 𝓅𝑜𝓁𝓋𝑜 𝓎 𝑒𝓈𝒸𝑜𝓂𝒷𝓇𝑜𝓈. 𝐸𝓁 𝒶𝓉𝒶𝓆𝓊𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝒷𝒾́𝒶 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓏𝒶𝒹𝑜. 𝐸𝓁 𝓈𝑜𝓁𝒹𝒶𝒹𝑜 𝓈𝑒 𝓁𝒶𝓃𝓏𝑜́ 𝒶𝓁 𝓈𝓊𝑒𝓁𝑜, 𝒸𝓊𝒷𝓇𝒾𝑒́𝓃𝒹𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝓁𝒶 𝒸𝒶𝒷𝑒𝓏𝒶 𝒸𝑜𝓃 𝓁𝒶𝓈 𝓂𝒶𝓃𝑜𝓈 𝓂𝒾𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓈 𝓁𝑜𝓈 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝓎𝑒𝒸𝓉𝒾𝓁𝑒𝓈 𝓈𝒾𝓁𝒷𝒶𝒷𝒶𝓃 𝓈𝑜𝒷𝓇𝑒 𝑒́𝓁. 𝐸𝓁 𝓇𝓊𝑔𝒾𝒹𝑜 𝒹𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓃̃𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓈 𝑒𝓇𝒶 𝑒𝓃𝓈𝑜𝓇𝒹𝑒𝒸𝑒𝒹𝑜𝓇, 𝓊𝓃𝒶 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝒻𝑜𝓃𝒾́𝒶 𝒹𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝓉𝓇𝓊𝒸𝒸𝒾𝑜́𝓃 𝓆𝓊𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝓈𝑜𝓃𝒶𝒷𝒶 𝑒𝓃 𝓈𝓊𝓈 𝑜𝒾́𝒹𝑜𝓈.

𝒞𝑜𝓃 𝑒𝓁 𝒸𝑜𝓇𝒶𝓏𝑜́𝓃 𝓁𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒹𝑜 𝒸𝑜𝓃 𝒻𝓊𝑒𝓇𝓏𝒶, 𝓈𝑒 𝒶𝓇𝓇𝒶𝓈𝓉𝓇𝑜́ 𝒽𝒶𝒸𝒾𝒶 𝓁𝒶 𝓇𝒶𝒹𝒾𝑜, 𝓈𝓊𝓈 𝒹𝑒𝒹𝑜𝓈 𝓉𝑒𝓂𝒷𝓁𝑜𝓇𝑜𝓈𝑜𝓈 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑜 𝒶𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇 𝓁𝒶 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝒸𝓊𝑒𝓃𝒸𝒾𝒶. 𝐿𝒶 𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒶́𝓉𝒾𝒸𝒶 𝑒𝓇𝒶 𝓈𝓊 𝓊́𝓃𝒾𝒸𝒶 𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓅𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒶. 𝒟𝑒𝓈𝑒𝓈𝓅𝑒𝓇𝒶𝒹𝑜, 𝑔𝑜𝓁𝓅𝑒𝑜́ 𝑒𝓁 𝒶𝓅𝒶𝓇𝒶𝓉𝑜, 𝑒𝓈𝓅𝑒𝓇𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑜 𝓆𝓊𝑒 𝒶𝓁𝑔𝓊́𝓃 𝓂𝒾𝓁𝒶𝑔𝓇𝑜 𝓁𝑜 𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒾𝑒𝓇𝒶 𝒻𝓊𝓃𝒸𝒾𝑜𝓃𝒶𝓇. 𝒫𝑒𝓇𝑜 𝑒𝓁 𝓈𝒾𝓁𝑒𝓃𝒸𝒾𝑜 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒾́𝒶, 𝓊𝓃 𝓋𝒶𝒸𝒾́𝑜 𝓆𝓊𝑒 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝑒𝒸𝒾́𝒶 𝒷𝓊𝓇𝓁𝒶𝓇𝓈𝑒 𝒹𝑒 𝓈𝓊 𝒾𝓂𝓅𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓃𝒸𝒾𝒶.

𝐸𝓃 𝓂𝑒𝒹𝒾𝑜 𝒹𝑒𝓁 𝒸𝒶𝑜𝓈, 𝓊𝓃𝒶 𝒻𝒾𝑔𝓊𝓇𝒶 𝒶𝓅𝒶𝓇𝑒𝒸𝒾𝑜́ 𝒶 𝓈𝓊 𝓁𝒶𝒹𝑜. 𝐸𝓇𝒶 𝓈𝓊 𝓈𝒶𝓇𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓉𝑜, 𝒸𝑜𝓃 𝑒𝓁 𝓇𝑜𝓈𝓉𝓇𝑜 𝒸𝓊𝒷𝒾𝑒𝓇𝓉𝑜 𝒹𝑒 𝒽𝑜𝓁𝓁𝒾́𝓃 𝓎 𝓊𝓃𝒶 𝓂𝒾𝓇𝒶𝒹𝒶 𝒹𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓂𝒾𝓃𝒶𝒸𝒾𝑜́𝓃 𝒻𝑒𝓇𝑜𝓏. 𝒮𝒾𝓃 𝒹𝑒𝒸𝒾𝓇 𝓊𝓃𝒶 𝓅𝒶𝓁𝒶𝒷𝓇𝒶, 𝓁𝑒 𝒶𝓇𝓇𝑒𝒷𝒶𝓉𝑜́ 𝓁𝒶 𝓇𝒶𝒹𝒾𝑜 𝓎 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓏𝑜́ 𝒶 𝓂𝒶𝓃𝒾𝓅𝓊𝓁𝒶𝓇𝓁𝒶 𝒸𝑜𝓃 𝓂𝒶𝓃𝑜𝓈 𝑒𝓍𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓉𝒶𝓈. 𝒰𝓃 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓈𝓆𝓊𝒾𝒹𝑜 𝓎, 𝒹𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝓅𝑒𝓃𝓉𝑒, 𝓊𝓃𝒶 𝓋𝑜𝓏 𝒸𝓁𝒶𝓇𝒶 𝓎 𝒻𝒾𝓇𝓂𝑒 𝓈𝑒 𝑒𝓈𝒸𝓊𝒸𝒽𝑜́ 𝒶 𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓋𝑒́𝓈 𝒹𝑒𝓁 𝒶𝓁𝓉𝒶𝓋𝑜𝓏.

— “𝒜𝓆𝓊𝒾́ 𝒜́𝑔𝓊𝒾𝓁𝒶 𝒰𝓃𝑜, 𝓇𝑒𝒸𝒾𝒷𝒾𝓂𝑜𝓈 𝓈𝓊 𝓈𝑒𝓃̃𝒶𝓁. 𝒫𝓇𝑜𝒸𝑒𝒹𝒶𝓃 𝒸𝑜𝓃 𝑒𝓁 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓃 𝒹𝑒 𝒶𝓉𝒶𝓆𝓊𝑒”.

𝐸𝓁 𝓈𝑜𝓁𝒹𝒶𝒹𝑜 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝓉𝒾𝑜́ 𝓊𝓃𝒶 𝑜𝓁𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒶 𝒹𝑒 𝒶𝓁𝒾𝓋𝒾𝑜 𝓎 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓉𝓊𝒹. 𝐿𝒶 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝓊𝓃𝒾𝒸𝒶𝒸𝒾𝑜́𝓃 𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒶𝒷𝒶 𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒𝒸𝒾𝒹𝒶. 𝒞𝑜𝓃 𝓇𝑒𝓃𝑜𝓋𝒶𝒹𝒶 𝑒𝓃𝑒𝓇𝑔𝒾́𝒶, 𝓈𝑒 𝓁𝑒𝓋𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑜́ 𝓎 𝓉𝑜𝓂𝑜́ 𝓈𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝓂𝒶, 𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉𝑜 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝒶 𝑒𝓃𝒻𝓇𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓇 𝒶𝓁 𝑒𝓃𝑒𝓂𝒾𝑔𝑜. 𝐿𝒶 𝒷𝒶𝓉𝒶𝓁𝓁𝒶 𝓈𝑒𝓇𝒾́𝒶 𝒹𝓊𝓇𝒶, 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝑜 𝒶𝒽𝑜𝓇𝒶 𝓉𝑒𝓃𝒾́𝒶𝓃 𝓊𝓃𝒶 𝑜𝓅𝑜𝓇𝓉𝓊𝓃𝒾𝒹𝒶𝒹. 𝒴 𝑒𝓃 𝓁𝒶 𝑔𝓊𝑒𝓇𝓇𝒶, 𝒶 𝓋𝑒𝒸𝑒𝓈, 𝓊𝓃𝒶 𝑜𝓅𝑜𝓇𝓉𝓊𝓃𝒾𝒹𝒶𝒹 𝑒𝓇𝒶 𝓉𝑜𝒹𝑜 𝓁𝑜 𝓆𝓊𝑒 𝓈𝑒 𝓃𝑒𝒸𝑒𝓈𝒾𝓉𝒶𝒷𝒶.

Ven y participa que aún estás a tiempo:

—"No puedo escuchar nada”, —susurró meneando la cabeza.

Tras horas de espera en la trinchera, el frío y el cansancio comenzaban a jugar en su contra. En cualquier momento comenzaría el ataque y aún no conseguía comunicarse por radio…

ℭ𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔲́𝔞 𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔞 𝔥𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔞…

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Dedicado a todos aquellos que contribuyen, día a día, a hacer de nuestro planeta, un mundo mejor.

— “𝐼 𝒸𝒶𝓃'𝓉 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝒶𝓃𝓎𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔”, — 𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝓈𝓅𝑒𝓇𝑒𝒹, 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝒹.

𝒜𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓌𝒶𝒾𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝓇𝑒𝓃𝒸𝒽, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓁𝒹 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒻𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑔𝓊𝑒 𝓌𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝑔𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝑜 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓀 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓈𝓉 𝒽𝒾𝓂. 𝒜𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝓂𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝓉𝓉𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒷𝑒𝑔𝒾𝓃, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹𝓃'𝓉 𝑔𝑒𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝒶𝒹𝒾𝑜. 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒶 𝒹𝒶𝓇𝓀 𝒷𝓁𝒶𝓃𝓀𝑒𝓉, 𝒷𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓁𝓎 𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓃 𝒷𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑜𝒸𝒸𝒶𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃𝒶𝓁 𝒻𝓁𝒶𝓈𝒽 𝑜𝒻 𝑒𝓃𝑒𝓂𝓎 𝒻𝓁𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈. 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒾𝒸𝓎 𝓌𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓈𝑒𝑒𝓅𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝒸𝓇𝑒𝓋𝒾𝒸𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓊𝓃𝒾𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓂, 𝒷𝒾𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓈𝓀𝒾𝓃 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝑒𝓏𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓈.

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝑜𝓁𝒹𝒾𝑒𝓇 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀𝑒𝒹 𝒶𝓇𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹, 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝓇𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓈 𝓌𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓈𝒾𝓁𝑒𝓃𝓉, 𝑒𝒶𝒸𝒽 𝓁𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝒻𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒𝓈. 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝓊𝒹 𝒷𝑒𝓃𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒶 𝓂𝒾𝓍𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒹𝒾𝓇𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒷𝓁𝑜𝑜𝒹, 𝒶 𝓂𝓊𝓉𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝒶𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒𝓈 𝓅𝒶𝓈𝓉. 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝓇𝑒𝑒𝓈, 𝓈𝓉𝓇𝒾𝓅𝓅𝑒𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓈, 𝓈𝓉𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓈𝓀𝑒𝓁𝑒𝓉𝑜𝓃𝓈 𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝑜𝓇𝒾𝓏𝑜𝓃, 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝒾𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓌𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓈𝑒𝑒𝓂𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓌𝒶𝓉𝒸𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓂 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝑒𝓂𝓅𝓉𝓎 𝑒𝓎𝑒𝓈.

𝒮𝓊𝒹𝒹𝑒𝓃𝓁𝓎, 𝒶 𝓇𝓊𝓂𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝒷𝓇𝑜𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓁𝓁𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈. 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝑔𝓇𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝑜𝓀 𝒷𝑒𝓃𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝒾𝓇 𝒻𝒾𝓁𝓁𝑒𝒹 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒹𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒹𝑒𝒷𝓇𝒾𝓈. 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝓉𝓉𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝒷𝑒𝑔𝓊𝓃. 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝑜𝓁𝒹𝒾𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑒𝓌 𝒽𝒾𝓂𝓈𝑒𝓁𝒻 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑔𝓇𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹, 𝒸𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓈 𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝒽𝑒𝓁𝓁𝓈 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝓈𝓉𝓁𝑒𝒹 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇𝒽𝑒𝒶𝒹. 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝑜𝒶𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑔𝓊𝓃𝓈 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒹𝑒𝒶𝒻𝑒𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔, 𝒶 𝓈𝓎𝓂𝓅𝒽𝑜𝓃𝓎 𝑜𝒻 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝓉𝓇𝓊𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝑒𝒸𝒽𝑜𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝓃 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓈.

𝐻𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝓅𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔, 𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝓇𝒶𝓌𝓁𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜𝓌𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝒶𝒹𝒾𝑜, 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝓇𝑒𝓂𝒷𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝓉𝓇𝓎𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝑜 𝒶𝒹𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓃𝒸𝓎. 𝒮𝓉𝒶𝓉𝒾𝒸 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝑜𝓃𝓁𝓎 𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓅𝑜𝓃𝓈𝑒. 𝒟𝑒𝓈𝓅𝑒𝓇𝒶𝓉𝑒, 𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝒹 𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓋𝒾𝒸𝑒, 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓂𝒾𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓁𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝒾𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓀. 𝐵𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝒾𝓁𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝑒𝒹, 𝒶𝓃 𝑒𝓂𝓅𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓈𝑒𝑒𝓂𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝑜𝒸𝓀 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒽𝑒𝓁𝓅𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈.

𝐼𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝒾𝒹𝓈𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝑜𝓈, 𝒶 𝒻𝒾𝑔𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝓅𝓅𝑒𝒶𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝒶𝓉 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓈𝒾𝒹𝑒. 𝐼𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓈𝑒𝓇𝑔𝑒𝒶𝓃𝓉, 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶 𝓈𝑜𝑜𝓉-𝒸𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝒶𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒶 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀 𝑜𝒻 𝒻𝒾𝑒𝓇𝒸𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓂𝒾𝓃𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃. 𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒶 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹, 𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓃𝒶𝓉𝒸𝒽𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝒶𝒹𝒾𝑜 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝒽𝒾𝓂 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒷𝑒𝑔𝒶𝓃 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝒶𝓃𝒾𝓅𝓊𝓁𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝒾𝓉 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝑒𝓍𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓈. 𝒜 𝒸𝓁𝒾𝒸𝓀 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝓊𝒹𝒹𝑒𝓃𝓁𝓎 𝒶 𝒸𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓇, 𝓈𝓉𝑒𝒶𝒹𝓎 𝓋𝑜𝒾𝒸𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝓊𝒹𝓈𝓅𝑒𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓇.

— “𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒾𝓈 𝐸𝒶𝑔𝓁𝑒 𝒪𝓃𝑒, 𝓌𝑒 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒸𝑒𝒾𝓋𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓈𝒾𝑔𝓃𝒶𝓁. 𝒫𝓇𝑜𝒸𝑒𝑒𝒹 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶𝓉𝓉𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓃”.

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝑜𝓁𝒹𝒾𝑒𝓇 𝒻𝑒𝓁𝓉 𝒶 𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑔𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓇𝑒𝓁𝒾𝑒𝒻 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓉𝓊𝒹𝑒. 𝒞𝑜𝓂𝓂𝓊𝓃𝒾𝒸𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉𝑜𝓇𝑒𝒹. 𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓇𝑒𝓃𝑒𝓌𝑒𝒹 𝑒𝓃𝑒𝓇𝑔𝓎, 𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝓊𝓅 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝒷𝒷𝑒𝒹 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓌𝑒𝒶𝓅𝑜𝓃, 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝑒𝓃𝑔𝒶𝑔𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑒𝓃𝑒𝓂𝓎. 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝒶𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒷𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒹, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝒶 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒. 𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝒾𝓃 𝓌𝒶𝓇, 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒𝓈 𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓃𝑒𝑒𝒹𝑒𝒹.

Come and participate because you still have, time:

— “I can’t hear anything”, —he whispered, shaking his head.

After hours of waiting in the trench, the cold and fatigue were starting to work against him. At any moment the attack would begin, and he still couldn’t communicate by radio…

ℭ𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔲𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔶…

CREDITS:

Image: I

Title: Fontmeme

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Dedicated to all those poets who contribute, day by day, to make our planet a better world.

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tiffanny 2 months ago

No quiero ni imaginarme lo que es estar en una guerra, ya es suficiente con lo que vivimos aquí en Venezuela, una guerra interna que nos estresa diariamente.

!gifs freedom

hivegifbot 2 months ago

Via Tenor

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leopard0 2 months ago

Muy detallada la recreación del escenario donde transcurre la historia.👌

Éxitos en el reto. 👍

[Esp./Eng.] 𝘋𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘶𝘦́𝘴 𝘥𝘦 𝘭𝘢 𝘮𝘶𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘦, 𝘭𝘢 𝘨𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘢. |🕯| 𝘈𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩, 𝘨𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘺.

You can go directly to the English version by clicking 👉 HERE

Ven y participa que aún estás a tiempo:

—"No puedo escuchar nada”, —susurró meneando la cabeza.

CRÉDITOS:

Imágenes: I

Títulos: Fontmeme

Come and participate because you still have, time:

— “I can’t hear anything”, —he whispered, shaking his head.

ℭ𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔲𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔶… CREDITS: Image: I Title: Fontmeme 🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆 Dedicated to all those poets who contribute, day by day, to make our planet a better world.

CREDITS:

Image: I

Title: Fontmeme

Dedicated to all those poets who contribute, day by day, to make our planet a better world.

_{You can go directly to the English version by clicking 👉 HERE}

ℭ𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔲𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔶…

CREDITS:

Image: I

Title: Fontmeme

🔆🔆🔆🔆🔆🔆🔆🔆🔆🔆

Dedicated to all those poets who contribute, day by day, to make our planet a better world.