A reporter was covering that tragic conflict in the
middle of Sarajevo, and he saw a little girl shot by a sniper. The reporter
threw down his pad and pencil, and stopped being a reporter for a few minutes.
He rushed to the man who was holding the child, and helped them both into his
car.
As the reporter stepped on the accelerator, racing to the
hospital, the man holding the bleeding child said, "Hurry, my friend, my
child is still alive."
A moment or two later, "Hurry, my friend, my child
is still breathing."
A moment later, "Hurry, my friend, my child is still
warm."
Finally, "Hurry. Oh my God, my child is getting
cold."
When they got to the hospital, the little girl had died.
As the two men were in the lavatory, washing the blood off their hands and
their clothes, the man turned to the reporter and said, "This is a
terrible task for me. I must go tell her father that his child is dead. He will
be heartbroken."
The reporter was amazed. He looked at the grieving man
and said, "I thought she was your child."
The man looked back and said, "No, but aren't they
all our children?"
(Author and source unknown)
No comments:
Post a Comment