green light a flare in the sky is cast by a space between the curtain and the wall, illuminating part of the darkened room. A subsequent explosion blasts "the entire building, which is reeling as the morals of a drunken teenager. The sound of falling glass and the subsequent burst of shrapnel bouncing everywhere force me to throw myself on the floor and crawl in my shirt and pants with Scooby Doo to the exit.
The night air in the city of Tripoli fills with the sound of the sirens that warn of new bombings the forces opposed to the Qadhafi regime, while the dark star the little finger of my right foot against an invisible piece of furniture in an attempt to get out into the hallway and away from the danger posed by the windows of the hotel where we met several representatives of the international press. After two minutes that silence appears again, take courage to peek over the balcony and see if the Libyan capital is out there, ignoring the stinging in my crotch that indicates that maybe I'm too scared. A glow in the distance out from behind a wall and turns to me, I'm dead.
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