When I was little, my great-grandfather told me what he had been through during the Great War.
In doing so, he used to sweeten the stories so as not to make them too gory and therefore instead of weapons and wounds there were fruits.
Where guns were used, he talked about bananas.
Where bombs fell, he mentioned pears.
Where the blood flowed, he talked about cherries.
Often, during the stories, he did not notice that the past traumas returned vivid to make the details macabre anyway.
He did this to preserve my innocence but on the other hand I was growing up quickly and I didn't point it out to him, because I wanted to preserve his memory.
Every time he finished telling those stories, he would say, "If it ever happens that someone has to tell new stories of this kind, then humanity will have made a mistake once again."
