Maar net als die enkele vruchtjes die doorgaans aan het bloemhoofd blijven plakken, staan enkele mensen als aan de grond genageld. Sommigen weten niet goed waar ze heen moeten. De horde mensen die zojuist voorbij is komen rennen is even verderop uit elkaar gestoven, als een uitgeblazen paardenbloem in slow motion. Valt uiteindelijk met een plof op de stoep kapot. De link naar de genomineerde verhalen vind je hier, maar het stuk is ook hieronder te lezen.ĭe bloempot weet niet zeker welke kant hij op zal vallen. Wie uiteindelijk de winnaar is wordt zondag 29 november bekend gemaakt. Uit meer dan 600 inzendingen werden de 50 beste gekozen. Het doel was een kort verhaal van 400 woorden te schrijven met vrije keuze voor het onderwerp. Vrijmoed een nominatie in de schrijfwedstrijd Nederland Leest verdiend. (thanks to Victoria Janes for translation advice)ĭonderdag 26 november 2015 heeft het korte verhaal De goedheiligman van Tessa D.M. After all, peace starts in the living room. If only everyone would know that warm feeling inside after receiving a silly little gift accompanied by a short poem. If only everyone would treat their companions in such peaceful manner. Sinterklaas and Zwarte Piet where grinning at her. But how do you prevent wars? Cogitating, she walked past a shop window. Now that it had gotten so close, she knew better. For all those times in which, almost heedlessly, she had browsed through newspaper articles about terrorist attacks in faraway countries. What she did know, is that she felt terribly ashamed. How does someone decide to randomly shoot civilians? How much hate can one bear? And is that hate real?Īfter she returned to Holland, Marlene still hadn’t found an answer to her questions. Understanding what happened though, is impossible. Meanwhile, thanks to tonight’s broadcast, Marlene gets the gist of what is going on. She was casually roaming the streets tonight, after having toasted to her new job, when she was suddenly dragged along by a bunch of frightened youngsters. This morning’s interview, for which she had flown to France, seems like a lifetime ago. Trembling with fear – a blanket wrapped around blood stained knees – she watches the evening news. His wife has put the kettle on and a few moments later she is sitting on the couch next to her Samaritans. With a bleary look but without jibbing she follows her protector. A man in an apron is walking towards her from a house nearby. A small row of soldiers slides past skulking, helmet on head, gun in hand. She is surrounded by shrieks and shouting. A girl is standing in the middle of the square, crying. But just like how some of the little seeds tend to stick to the flower head, some people too are nailed to the ground. The hordes of people that have just run past, spurt out in different directions a little further ahead, just like a dandelion being blown out in slow motion. Eventually it crashes down on the sidewalk and bursts into a thousand pieces. The flowerpot doesn’t know which way to fall. It is said that later this saint became known as Santa Clause in America. Together with his colored friend Zwarte Piet, every year they make children happy with presents that are accompanied by small poems. It does not store any personal data.Sinterklaas is a saint of uncertain origins that is celebrated in the Netherlands on the 5 th of December.
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