Few children can be as pure and simple as Wies Felaman was. For a boy living in the dark fire of one of the biggest wars history can record, he has been very well. His family has suffered as every family in the late 1930s Poland and his uncle, a horseman who attacked a German tank as many Polish soldiers, would never visit them again. However, he could only think about playing games with the stones or broken bricks on the gray stony street. As I said, he was a particular child.

I wondered many times how could a person not see what was happening around him. Then, I discovered it: he had an enormous imagination. While living on hell, he was in heaven, being carried away by the wind. Actually, he had a strange obsession with air. He always told me that air had tiny, thin channels through which, he said, people's emotions and secrets were told. He once even remembered a time he could manipulate them to change his father's opinion over a street dog he wanted to bring home. However, during our conversations, he often shrieked and sadly said: "Sir... air has scars, and I can no longer touch the channels without making people cry or feel uncomfortable. People's hearts are damaged and sensitive nowadays." That was such a mature remark for a 13-year-old. (exhale) I miss him so much...

One morning, Wi-Fee, which is how we used to call him, went out to the city outskirts with his best and only friend, Waga Smutek, having left home secretly. I knew when I greeted them that sunny, yet raining, morning that those little brats weren't allowed by their parents to go there. But this was not the first time the would do such a thing, nor the last they would be grounded... at least not for one of them.

The boys were playing all morning and only returned, compelled by hunger, at noon. As we all imagined, their parents were angry as fire and redder than a tomato, but no one ever pictured what happened later: they came walking on the main street of our town. When Wi-Fee saw his mother on the road with her arms folded and her face deterred by a wild expression, he came running so as to both beg for mercy and hug her. However, at the very moment the boys separated by five or seven yards, Waga cried: "Wies, goodb..." A bomb fell right over Smutek's son's head. Wi-Fee had turned to say "goodbye" on that second and watched all the fierce scene. His eyes were wet. I'm sure they were, for they have never seen a sunny day again.

The following days were no better. Food was scarce and light turn dark, even in sunny mornings, when streetlights still shine and the sun begins to show its power... it was even darker those days. The young Felaman, who was always the non-talkative type of child, talked even less. Along with his silence and the intense red of his eyes, my pain grew up. I could know what he was thinking about those days, until that evening-night, when I was lighting the streetlights.

"Good evening, child. What are you doing with that case? You going anywhere?" - I asked. "Among all the amazing people of this town, you're one of my favourites, Mr. Rivadresz" - he replied "See you tomorrow".

I was astonished by his words. What was he thinking? However, I didn't stop him. He always returned. His mischief was not hidden. But now that I think of it, I sound so stupid and insensible as I can be.

Three days later, a soldier with polish uniform came from the field. He had a bag. That bag carried Wies.

"I found him near the German camp."- the private said. "My sergeant ordered me to bring him here. He had a journal in his pocket." He took a small leather book out of a pocket in his shirt and started reading.

"September 13th, Poland (or something like that)

I, Wies Felaman the Great, am approaching the German. I'll take revenge for what they've done to my country, to my family, but, above all of them, my dear and now dead friend Waga (rest in peace, mate). My revenge will be tremendous! But I don't have guns nor the wits to kill anyone, so I'll just simply sabotage something. My mother once told me that I was an expert destroying things. And, in fact, I've broke a mug, a mirror and a radio. So, destroying a tank may be a piece of "German" cake. Well... tomorrow I'll be there. I hope I don't just die before making a difference."

Felaman's mother took the journal and, after a few seconds and with a sudden inner burst of sadness, she continued reading for the memory of her son:

"September 15th, German base on Polish territory.

I'm sorry I haven't written before. No one will ever read it anyway. I couldn't break anything. I hoped my mother was write about my "destructive skills". Sabotage is an art I haven't mastered (yet). But I discovered another talent of mine: Spying. Germans don't actually care about me. I'm just a little brat for them and they think they can bully me sometimes. However, I discovered this way how Germans started the war. It seems like a group of their soldiers dressed like Polish privates attacked a German radio station. That was their excuse to invade Poland! Now that I know the truth, I can tell it to everyone and if a lie started this mess, a true statement will finish it. I can also move the strings to control nations emotions and make them hate less. I'm sure of it! This afternoon, when everyone is distracted, I'll run through the green grassy hills (which are actually brown, and are more like a stumbled castle or city, but they're green grassy hills in my mind) and give the news to everyone.

I'll be a HERO."

There was a silence for a few seconds.

"He was a victim of the crossfire" - finally said the private. He turned and left the town.

We buried the body, but Wies never saw decomposition. Decades later, a violent storm removed dirt over him. He was still as complete as ever. When that case appeared on an article and his story was known, a tech company came. Its founder was moved by the anecdote and wanted to "resurrect" his mind through a computer. No one opposed. I was the only living witness at that time, the only one who could tell what happened to Wi-Fee. However, things got messy and Wies' mind never return... actually, it transformed into some kind of air web that shared information all over the world and that, sometimes, trolled people. He stayed young forever and his body was left into a silver coffin connected to a huge computer.

That was Wi-Fee story.