BUNGLED
It was raining. The stream from heaven flowed down along the side of the mountain, dragging along branches, leaves of fallen trees, and whatever it found on its way. One isolated driftwood bobbed and rocked, slowly. It picked up speed, winding its way until it landed on a whirlpool at the mouth. In its moody disposition, the surging stream rambled to eventually become a torrent of angry waters, never letting up. The subdued opposition whispered and started mobilizing. There were condemnations of the blatant transgression of a person´s right to life. Scattered groups all over the country could not keep quiet. Little by little they raised their voices. One of these informal conglomerations was
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