Last night the old village school teacher was killed. This morning the children found him in his small room that had been attached to the school when he returned, the lost son, to this small town about 80 km from Barcelona, picturesquely located in the mountains of Catalonia. No, he was never really lost. But it was too much for the small village, whose residents lived from the olive groves. Since always. He was the first to move out to attend higher school. He then studied at university. Everyone worked together to make this possible for him. “He’s a good boy,” they had said as they patted Javier’s father on the shoulder, who didn’t want to accept it. After studying education, he was employed at the university. First as a lecturer. Then as a professor. But he had felt empty inside.
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