Comments by "Widdekuu91" (@Widdekuu91) on "Trump supporter leaves CNN's Brooke Baldwin speechless" video.
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Let me tell you an inspirational story. It's not as you think it'll be, I promise.
It's based on the fairytale Frau Holle/Mother Hulda. I genuienly wrote everything by hand, just for you.
There once was a guy called Trent in a far away country called 'Murica.
He was a very stressed and unhappy guy, that didn't know how to attract positive energy.
The thing that made him feel safe, was telling himself that white was good. So he'd be good too.
He played the guitar all day, trying to perfectionize his notes.
He didn't get much appreciation for that, people made mean comments.
That was sad, because he was really trying and it was a good try too. The comments made him bitter.
One day, he was tuning the guitar, while sitting on the edge of a well, when the guitar fell in.
'Oh no!' Trent jumped into the well as well, to get his guitar and all of the sudden, he was in a forest.
There was a tree, with a bunch of piñatas in it. And some Mexican people were standing around, trying to get it down.
'Could you help us Trent? We want to give our kids some candy, but the hurricanes blew the piñatas-strings around the branches. They're up too high now.."
Trent waited for a moment. They were Mexicans..probably illegals. And they wanted him to help.
A part of him said 'No!' and wanted to walk away. They'd probably assault and rob him either way, if he tried. They're all criminals, he thought. I better get myself out of this situation.
But another, small part of him, still wished to be able to trust people. He came nearer and climbed up the tree. His shirt ripped a bit, his jeans got dirty, but he climbed all the way up and let the piñatas hang down.
He then climbed down again and the Mexicans applauded. 'Thank you!'
They gave him some of the candy that the kids hit from the piñata. And Trent moved on.
He then came to an oven, that was filled with bread. There were liberals standing around, waiting for someone to help.
"We're hungry, but the oven is stuck.." they explained. 'We found a stick, to pry it open. We need someone to hold the end and we can't have our children near the hot oven.."
Trent looked around for a moment. He'd already ripped his shirt, he wasn't looking forward to burning his hands now too.
'Can't you find someone else?' he asked. He didn't want to be held responsible for something that wasn't his problem. Why was he being asked to fix this? A part of his mind even said; 'Let those kids try and fix it. What does it matter if they burn their hands, it shows them they have to wórk for their bread!'
But he noticed there was smoke coming from the oven and the children would surely get the heat in their faces. He sighed, stepped forward and held the end of the stick, while the liberals pushed and pulled.
Slowly, the door opened and most of the bread was still eatible.
Trent quickly put the bread on the stone table next to the oven and the liberals smiled at him.
"Thankyou! For a moment there, we thought you'd let us starve...'
Trent nodded and said; 'For a moment there, I thought so too.'
After the bread had cooled off a bit, Trent got a bag for himself and went on to search for his guitar.
He noticed he'd been feeling better and it wasn't just for the bread and the candy. He turned a corner and..there was his guitar!' But who was standing next to it?
A black woman, named Frau Holle, came nearer and nodded.
'It fell on my lawn, it's been slightly damaged. I'll be able to fix it for you..if you want.' Trent hesistated. It did seem very broken and he could see a guitar-kit in the back, to fix it. The lady seemed to know a lot about guitars...
"But in return', the lady said, 'you'll have to work for me, to repay me for mý work on your guitar.."
HERE'S THE DEAL: This story has two endings. A good one. And a bad one. You are allowed to pick which one you chose. Both have been written below. Choose wisely.
The bad ending:
Trent looked at the woman and shook his head. "I've been through enough shit already!", he yelled and grabbed his guitar from the lawn. "You're telling me I have to work for you?! YOU?! I'd never humiliate myself like that!'
"You're humiliating yourself at this moment..', the woman said calmly. "By causing a stampede. I'm simply asking you to treat me the same way as you'd treat any other person.."
"Well, I won't!', Trent said harshly and angrily waved the guitar in the air as he spoke. "You're not like me. We are not equal. And we will never be equal.'
The woman looked at him in silence and it made Trent even more furious. He jumped up and down, causing the bread-bag to rip open, it all fell on the ground. He heared crackling noises and noticed the candy had fallen out too. It was being crushed under his shoes.
'I don't need your help!" Trent shouted. He became more upset with the minute.
"If you want to go home, there's the gate..', the woman said and pointed at a big, golden bow.
"But I have to warn you-'
'I don't need your help!', Trent shouted back. The woman just stood there and watched as Trent took his broken guitar, picked up the last bits of muddy bread and walked, over the brick lane, underneath the bow.
Thick, black tar dripped from the gate and covered Trent from head to toe. It was sticky and warm, it covered his face, his hands, his guitar. He felt grass under his feet and opened his eyes, while wiping the tar away from them. He was back home, but everything was covered in tar, including the last bits of bread.
He went home, washed his hands and face and his guitar, but the black never really left. He tried continuing his life, restoring the guitar, but he kept being reminded of the event, each time he looked at his hands. And he wondered what would've happened if he'd done things differently.
The good ending:
Trent looked at the woman and frowned. What did he have to do then, in order to get his guitar restored?
it was as if the woman knew what he was thinking. "It'll take me six weeks...I'll need you to clean my house, since I won't have time for it anymore, if you want me to take care of that guitar."
Trent nodded. That was alright.
'And I need you to do my groceries and greet everyone you meet.", the lady continued. "And give them a compliment. I usually do that too."
Trent felt uncomfortable, but his guitar was him very dearly and it would only be six weeks.
He started by cleaning the table, the floor, the beds and the windows. Everything seemed to be going much quicker and easier, now he knew he was doing it for the guitar. He'd finished the work in no-time and was very proud of himself. He was sweaty and tired, his shirt was still ripped, his hands still a bit burned, but he felt like he'd made a difference.
"Here's the grocerie-list..", the woman said. Trent went to the shops, but he didn't greet anyone.
It was warm, he was hungry, he wanted to hurry up.
That evening, the woman asked if he'd seen and greeted anyone that day.
Trent didn't answer and ate his soup, but he didn't enjoy it as much as he wanted to.
The next day, despite the weight and the hot sun burning his scalp, Trent decided to try and greet more people. It felt as if the bags became lighter as well. He happily greeted everyone he saw.
Apart from one guy. A black one. Because the guy had looked at him funny, while he greeted Trent.
And Trent had felt insulted by it and had continued walking.
When he came home, proudly presenting the bags of fruit and vegetables, the woman looked unhappy.
"My dear friend told me, that you ignored him today', she said. "Why did you do that?'
Trent felt frustrated. He'd cleaned the entire house, the groceries were bought, the people were greeted. Was it really that big of a deal?'
He didn't answer, again. And the soup didn't taste as good as it should've. It seemed more bitter.
The third day was the same. The fourth day too. On the fifth week, Trent started dreading the grocerie-shopping. He'd see the man again. He'd feel insulted again. And the soup would become more bitter again.
But today was different. Trent walked, greeted everyone as usual, but when he met the black guy, he stopped. He inhaled deeply, looked the man right in the eyes and said; 'Hello sir!'
"Hello!' the man responded happily. "I was just wondering who you were. Are you helping Frau Holle out, by any chance?'
"Yes, that's me', Trent said.
"Could you give her the message that I have a tomato-plant for her?" The guy smiled. 'She always makes such good soup, I want her to have it..'
'Certainly sir..", Trent responded. He brought the groceries to Frau Holle and without any hesistation, visited the black man, to pick up the tomato plant.
That evening, Trent ate the most delicious tomatosoup he'd ever tasted.
"I have a surprise for you..", the woman said. "Today is the last day of the fifth week. You've learned so much. I finished your guitar today, it's ready. You can go home, if you want."
Trent nodded, finished his soup and thanked Frau Holle for everything.
She offered him extra bread, that the liberals had brought this afternoon, now that their oven was working, they could make as much bread as they needed again.
The Mexicans had brought some sweets. And the black friend, had brought another tomato-plant, just for him.
Trent, packed with his presents, walked down the brick lane and underneath the bow. Gold fell down, rained on him and covered his guitar, his tomatoeplant, his head and his clothes. Shiny and shimmering with gold, he found himself on the lawn, next to the well again.
He sold the golden clothes and used to money to improve his home. He played guitarmusic to entertain and donated the money he had left, to the poor. His life was complete. There was never a dull day.
People visited him daily, from far away even to see his golden tomatoes.Or just to say hello. And Trent always greeted all of them back. The End.
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