Sleeping tired toys Since the sun is not lazy to get up, then for a seven-year-old boy this is nonsense, especially since there are so many interesting things around. It seems as if the village near Zagreb is no different from dozens of others, but Tomica knows for sure that this is not the case. And it is not in the rare profession of the grandfather-bell craftsman or in the unique ability of the aunt to foreign languages, and not even in the neighboring witch, turning naughty nephews into garden gnomes, and unwanted husbands into pigs, and not in the cave of Ali Baba, full of confiscated Jewish property. Just Treshnevka is a house, cozy and warm, where every resident is a good friend, even if it is a harmful girl Yanya, who likes to brag about her ability to read, but so great is able to look for adventure. You do not want to go anywhere and it is always pleasant to return here, because you always feel safe next to loving people, even amid the rumble of exploding shells. So it is not surprising that Tomitsa’s father came from the war before it ended: he is not a coward, no, and who would have thought that, just pulled him to the house, to his wife, to his son, because what could be more important than his home and a strong family.
Children’s fantasy is boundless and endless, so that fairy tales appear by themselves, growing out of the most ordinary things, changing space and time, turning the incomprehensible into the mysterious, and the terrible into funny. The niece of the terrible witch Tonka invented princes on white unicorns and instead of dung beetles represented the royal carriages, Tomica and Yanja walked along the sleepers to meet the rapidly approaching steam locomotive and firmly believed that nothing bad could happen to them, but the walls of these air castles built by the childhood imagination collapsed with the same crash and left behind them quite tangible ruins of the present, and the rising dust clouded the future - both near and far. Everything that seemed so clear and clear, soared in a whirlwind of questions without answers, the warm sunny shades of eternal spring mixed with each other, soaring to the sky nauseating yellow-gray veil, against which so hideously bright colors of new, alien and alien life. Red lipstick on the lips of Yanya, kissing another scoundrel who promised a beautiful life. The black dress of a mother mourning her parents - sincerely, and a husband finally resting - with relief. White bubbles near the lips of fictional characters of another useless comic book, which is so easy to hide, ascribed to others the right words and deeds. The fairy tale heroes are lucky, and they are in danger of nothing but turning the carriage into a pumpkin. In life, everything is much more spectacular: unusually shaped balloons do not burst with a loud cotton, but escape from their hands and are used condoms.
Neven Khitretz tells his dark story not only in color, but also in sound, forcing them to walk towards each other to cross paths at the moment of the transformation of Tomitz from a boy into a man, and disperse, gradually fading away. Loud and elusive songs of cheerful painters, who manage to dance on their stairs, are replaced by smooth sounds of Dalmatian claps, gradually turning into viscous tables of those that sing at weddings and funerals. The notes break, fading in the air with fragments of recent joyful laughter and mournful weeping, and for the ages of a recent naive shooter, an indifferent black silence descends, sucking out the last remnants of fading sunset colors. Sleep, my darling, let you dream of what you have lost forever. The morning will never come and the evening will always be wiser, but you will never know. For those who go to bed, have a good night. She's calm. Night.