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December 7, 2002
I remember the sky, heavy, grey, looming, inexorable. I remember the wind, sharp, whipping my hair as I ran in the rain. I remember the taste of the rain, earthy and electric. I remember the branches of the orange trees scratching my face as I ran from imagined foes, wrapped in childish fantasy. I remember the swirl of my cloak and the reassuring weight of the wooden sword in my hand. I remember being alive. But most of all, I remember that I had to go inside to the dark, to the calm, and pretend there was no life outside.