I am awoken from the deepest sleep. The night world is a blur in front of me. I know I am in a white van and I know who is driving. I am five.
My mother leans over me. I can smell her breath and the heat from it leaving a damp patch on my cheek.
"Look at the lights," her whisper is low and urgent.
They are just street lights. But they go by in such a rush, the trails running off them almost creating daylight.
I sit up beside my mother, watching until we left the outskirts of whatever town we were in.
My mother leans over me. I can smell her breath and the heat from it leaving a damp patch on my cheek.
"Look at the lights," her whisper is low and urgent.
They are just street lights. But they go by in such a rush, the trails running off them almost creating daylight.
I sit up beside my mother, watching until we left the outskirts of whatever town we were in.
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