Tareq has never seen the ground from that high. A portion at a time, his hometown. The back of the chair pushes it forward, increasing the sense of malaise that has already proven when he was forced to leave. That morning, at dawn. Away from his brothers away by his mother, from his home, away from his path, away from his neighborhood. The horizon is tilted, the colors expand, merge points. A few moments of flight and already seems to have lost his memory ... He was small, just a few days ago. He played in the street and talked about the war, as the war played with the greats. His friends had just walked away from the stop. He was gone a moment to showcase Karhid, the baker friend of his father. He saw mangled bodies near a large hole in the asphalt. The bus stops and in flames. He played with stones. Back home. Without raising his head.
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