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- **Unattended**
- Hi.
- Memory is a funny thing. When I was a girl, my father and I lived in Russia. So here’s what I remember. An address: Saint Petersburg, 7th Line of Vasilievsky Island, 18. A precise date: July 31, 1998. I remember the boy—he was 25, I think, but strangely enough he didn’t seem like a grown-up even to my childish eyes, somehow he was “a boy” from the get go. I remember a storm brewing for three days straight and passing the city by the next morning. I remember what happened, although I don’t. I remember dad and his, erm, colleagues leaving the city soon afterwards.
- There’s one thing I can’t remember though: did I really become infected then and there?
- When a little girl meets a stranger, let alone a boy, she starts to imagine things—like what the two of them may have in common. I remember looking him in the eye and thinking: nothing, we have absolutely nothing in common!
- I was wrong.
- Father never allowed me to play in the street unattended since then. So why am I alone today?
- Voronika,
- http://feverishfeeling.com
- P. S. I feel like I’ll need this memory later. Or not. Maybe you’ve just read a couple pages from a girl-y diary. I think everyone agrees that’s enthralling reading.
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