I draw the blind and try to think of anything but the crunch of my parents’ carriage as it was crushed, the splinter of bone and sinew. I can still feel the thick slick of blood matting my hair, gluing my lashes together, coating my tongue and lips. I remember every physical sensation, but the emotion must be so great it lies beyond memory, beyond feeling. I thought myself unmarred by the memory, but perhaps I only run from it, and in a moment like this, the lies I tell myself become all too clear.
