Little Andrew Vincent leaned his head against the breeze-cooled window and sighed, lost in thoughts of his Before-times. Specks of stuff cascaded down the glass adjacent to his face like winter soot. Staring vacantly, his eyes pierced beyond and through the invisible curtain, out to the old oak tree anciently resting across the yard from his window.
His youthful mind scanned and randomly searched for the memories, the misplaced memories of his lost Parents. They seemed so far away now. If only he could remember. If only—
Sadly, thoughts of a story his Parents had told him of how his Grandfather, a Non-Denominational Minister, had accidentally died in a War called “WWII, The Big One”. It had been his first explanation of death, of pain. At the time it had been far from a complete one.
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