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Weekly Contest #349
My first memory is of a three-year-old girl named Nadia looking at the flowers growing from me. She desired to be taller so she could pick them. Nadia wanted them in her hair; she wanted to press them in a book; she wanted to bring one to her Grandma, who would help her get them against her father’s will. I have memories of Nadia having her first kiss, losing her first child, the panic she felt as the world around her crumbled so easily when water and food became scarce. Overnight, living somewhere isolated became a blessing. In a week she ...
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