The Golden Maze
The rain hit the pavement like broken glass. It was cold. It was wet. It smelled of rust and old paper. I was nine years old. My boots were soaked. I did not care. I ran. My lungs burned. The city was a gray box. No one was outside. The streets were empty. The lights were off. I ran to the school. The gates were locked. The iron bars were cold. I looked through them. The windows were dark....
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