A ten-year-old boy was drowning. Fear had already left him. The green strands of water weed flowed before his eyes. The sun was at its zenith, its rays piercing the water. The water current covered him and hugged him gently to the depth. It was warm and peaceful. Suddenly, I was grabbed by the hair and yanked upward in a single movement. My grandmother was frightened, and I was disappointed by this finale. Time stopped when I inhaled, and a dull summer steppe landscape drew tears from my eyes with acrid dust. This world was different. Not that cosy and harsh.
The river became my shelter for years. You barely hear the rumble of the outside world here, your thoughts are clear, and the people I have met here are open and kind, as if the river water washes all troubles and cares off them, so that they could bring back the quiet and untroubled state of my childhood.