Young Mamaidh
We were alone. The rain rinsed my hair, washing my cheeks, freeing my spirits, as it had at mamaidh’s funeral. I loved rain. It made me feel alive, so much that my body tingled and glowed all over. I couldn’t help myself. I needed, wanted to take a risk. I lived for risks. Risks were my life.
He looked pitifully sad. I asked him if he fancied a treat.
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