When I am being refreshed by one of the robots, I am watching the other robots chop chop at the ground. They are standing in straight rows, and every hole they are making in the ground is the same. Same long, same wide. And I am noticing the bodies that once were covering me so much that I could not breathe. The memory is fresh in my mind and in my body, so that when I close my eyes, I still am seeing the darkness I am seeing when I first wake up and the robots pull me free. Some robots are standing in the distance, farther than I am seeing with my regular eye, but I am being able to be zooming in, and I am seeing them standing by caravan of trailers that is being made out of dirty metal.

One of the robots that is close to me is having hose with needle poking into my arm, and a different kind of water is flowing like river into me. Not river that is just water, but river with stones and sticks and other tiny things in it. It is feeding me.

This one robot is feeding me, and it is speaking to me at the same time. It is not moving its mouth, but I am still hearing words.

You’re a child of war, the robot is telling me, and when the robot is telling me that I am child of war, I am remembering all kind of things.

I am running through the rain in a too-big shirt and my face is angling to the sky and I am feeling fast and I am smiling.

I am walking on a dirt road to church, and Mama is holding my hand as we are walking, and everywhere is light and bright colors—the leaves on the trees, the red clay of the earth, the colors on Mama’s gown. And we are sitting in a church pew, and the pastor is speaking in loud voice, and Mama is smiling.

I am sitting on the ground in a home, and my legs are being crossed, and I am wearing green shorts. I am talking to my brother—I am not knowing how I am knowing he is my brother—and there is a bowl of chin-chin between us, and I am reaching into it, and I am eating it, and it is being crunchy and sweet in my mouth. I am trying to say something to my brother but I am not being able to say words, and he is laughing and holding his stomach and laughing and I am laughing too.

“Stop that-oh!” someone is shouting in another room. “Are you trying to choke on your food? Stop laughing with your mouth full before you fall down and die.”

And my brother is saying, “Fall down and die” in funny accent like our father, and it is making me to be laughing even more.