RIO
I run.
I run as fast as my tiny, chubby legs can take me, but I keep stumbling over branches and rocks. My small bare feet were cut from the fallen debris around me.
“Keep running, Rio. Don’t slow down.” My mother yells as the sound of roaring and shouting fills the background noise.
There is a scent in the air. I can’t put my finger on it, I’m too little to understand what is happening.
“Don’t trust them, Rio. They are coming for you,” she calls out once again.
I stumble and fall again, but this time it is by a calm stream.
It stumps me.
How can this stream in the middle of all this chaos be so calm and steady?
I crawl over to the stream, determined to learn its secrets, but all I see is my own reflection.
I am a toddler, no more than three years old.
Where was I?
