I was a child, and my parents and I had just moved, although we were now in a place that was so close that it must have been almost next door to the old one. I liked my room, which was very close, cluttered, and dark. But one day I remembered my memories and returned to the old place to find them. I had left many things behind that meant so much to me, but now I could find no way to carry them and no place to put them. I mourned these many small things that were invested only with emotional value, sobbing even as I refused to give up.
I was in an empty box car on a freight train and realized that a man was pursuing me. The only place to hide was in an open alcove. If I were fortunate, he wouldn't look into it. He passed by once without seeing me, but on the return trip he took me captive.
Something happened—I said or did something—and my captor, now a woman, pulled the pin from a hand grenade in response. I was horrified. Just then, the train separated, or she fell off it, because I could see her figure on the tracks as the train I was still on pulled rapidly away. She stood rather stupidly holding the hand grenade, neither throwing it or running away from it. I didn't want to look, but I couldn't understand why she was behaving so strangely and what was happening.