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Miya shook his head, the tears he had tried to contain now freely falling down his cheeks, the hand over his mouth tried to muffle his quiet sobbing. Crying already and he hadn't even told the story yet.
"It was a long time ago." His voice shook, punctuated by soft hitches of his breath. "I was traveling with my parents, we should've been more cautious, I should've been keeping a better eye on our surroundings." His eyes were squeezed shut, hands going to block his ears as if he was reliving the very experience, as if he heard his mother scream again.
"There were eight of them against us three, we never stood a chance. They killed my father first and all I could hear was my mother screaming and then suddenly, she was quiet and by the time I look over, she's had her throat slit and there's a knife at my throat and I'm next and then suddenly I'm running away and there's blood down my arm and my throat hurts and.. and I don't remember anymore. I don't want to." And now, Miya's crying so hard he can't talk properly anymore.
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