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toes as it soaks through my boots. The books don’t tell me what to do to stop the burning and my bag has no medicine for the blisters. My throat aches with thirst at the sound of the falling rain but my screaming skin warns me not to drink. In my canvas cocoon, I worry about what the rain will do to the garden I will plant. If this is what falls from the skies, it must be what fills the rivers. How will my plants thrive when they have no usable water? How will we live to grow them if we cannot drink? I hope the others who will meet me have these answers because I have none and worry is gnawing at my stomach along with hunger.

     Hours pass. The others do not come. I think I must have woken early or that the stinging rain has kept them inside their own units. I gr...

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