It was a staircase, eight steps, landing and another ten, perhaps. An ugly-white light, I remember as if it were now, had both hands in the jacket pocket, the rest of the rain mizzled and I kept escaping the puddles, because of my new sandals.

The noise from the stairs was as novel as the sandals. A sharp noise, tread after tread. A distant and slightly familiar noise. The sound brought along a tiny throat pain, a scream leaving out in silence, shedding through the eyes.

Begin the stairway as one, end it as another. The racket alone and screamless.