The beginning of the 20th century.
I am 12 years old. Our family is peasants.
I run out of the house and run straight to meet my little sister.
My heart is full of happiness.Today is a day off. The whole family is assembled – mom, dad, me and my favorite red-haired sister and her nanny. We are walking in the yellow field of rye. Above us is a dark gray pre-threatening sky.
A strong wind is blowing, a thunderstorm has begun. I grab my sister and run towards the house but the field becomes endless. It scares me and I stop. Around us there are 12 peeping heads of riders in ritual clothing. They’re watching us. I can’t move. I hold my sister in my arms. I understand that they came for her.
Another moment they disappeared. The storm doesn’t stop. We ran to the house. Adults like they know what happened to us. Mom and the nurse are nervously looking for my sister’s drawings and saying that there are clues that she’s special. It needs to be protected from them. Dad cooks something from herbs…
I find myself in the big empty room of our house. Around me riders. I try to prove to them that something. They are not collapsing. They are a deity. They are leading “justice”. They order my dad to bring my sister. He tries to agree with them. Riders are annoyed…
I find myself outside the door. My little sister is no more. The nurse reads a prayer. My mother screams and cries. The door opens. From there comes the daddy. The blood of my beloved sister is on him. I beat the walls from the pain inside me. I’m screaming.
I wake up from my own cry.