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Wipers . I loved to watch them . Watch them move lazily from left to right . They always cheer me up during boring rainy days . How they just move perfectly and constantly .Just staring , dazing , so hypnotizing .

It was a haze . My father was still laughing . Happy . We drove through the winding roads , singing songs. Suddenly , it rained . Oh yes , it rained . The wipers went up and I was filled with so much joy . I watched undisturbed. What came next was a blur . Yet still all I saw was those wipers , moving so joyfully .

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I struggled . Why ? The police men were doing all their best to gather some information . I saw their face filled with impatience . I tried . I fought to know .  But why above all I wanted to see , I saw those wipers.

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Now , as I have grown with age . I had struggled to bring back memories . And yes , for all my hard work , I still don’t understand . They told me that my parents died while a shower of bullets hit them. But why?

Why as I remembered , why as I fought as I grew with age I saw this . I saw those wipers again moving , dancing ,  but now they came to a stop . A stop so loud , it echoed through the mazes of my memory. A stop that left me clawing , gasping for my life .

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