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The hot, moist air of Hunan met the cool fresh air of the morning, the day dimmed and the cicadas dulled their humming.
“Where did the sun go?” I wondered aloud as I held up a piece of smoked glass up to the sky.
“Nowhere, it’s still there behind the moon.” My grandfather said softly in his accent.
“I don’t see it.”
“You can still see some of the light coming from it.”
My grandfather laughed at my sudden childlike realization, stroking my short dark hair that was pinned down with a pink bunny clip.
Looking up, I saw his eyes bright and brimming with happiness.
My hair reached to my hips when I saw my grandfather again.
I tugged his body into a warm embrace as he weakly tried to drape his cold, bony arms around me. My parents playful banter with my relatives quieted down as my grandfather let go and hobbled away.
“You’re grandfather is gone,” my mother managed to croak as she awkwardly fumbled with her glasses.
“No he’s not, he’s still there behind the...”
And for the first time in twelve years, I looked down into his eyes.
There was no light.

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