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	<title>Max Titov IV @ TechSplice &#187; Short Stories</title>
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	<description>The most beautiful music of all is the music of what happens.</description>
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		<title>Broken Smile</title>
		<link>http://www.blog.techsplice.com/archives/153</link>
		<comments>http://www.blog.techsplice.com/archives/153#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 06 Oct 2006 01:36:55 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>maxtmax</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Stories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[life]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[personal]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[story]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.blog.techsplice.com/?p=153</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[There is a large construction site located adjacent to our building.  I remember there used to be a playground there.  Swings and carrousels, filled with kids and laughter.  Now there are piles of gray construction blocks and a mangled wooden fence surrounding the property. I hear my mother call my name, it is noon, time [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p class="MsoNormal">There is a large construction site located adjacent to our building.<span>  </span>I remember there used to be a playground there.<span>  </span>Swings and carrousels, filled with kids and laughter.<span>  </span>Now there are piles of gray construction blocks and a mangled wooden fence surrounding the property.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I hear my mother call my name, it is noon, time for us to go on our daily walk.<span>  </span>I rush into my room, and quickly find a pair of slightly worn out pants.<span>  </span>The stains of dirt and torn chunks of dark grey fabric don’t bother me.<span>  </span>I am excited about playing outside. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I run through the front door swinging it wide open.<span>  </span>The air rushes through my lugs and the sun gently wrinkles my forehead. I feel like I haven’t been outside for so long.<span>  </span>The semi circular street surrounding our apartment building is packed with cars.<span>  </span>It’s quiet now, I hear a kindergarten teacher talking to her students.<span>  </span>I squeeze my mother’s hand and we continue walking.<span>  </span>She has a strong grip.<span>  </span>She looks down at me and smiles.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We pass large shrub of bushes.<span>  </span>It’s warm enough for little red fruits to start blooming.<span>  </span>I rip one of them and hide it in my front pocket; my mom doesn’t notice.<span>  </span>A neighboring boy runs up to us; it’s Sergey.<span>  </span>He is wearing neat black shorts and a plain dark t-shirt.<span>  </span>Out of breath he asks “Can Max play?” I look up with a smile and see my mother nods to me “Go on”. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Sergey runs around the corner and disappears in a large jagged opening of a crackled wooden fence. I follow him without hesitation.<span>  </span>On the other side I feel like I am in a maze. Piles of large cement blocks, some curved, some rectangular are surrounding me. I climb on top of one and see my friends talking in a group.<span>  </span>Sergey is there, he invites me in; they want to play a game. I see my mother in the distance, I wave to her, and she waves back.<span>  </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We start playing hide and seek; it’s my turn to search.<span>  </span>I turn around and start counting; I like a challenge so I don’t peek.<span>  </span>When I reach hundred I turn.<span>  </span>Quickly scouting the area I start walking forward.<span>  </span>I clip my leg on a rusty metal bar and fall.<span>  </span>Slowly and in shock I push my self off the ground.<span>  </span>I feel like my face was hit by a hammer, it hurts; it hurts so badly, I scream.<span> </span> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Sergey along with a few other boys appear.<span>  </span>They have stunned expressions of horror.<span>  </span>Without hesitation Sergey rushes to the fence in search of my mother.<span>  </span>In seconds my mother is here, she is terrified.<span>  </span>She grabs me and rushes me to the apartment.<span>  </span>Stumbling trying to catch her pace I cry, “It hurts”.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I want to wash my hands and face, mommy runs into the living room to call my father.<span>  </span>I grab a clump of cheap soap, look in the mirror and freeze. My mouth is covered in blood.<span>  </span>Three pieces of flesh and broken bone are dangling from the top of my jaw.<span>  </span>I scream “What have I done?”<span>  </span>Mommy grabs a soft cloth and dabs it in to warm water.<span>  </span>She wipes my blood of my hands and face.<span>  </span>She tells me everything is going to be ok.<span> </span> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I can’t talk, it hurts. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">She puts me to bed, turns the lights out and leaves to look for the ambulance.<span>  </span>It’s dark, I can’t close my eyes I keep thinking “What have I done?”</p>
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