Morgan arose later than usual, slipped on his sweat pants and sweat shirt, socks and running shoes, and he stepped outside.
He had slept late because a soft wet snow was falling. It had changed the sound of everything.
The snow fell soft as down on his shoulder and on his drawstring hood.
Heavy white wet snow fell past his eyes. It gathered on his eyelashes.
He ran in the middle of the street in the depression made by automobile tires.
The snow, clotting in the treads of his shoes, affected his balance and made the going difficult.
He was exhilarated by this risk of life and limb.
He came to a corner and turned down the curving hill of the foreign legation residence because it would be more treacherous still.
A few moments later he was lifted off his feet.
He felt astounding pain in his chest. He could not breathe.
His four limbs flailing, he wheeled and tumbled helplessly through the falling snow like a swimmer inside a wave.
He found himself on his hands and knees buried in snow. A considerable time seemed to have passed.
But there was light under the snow, he could see the crystals melting before his eyes. He pawed the crystals melting before his eyes. He pawed the crystals and saw smears of red blood.
He rose, gasping for breath, snow chunks falling from him. He sank to his knees and staggered again to his feet.
The residence of the foreign legation was burning.
The legation's iron gate was torn from its hinges.
A black car door slid idly down the hill.
The falling snow was mixed with ash. Bits and pieces of metal embedded themselves in the snow around Morgan's feet.
Several schoolbooks fell from the sky.
He heard something like a flag drumming in the wind, he heard screams, shattering glass.
He picked up, and replaced, a maroon knee sock with a child's leg in it.
A woman in a running suit was coming down the hill toward him, her mouth open, her hands up at the sides of her head.
Morgan saw it was his friend who had given him that rude sign early one morning the previous summer.
Is this something? Morgan asked her. He was embarrassed. Did I do this? he said, trying to smile, trying to make himself presentable, smoothing his hair with his bloodied hand.