#4

She would spend as long as she could, poring over every detail of that memory.  The bite of the frozen air at the back of her throat.  The crush of ice under her boots.  Her grandmother's wrinkled skin, her hand holding on tight to Alice's as they walked down the front steps.  Alice had never imagined how many senses, how many atoms of memory could be packed into one moment, never imagined the density of history until she began to lose hers.