New Mombasa. Do you remember when the world stopped? When the rain, falling in waves, was the only thing left moving in that city. It's always us who are forgotten. The ones they left behind, the ones who didn't carry a rank, or a gun. The ones whose homes became bunkers, whose streets became battlegrounds. The death of the city came long after the final shot was fired. If I close my eyes, I can still hear the dying breaths of Mombasa, a haunting silence heard between drops of rain.
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