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by Jonathan Hill
Originally published by on 29/12/2012

"Come back in, son, before you catch your death!" called a voice. The words never reached the boy, who had already run outside, a look of awe and wonder on his fresh face. It was cold, bitterly cold, and he hugged himself tightly. His new pyjamas didn't do a very good job of keeping him warm. The boy looked up and gasped. It was snowing! He reached out his hand to catch a snowflake, but it didn't dissolve on contact. It just left a black smudge on his palm. The boy frowned and then the German rifle sounded.

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