my first memory is a lie, or a dream, or the most unlikely alternative; real.
a vague recollection of unripen apples still hanging from a tree in front of me, and the sun: remarkably cold, causing our breaths to damp lightly and vanish into air.
me, in a push chair steered by our nanny - a slender, young girl with no exceptional features.
my sister, walking calmly next to me in one moment, sitting on top of me the next.
breath, earth, pressure, space is compromised in three seconds and I am suffocating, slowly dying whilst simultaneously remaining alive.
but how would I know