When darkness fell, the sounds of gunfire ceased and I was sitting in a small computer game shop writing my story. A man came in, covered in blood and mud, with a wound in his back, and he was smoking nervously. He said he had lain motionless between two dead bodies for a long time because he feared being killed.
Ikrom-Aka, an 80-year-old with a long, white beard, was propped up in his bed in a house not far away.
"Who will answer for all this?" he asked.
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