he focused upon it, keeping it there, darkening it, holding it in his vision as long as possible
until his head hurt and he let it fade away.
He stared at the flat, colorless sky, bringing blue from it, and remembered sunshine until finally, for an instant, he could feel warmth.
He stood at the foot of the bridge that spanned the river, the bridge that citizens were allowed to cross only on official business.
Jonas had crossed it on school trips, visiting the outlying communities,
and he knew that the land beyond the bridge was much the same, flat and well ordered, with fields for agriculture.
The other communities he had seen on visits were essentially the same as his own,
the only differences were slightly altered styles of dwellings, slightly different schedules in the schools.
He wondered what lay in the far distance where he had never gone. The land didn’t end beyond those nearby communities.
Were there hills Elsewhere? Were there vast wind-torn areas like the place he had seen in memory, the place where the elephant died?
“Giver,” he asked one afternoon following a day when he had been sent away, “what causes you pain?”
When The Giver was silent, Jonas continued. “The Chief Elder told me, at the beginning, that the receiving of memory causes terrible pain.
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