Prologue

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"Are you sure Strawberry is a good name for a dog? Why not Coco or something?"

"No... Strawberry is good, I like Strawberries."

"Alright, Strawberry it is."



He was spinning around, an array of colours danced across his eyes. "Strawberry, where are you? I can't see you-"

And a stranger tugged the back of his shirt... as a car sped by and a sound that would stick forever was heard.

"Are you alright?" She asked, to which he nodded, but wasn't.




"We'll get you another guide dog,"

"I don't want one."



"It's time for your rehabilitation support,"

"I don't want to go."


"Do you want a strawberry? They're fresh,"

"I'm fine."



Ten years later.  He drummed his fingers on the desk.  The braille letter was inviting him to a free rehabilitation program for his CIV.  Maybe he would go.

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