Russia 1917, the start of the revolution. Chaotic crowds of royals plus other upper-class citizens running frantically to find a way for them to leave St. Petersburg. But the revolutionists are starting fires, which was adding more panic to the flames. Then there was me, a traumatized seven-year-old girl, wearing nothing, but a nightgown, a locket and carrying a small stuffed lamb. As I clung to my father's arm, he tries to guide us through the ferocious crowds and flames. Through the panicked crowds, someone had hit my arm and made me dropped my poor doll. That lamb was my world at that age, so I had gone after it. Once I finally grabbed my stuffed lamb I could already hear my father calling me.
“Roza! Roza where are you?”
I couldn't find him. Terrorized, I called out to him.
That is when I frantically scanned the crowd for him. Then I finally spotted him with his glasses that glared with flames and dark brown beard. I remember starting to run towards him, but everything went black. This was the end of the memory.