The Wall

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
Inspired by me and my dear poppou, split by 800 miles, or in this case, the Berlin Wall

Submitted: April 13, 2017

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Submitted: April 13, 2017

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The section of wall, of stone and iron, towers over me like a mountain. Expertly crafted to withstand even the mightiest of blows. It has stood the test of time, standing proudly over the land known as 'East Berlin' for as long as i can remember. Born with the wall. Live with the wall. Die with the wall. This weak section, at knee's height, bears a small bullet hole the size of a gold coin. It is covered by a large cranberry bush. When I hide in the bush, I am next to invisible to the untrained eyes of the cruel, devilish guards. They are bloodthirsty. Draped in long green uniforms and armed with special rifles that shoot so fast it sounds like someone unzipping a zipper. Coming here is a high risk, high reward. The high risk is coming this close to the wall. The high reward is her. She is young. Like me. She is smart. Like me. She is... beautiful. Long curling golden hair blanket her puffy, freckled face. She always wears glasses at a very small angle. Visible nonetheless. Always with a dress and a parasol i managed to throw over the wall after strapping it to a rock. She waits patiently for me every day. To slide a note or a photograph or a drawing to each other. The hole is too small to convey voices. I fail to understand why she fell for one like me. Scrawny. Unkempt brown hair. Ravaging body smell, enough to clog a bloodhound's nose for months. We come here every day if possible. At the break of dawn, when light pours through the drab buildings and illuminating the wall to a bright white. And the glow of dusk, showering the city with the last light of every dreadful day trapped in this damned city. I would love to leave this city and see her for the first time in a very, very long time. I would do anything to see her again. I wont climb the wall though. Sometimes as i lie in the darkness, soundly in my old gray bed, i hear the zipping of rifles. Near and far. Announcing to the city that someone has tried and undoubtedly failed to cross the wall. There is a fine line between bravery and stupidity. I fall in the middle. Brave enough to travel to the wall. It hurts. It truly hurts to not see my little firebird. We must carry on, trying to see each other. Because over these three years, i have learned something.

"If we don't tumble first, the wall most certainly will."


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