Creative Writing- the Fall of the Berlin Wall

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The Years of the Berlin Wall: From My Eyes

August 13, 1961. A day of misery, ordeal and dashed hopes. I had woken to the sound of an obstreperous shriek and what seemed like a case of mass hysteria. Within minutes I became conscious of the fact I was alone in the bedraggled shack we liked to call home. I wandered around in my solitude. Promptly I advanced to the outside pavement where infinite numbers of people were gathered. To the left of me I noticed my mother. Seated on the curb of the cobbled street, she seemed disheartened, as did many others. Mother looked straight ahead, pale faced with tribulation evident in her expression. Suddenly there was an aura of grey around her. It was a mist that wouldn’t rise. I was oblivious to what had happened. A hurricane of despondency had torn through Berlin. Trash cans clattered to the ground and litter swirled up and down the deserted sidewalk. I muttered the words, “Where’s daddy?” To which a thin shrilled voice like the cry of an expiring mouse replied, “Daddy isn’t coming home.” Days went by and the weather was an accurate reflection of our low spiritedness. Lightening ripped through the sky, and tears fell so fast from the faces of my loved ones; it was hard to distinguish them from the heavy rain. Relatives of mine would visit and show remorse towards my mother. She looked like death and she didn’t care. It was a state of depression she couldn’t see herself through. To those around me my feelings seemed frivolous and so I would sit by the window and observe the birds that flew way above. Slowly I shut my eyes and I could see him. He had come back into my life, but only for a second, until I opened my eyes and saw it was all just a lie. I go to sleep and I know he will be there, but I don’t want to wake up because he will disappear again. All I wanted was for someone to tell me that he was ok and I had nothing to worry about. Nobody ever did. I would saunter for 3 miles...
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