There was a picture of herself with two running
friends. Bandanas on, hot and sweaty, with arms around each other, they all grinned at the camera. Why, she now wondered, as all of them had dead legs and heaving sides. But it was the accomplishment and from the photo no one would suspect the hill they had just conquered.
As an athlete, the next makes her grimace. It shows
her sitting with a friend, smiling as they tried to walk through the gardens and around the fountains. She remembers the limp, and the next day, the plaster and crutches. Then it congers up the images of extreme pain and frustration...she quickly looks away.
It's the last picture which she looks at the longest.
Living in a city with walls and razor wire, when she
had seen the reminants of the Berlin wall her heart
cried out. "Why can't my city be like this?" she
shouted. Waving her arms and screaming, men came from all directions to subdue her. "Shush" they said, "People don't know walls like this still exist. Don't ruin their peace and ignorance by bringing your own pain and knowledge into it." The mural on the wall had said, "The world's too small for walls." She wondered what blood had written it in Berlin, and knew whos blood was writing it in her own city.
The rest of the wall is blank. She stares at it and
gets up. Not allowing her head to think of
possibilities she goes downstairs to the kitchen. She decides to bake some scones.
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