Work Text:
It’s Thursday, in the full flower shop of mine, sun through the windows, dew on the frames, but it feels empty. Maybe it always has, ever since the Soviet union took us over it’s been hard being trapped in East Berlin when my family is on the other side of the wall. I shook my head and looked out the window of my shop, seeing yet another German getting arrested by some Russian bootlicker. I scowled in their direction, I know I can’t do a thing, I’m not stupid. I may be a big woman but they have guns, they have people, all I have is myself, a flower shop and a rascal who always comes in each morning; but it seems I may have lost even him, he hasn’t been over yet, I’m almost worried, I sighed and bustled around the shop, watering plants, checking the signs, fixing prices and then I start a brew of coffee, putting just a dash of creamer in it. The sun shown on my face, warming the bench I sat on as I drank my coffee out on the porch, waiting for the newspaper, patiently. After about 30 minutes the paper boy finally came by. He was a blond curly haired 13 year old boy, freckles and brown eyes, long fingers with lanky limbs.
“Ah, Harold, over here if you please,” I called him over, reaching for a quarter to give him.
“Hello Mrs! Where’s Jörge? He wasn’t out in the yard this morning like usual, but I thought he’d be here.” He said joyfully, taking the quarter and giving me the paper. That concerned me, Harold woke up as early the sun to help his mother with chores and newspaper, he saw everything near his house and Jörge lived right near him.
“..No, I haven’t just yet, ask his mother when you get home where he is, I’m almost worried about him,” I tried to laugh.
“Oh certainly! I was already planning it,” he said, riding off to go deliver more papers.
I sighed and sat back down, opening the paper. I read the comics, did the crossword, leaving the word-search for last since I wanted something to cheer me up if the news is too bad.
The word-search couldn’t help me with today’s news.
“Three Boys Dead After Climbing the Wall: Jörge Hansworth aged 10, Hans Müller aged 14, and Albert Schmidt aged 12. Shot dead by Soviet soldiers.”
I closed up shop that day, I closed the blinds, I locked the doors, and I went to bed. He was only 10. He was only 10, he just wanted to go home, we all do. I didn’t open the shop for another week, I couldn’t stand it.