One Final Leap
A jittery stillness shrouded the streets of Berlin. From where he stood, the dull glow from searchlights formed ghosts on the Wall, their bodies twisted and skeletal. Werner threw his cigarette to the ground, relishing the hiss which followed as it melted the snow. Its flame, small and flickering, died in an instant. He was itching to look down at his watch — to count how much longer he had to wait — but stopped himself. Seeing the time would make it real.
Instead, he concentrated on the surrounding buildings, which were hunched downwards as if exhausted. No light could be found — the tenants had nailed their windows shut with wood because the Vopo didn’t want anyone jumping to the West. He missed being able to see into their homes, though; he liked to spend his shifts watching figures walk to and fro, seeing their lives unfold, imagining their stories. Now, there was only the darkness.