Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 68870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Once I’m clean and in my pajamas, I dry my hair and look out the window. Beyond the razor wire and guard tower, I can see the shape of the old brewery on the other side as the sun sets behind it. The light is flickering again, but maybe it’s been flickering since this morning.
I can’t put my finger on why I’m drawn to it, but somehow I know from the strange outline that the light is an old oil lamp. The kind a teacher would use. They give off signs, and sometimes the signs are as small as a flickering light in a grimy window.
In troubled times, look for a light that won’t be overtaken by the darkness.
My mother said that to me many times before she was taken.
I watched her live by that idea. She lit candles in the window, and over time people gravitated to the light and to my mother. She was the light.
Childhood memories swirl through my thoughts as I tuck myself in for the night. My mother, in her small way, attempted to lead by enlightenment. People came to our shabby little apartment to talk, to comfort each other, or to leave their sad lives behind, if only for a few hours. She played music, and some of the people who came tried teaching me to play instruments. I loved the music as a little girl. We might not have had a lot, but I remember being happy and not feeling so alone.
While some people revolted with their fists, their anger overpowering everything, that wasn’t my mother’s way. She wanted peaceful gatherings to share ideas and talk about change. At the time I didn’t understand it, but my mother explained it was her way to work through the hard times.
I’m exhausted by the time I lie down on the bed, and I fall asleep almost immediately, the light in the window at the forefront of my thoughts.
I’m playing with a boy who’s kind to me. I don’t know his name, but I’m so young there’s no way I can remember it. We’re running through the streets and he’s holding my hand so tightly, like he’ll never let it go. He’s looking after me while we chase sparrows. I laugh and smile at my protector. We run together for blocks, away from buildings and going past the area my mother told me not to go beyond. I want to chase the birds so bad, and I know he’ll keep me safe. We pretend to be monsters as we chase them, raising our arms high and scaring them. Laughing and playing. When the sparrows fly away from us, they disappear over the wall. The wall that’s meant to keep us out. I watch them disappear and feel the boy squeeze my hand again.
“Don’t cry. We’ll fly out of here, too.” His dark eyes are locked on me.
I wake up with a start, feeling wetness on my cheeks. The echoes of the dream still linger in my mind as I wipe the tears away. I close my eyes to see how it ends.
“But where will we go?” I ask him.
“Anywhere we want. I’d take you anywhere you asked,” he answers and smiles at me.
Chapter Two
Minnie
My Sunday shift was thankfully uneventful and by the time I clock out, I’m tired in my bones, but my mind keeps wandering back to the brewery. Back to the light. I walk alone just as the sun begins to set. I follow its path westward toward the checkpoint. By the time I make it through and scan my pass, it’s dusk and getting darker by the minute. I feel eyes on me once again and I know where they are coming from.
Without giving it much thought, I walk over toward the brewery and to the large steps out front. I don’t know what pulls me in this direction, but I know I have to go. I feel it deep inside me. Everything in me is telling me to see it through and so I listen to that voice in my head.
When I get to the metal slab that’s supposed to be a door, I knock. There’s a slight echo, but there’s no answer. I look around, checking for a knocker or some kind of bell, but there’s nothing. I decide to knock again, and this time it hurts my knuckles, but I have to assume someone inside must hear it.
The soft glow of the light is flickering against the window, giving me a sign that someone is in there, but they must not want to talk to me. It’s getting so dark. I shouldn’t be out this late, but I wait just a little longer hoping that someone will come.
Finally, I hear the sounds of bolts moving and slowly the door opens. It’s hard to make out what lies beyond the shadows, but I gasp when I see the man standing there. He doesn’t look anything like a hermit. He’s huge, with dark eyes, tanned skin and a muscular frame. His long dark hair is pushed out of his face and goes almost to his shoulders. He’s lean, but I can see his exposed arms and legs are clearly defined with muscles. My heart flutters as I look him up and down, then try to find my tongue. He’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. He feels familiar.