:/ Bit late, but lets see how bad my writing's gotten. I started writing this a few weeks ago, but then deleted the whole thing and started again- so don't expect it to be great. But I think it's alright ^^' Again, you might recognise the black haired boy, he's one of my favorite characters from my Nano. The other boy is a character under development, this helped a lot.

At the bottom of the village, past the willow tree and through the apple orchard, there sat two boys on the dry riverbank, under the dappled shade of the canopy of rich emerald above them. The deep azure river lay still and silent, a small sandy cloud of mayflies swarming over the water. One of the boys had a fishing pole in one hand, his neatly cropped hair framing his sharp features, a stony but relaxed expression on his face as he adjusted the pole, tugging it back slightly as ripples pulsated across the glassy surface of the water. The other boy was startlingly different, with longer black flyaway hair nearly covering his bright silver eyes and a mischievous grin seemingly permanently etched onto his casually handsome face, a cigarette held indifferently in slender fingers.

The two boys were universes apart, but in the same world.

They enjoyed the atmosphere of early spring, with the forests echoing with nightingale ad lark calls, the light cooling breeze whispering in the trees. A flash of blue and gold- a kingfisher darting across the river. The boy with the fishing pole glanced over at the other boy, who was sprawled out on the grass next to him.

“Sorry, I forgot.” the dark haired boy said in German, flashed him a grin and took one last puff of his cigarette before lightly dropping it and patting it out with his boot. He then folded his hands and put them behind his head, gazing up into the huge clear dome of eggshell blue sky.

Grey knew full well that Stoermer had not forgotten that he hated it when he smoked. He scowled and irritably twitched his fishing rod with a flick of his wrist, the line making a cut through the smooth water as he pulled it slightly closer to the bank.

“You know your father wanted you in the stables earlier, I forgot to tell you,” yawned Grey, his moss green eyes focused firmly on the river.

“Yeah, and I got a ‘gram this morning from the British, saying the Wall’s come down.” Stoermer answered promptly, casting a dark but somehow wistful look over to the opposite bank.

Grey made a sceptical snort, following Stoermer’s gaze to the dark cement structure looming over the water on the other side of the river.

Philippsthal was a small town in West Germany, just north from the Fulda Gap. The Berlin Wall, or Berliner Mauer, ran straight through the village, splitting it in two, laced with barbed wire and studded with watch towers along its length until it snaked out of the village and into Berlin beyond the hills.

The residents of the village had learned to live with it. They compared it with the evil in the world- you can’t pretend it doesn’t exist, nor can you get rid of it completely, so you must learn to live with it. And that was exactly what they did.

Grey scowled again, deeper this time, glaring at the foreboding, dismal wall of concrete opposite them across the water. It cast a giant shadow on the forest beyond it; or at least on the tips of the trees that were visible. Suddenly the bird calls sounded less vibrant, the river less beautiful, the sunlight darker. Gritting his teeth, Grey had a sudden urge to hurl something across the river- a stone, his shoe, his fishing pole; anything that would make a mark on the barrier between him and the rest of the world.

“Stoermer, what do you want to do with your life?” Grey hissed, unable to keep the fury from his voice.

His friend propped himself up on his elbows, looking at him warily, his silver eyes glinting in the sunlight. “Live fast, die old?” he suggested with a casual shrug.

“Seriously,” Grey tutted, fingers tightening on the fishing pole in his hand, his eyes still frowning at the Wall.

There was a few heartbeats of silence. “I don’t know. Something useful,” Stoermer murmured eventually. He was oddly solemn; his silver eyes were slightly confused but thoughtful. Another pause. “What about you?”

“I am going to be the first over that Wall,” Grey spat.

The hint of a smile was back on Stoermer’s features. “Bit late, mate. You mean the first one over the Wall alive?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah.” Stoermer picked a blade of grass from the earth and twirled it between his fingers.

There was another minute of silence, in which Grey twitched his wrist, drawing the fishing line a little closer to their bank, as if he didn’t want it any closer to the Wall.

“D’you miss her?” he enquired.

“Miss who?” Stoermer looked up.

“Arianna.”

For a moment Grey wondered if he’d gone a little too far in mentioning her name, even though they had both known who he was talking about before he’d said it. But Stoermer’s handsome features lit up with a grin.

“Of course. But she can look after herself, she doesn’t need me.” he gave a bark-like laugh.

“When was the last time you spoke to her?” Grey enquired quietly.

“The last time she could cross. Before they closed the borders.” Stoermer answered vaguely. Grey knew he wouldn’t go into it any more.

Another silence.

Stoermer folded one leg over the other and put his head back again.

“Do you think we’ll get out of here one day?” Grey mused thoughtfully, his anger slowly dissipating. He still gazed darkly at the Wall opposite them.

Stoermer rolled his eyes, and Grey breathed a sigh of relief. “You’ve always been a dreamer, Turin, but do you honestly think we’ll stay in this dump forever?”

Grey scowled- hardly anyone called him by his first name.

“But do you want to leave?” he shrugged, gripping the fishing pole between his knees and putting the fly catch in between his teeth.

“Duh.” Stoermer laughed again. “There’s not really much here for me anymore.”

“Where would you go?” Grey frowned down at the fishing pole, concentrating. “Not to Berlin?”

“Out of Germany, if I could.” his friend answered vaguely. He glanced over to Grey, his bright silver eyes laughing. “But of course, you’d already be in America, wouldn’t you?”

Grey couldn’t help but snort with laughter. If he ignored the concrete Wall on the opposite bank, the scene was still beautiful. A light spring breeze rippled the crisp air and the kingfisher streaked along the glassy water with another blaze of fiery ochre and sapphire.

“I’ll go and see what the my father wanted from me, then.” Stoermer ran a hand through his handsome black hair, rolling his mischievous eyes and grinning his usual grin. “And I’ll go and get that ‘gram from the British. Then you won’t have to die.”

With that, Stoermer stood and ambled back up the bank into the apple orchard, leaving Grey alone with his fishing rod.

Within a few minutes of silence he had caught his third fish of the morning- a small gleaming salmon, the pinkish tinge to its belly reflecting the sun, silver scales acting like a mirror.

Grey sighed, laying the dead fish aside after he’d removed the hook from its jaw. He liked fishing. But like his friend had said, there wasn’t really much here for him anymore.

He sent another dark glare at the Berlin Wall on the opposite bank, casting its great shadow on the glassy waters of the river. He hated it. Hated it with every fibre of his bones.

Would he indeed get over it someday? Alive?

He would have to wait and see, he thought, sighing again.

There, not too bad? (: Should we have some music again before I go?

Recent fave.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zwGgaBjoL3E

And some more Einaudi! Quite a different one.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ScC9K1A8mAQ

~Illusionist