Fireworks and Ice
Imagine yourself when you were a child. You are laying on your back on the cool grass in a park. You are looking up at the nighttime sky, moist warm air whispers over your skin. Your heart beating hard with anticipation of the next firework.
Bright.
Sprinkling fire.
The boom vibrates through your chest.
You look up in utter fascination and feel something like fear at the possibility that the raining fire will fall from the sky and shower you with its burning beauty.
Now. Imagine yourself as a young woman. You are looking out of a dusty window at the nightime sky, crisp cold air whispers over your skin. Your heart beating with anticipation of the next bomb.
Bright.
Exploding fire.
The boom rips through your chest.
My grandmother and her fellow prisoners watched with fascination and absolutely no fear of the spectacle. The Americans were bombing Berlin. Bombs fell all about them and they just watched with childlike wonderment.
I asked my grandmother if she was afraid. She said no, it was like watching fireworks. And if one of the bombs hit them, what could they do? Death wouldn't have been such a bad thing, she says.
They finally went to bed that night. Bombs continued to fall all about them as they slept the slumber of vacant prisoners who, day in and day out, trudged, with wooden clogs on their feet, 5 miles to the factory and 5 miles back to their bunks.
They. Just. Did Not. Care. Anymore.
The next morning they woke to start yet another work day.
They were alive.
My grandmother, and the other prisoners gathered whatever clothing they had collected from the dead during previous days and months, and dressed for the day's work. It was winter and they wore all of the clothes that belonged to them so they could keep warm.
As they left for the factory, no one said a word as they climbed over a bomb that fell through the roof as they slept. The bomb had remained intact. No raining fire fell upon them.
They were alive.
Bright.
Sprinkling fire.
The boom vibrates through your chest.
You look up in utter fascination and feel something like fear at the possibility that the raining fire will fall from the sky and shower you with its burning beauty.
Now. Imagine yourself as a young woman. You are looking out of a dusty window at the nightime sky, crisp cold air whispers over your skin. Your heart beating with anticipation of the next bomb.
Bright.
Exploding fire.
The boom rips through your chest.
My grandmother and her fellow prisoners watched with fascination and absolutely no fear of the spectacle. The Americans were bombing Berlin. Bombs fell all about them and they just watched with childlike wonderment.
I asked my grandmother if she was afraid. She said no, it was like watching fireworks. And if one of the bombs hit them, what could they do? Death wouldn't have been such a bad thing, she says.
They finally went to bed that night. Bombs continued to fall all about them as they slept the slumber of vacant prisoners who, day in and day out, trudged, with wooden clogs on their feet, 5 miles to the factory and 5 miles back to their bunks.
They. Just. Did Not. Care. Anymore.
The next morning they woke to start yet another work day.
They were alive.
My grandmother, and the other prisoners gathered whatever clothing they had collected from the dead during previous days and months, and dressed for the day's work. It was winter and they wore all of the clothes that belonged to them so they could keep warm.
As they left for the factory, no one said a word as they climbed over a bomb that fell through the roof as they slept. The bomb had remained intact. No raining fire fell upon them.
They were alive.
posted by Shannon at
6:03 PM
5 Comments:
This is the beginning of a book right? Cleverly written. Stepped over the active bomb. Wow. I cannot wait for the next page!
Aren't you blessed to have these stories within your cells...the depth you can live because of it.
By
Tongue in Cheek Antiques, at 4/03/2006 9:23 AM
Shannon, you put me there.
As someone who has never had to live with the something so horrific, it puts my daily struggles quite nicely into perspective.
By
Johnboy, at 4/03/2006 9:27 AM
Indeed, Shannon, thank you for the continued stories -- and for the perspective you're providing. You capture the moments skillfully...
Looking forward to more.
By
Nicole P, at 4/03/2006 9:55 AM
This is a stunning entry, Shannon.
You've placed us all right there, in the moment.
Powerful stuff.
By
Sandra Miller, at 4/03/2006 1:33 PM
Shannon, this should be the beginning of a book.
Terrific post.
Terrific lady.
By
Kerri., at 4/04/2006 11:09 AM
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