Yesteryear

Act VII: Present

Wooyoung couldn't figure out exactly which force his uniform presented, but that might have been the purpose Seungyoun had gone for. The green jacket that reached to the thighs of Wooyoung's dark breeches and high boots identified him as somebody of rank towards the eyes of onlookers but didn't give away which side he was on, so no judgment would come with it.

While Wooyoung got ready for his travels, he wondered if he had to dish out a certain story with it. Would saying he was a soldier be a good pick? Or perhaps he should rather go for the lie of being a veteran that had got hurt during his term of service.

Wooyoung had never visited wartime before. It was a tense place to be that was dotted with suspicious eyes, just waiting to pick out shady people like him. Wooyoung wasn't made to be questioned and killed, and his secrets weren't made to be spilt.

Perhaps he would say he serviced the army only as a legman for minor side tasks. That might exclude him from the worst stigma.

Wooyoung strapped his remote to his body and belted his jacket back around his hips. It framed his 'waist well, extra protecting the remote on his flank.

Once Wooyoung had smoothed out his lapels once more and adjusted his cufflinks, he stepped through the door. Instantly, the cold and unfriendly air of Germany in early spring greeted him.

Munich was grey at this time in history. Grey and but a shadow of what it once was and would be in the future.

Some people milled around in the rubble of the pulverised buildings, digging through the stones in the search of valuables. Men passed by with their hats drawn into their faces and without as much as glancing at Wooyoung.

Hurt for what had happened here crossed Wooyoung's eyes as he squared his shoulders and marched on. He didn't step just like a commander to alarm nobody, but he held his posture to ward off curious gazes.

The street to the town square was obvious in how the bombs had fallen. As long as Wooyoung followed broken houses, splintered trams and old cars with missing parts that were pushed aside the road to make way for new ones, he would find his way. Depression wore his heart down as he glanced at the pile of loose shoes in a corner. The women dragging their dresses through the rubble like ghosts collected them there.

Wooyoung didn't avert his eyes from the misery, but his pain was too great for him to bear it. When a boy on a bike cycled past him in a hurry, Wooyoung stepped aside respectfully.

What did it feel like to grow up in such harrowing times? To experience the world with the eyes of a child, barely able to read and write when one's parents already tried to save them from the horrible hissing of bombs in the air and the deafening noises of the aeroplanes?

Outside of the big players and which role had been played by whom in the forces of the war, Wooyoung always wondered about the regular people. Not the soldiers or the important historical figures. Just the people in their houses eating their bread every day while dread blackened their hearts.

With a gulp, Wooyoung glanced around once more. He had to get closer. He didn't dare ask anyone for the way since it felt rude to intrude in the numbed mourning of the people for their own happiness.

In the distance, something big rolled through the streets. No rattling car. Perhaps a tank that carried around soldiers to help rebuild and keep structure and order in the sad remains of the city.

It wasn't too bad. The first houses were already under construction again and those who still searched the rubble likely returned after a long time of exile outside of the city to salvage anything of worth. The first spirit showed again in the cold bloom of spring, but it was still ever so insecure. Like a child cowering under the hand, it feared to get hit by.