How life made me cry

the start of the end

He kept scrubbing, the same way he had done his hair whole life. It was his 15th birthday today. The last customer of the day sat on the rusty chair, and the boy got to work. Scrubbing shoes had become an art to him. How to make them shine, glisten and stand out : he knew it all. His customers were mostly upper class men who worked in the office block down the road. It had been blown up during the war a few years ago by an English bomber, then rebuilt by a computer company. The boy had seen the massive explosion with his own eyes, just when he was 12. He remembered it vividly. The screaming, the crying, the bodies being carried past him. It was all very traumatic, so he preferred to not think about it.

The customer took out today's newspaper and began reading. He murmured something rude in German, and angrily threw the paper on the floor next to him. The boy, however took little notice of it and continues scrubbing. He had learnt that interfering in the business of others would lead to make him look like an idiot. The boy examined the man closely but carefully. Eyes blue as the ocean, short blonde hair that glistened in the sunlight, wrinkled but fair skin. Little did he know how important this man would be in a few years.

The boy finished scrubbing and the man dropped 10 schillings in the boys dirty hat. Without wanting to attract too much attention, the boy looked at the newspaper headline. "Germany to be divided into 4 sections". Stupid Americans at it again, the boy thought. The cold war had worsened massively and it was evident. Splitting Germany would create massive consequences. The boy concluded he didn't have much of a say in politics anyway, and went about his day.