Blast From The Past ;; Behind The Wall
According to the instructions from the odd man in the robe and hat, this was the place. This place with its creaky iron sign, soft worn wood and a narrow, dark door - was apparently what he was looking for.Â
And according to the man, after making their through the dark, dingy building, they would find the place.
But all he saw was a giant, brick wall.Â
"Well," said the man beside him, folding his arms with a small flare of his nostrils. "This isn't going to work, now is it?"
Bertholdt bit back his smile and glanced back down at the sheet of parchment the man had given him, re-reading the words written in his loopy script."Start from the trash can, go up three and over two."Â
He looked back up at his father, silently handing over the note to him to see if he could make any sense of it. His father's eyebrows knitted up, like they always do when he's thinking deeply. He crouched down next to him, straightening out the parchment a bit more for them both to read.Â
"See anything there?" he said to Bertholdt, and the younger boy inched his way over to the trash can, scanning the area in question. There was nothing there, just bricks.Â
Bertholdt waved his hands around, trying desperately to reach. He couldn't through, not even if he stood on his toes and stretched his fingers as much as he could. He heard a chuckle behind him and suddenly, he was in the air, his father's arms wrapped around his stomach. "Try it now," he said, and Bertholdt eagerly counted the bricks with a tap of his finger. He pressed his palms against the brick he thought to be the one, and gasped in shock when it shuddered under his touch. The boy pulled back, throwing his arms around his father's neck and partially burying himself. He kept one eye open, alert and on the wall as...Â
... As it moved. As the bricks shifted, twisted, pulled away from each other to reveal a bustling street.
Bertholdt's mouth fell open.
The street was so colorful, bright - despite the gray skies above it. Each window. People moved around, jostling each other, voices rising among the crowd - some advertising a sale, others trying to get through. He head the gentle cooing of owls, the shrieks of hawks (or he thought that was a hawk) and the croaking of frogs; the clanging of bells rang in his ears. It smelled like rain, rain and earth - with the gentle smell of something sickly sweet laced underneath. He couldn't make it out, exactly.
"And there it is!" his father said with a laugh, setting Bertholdt back down on the ground so he could reach into his pocket for his letter. "Well. That was unnecessary flashy, don't you think?" He chuckled to himself, scanning the letter and eyeing the shops, mapping out a plan.Â
Bertholdt could only breathe out a gentle sigh, the words falling off his lips without a thought.
"I think it's perfect..."
