“We interrupt this broadcast to bring you a special news bulletin. Soviet authorities have issued orders prohibiting the distribution of supplies from the Soviet zone to the Western sectors of Berlin today, thereby...”

David set the radio’s nob to off with a let-down and disinterested sigh. He looked outside and observed that the rain had stopped. This was a golden opportunity in a week that had seen nothing but cloudy skies and pouring thunderstorms. He was going to make the most of the day's gift.

David walked outside and admired the sunshine of June, this was a day to visit the creek and catch crawdads or look for turtles. David began walking with a delighted pace and stroll - along the winding path from his house, up the radio tower hill, down to the dusty and unfinished State Road 119, and around the old church grounds. As he approached the seemingly ancient wooden bridge he stopped at the sound of muffled voices. They were coming from underneath the bridge and were a mixture of crying and a sarcastic laughter.

“First you broke me bicycle because you’re too stoo-pid to look across the street when your dumb self wants to walk, then you break my rule of staying out of my sight. What do you have to say to that Sam? Or is it Stoopid Sam?” boiled from a boy not much older than David. “Paul, hold him down for me. Time for a lesson Sam.”

David stepped back, away from responsibility, stepping into a large puddle that caused a splash that echoed in the hills around them.

The boy pinning the victim down looked up at David instantly, “Hey. Hey you!” he shouted in an accusatory tone, “Who the hell you think you are?”

David didn’t know what to do, his feet were motionless.

“Well?” questioned the boy, releasing his grip from the first victim, “Or do you want some of this too?”

The boy began lumbering towards David with a raised fist that screamed, “Yes, I am insane and will make you know it.”

David ran. He ran away from the church, away from the state road, and away from the radio tower, David ran in a confused haste filled with guilt and anger in himself for not standing firm. He ran until his breaths were rocketing out and slamming back into his chest with equal force. He ran until his foot slammed hard against stone obscured in the muddy ground. His stomach slammed hard into the ground in front of him.

Shaking his head and cradling his stomach in pain, David planted a hand down and began to rotate to a sitting position. The world around him the world seemed brighter, but his world was shadowed. He looked up experimentally and as he looked up he froze. Leaning over him in a manner that completely obscured the sunlight, was an old man with veiny hands and fingers that seemed to fracture out into nine different directions.

The old man looked down at David, young, weak, and infinitely small. David looked back at the man, who now seemed to have less a face than a rotting canvas on which a face could be painted.

The old man’s mouth did not move but David heard a hacking and coughing as if the man had swallowed a dying ember. David, still digging into the dirt with his hands, tried to slowly pull himself backwards.

The words that came next were as clear to David as a creek bed illuminated by radiating daylight. David again did not see the man’s mouth move, but out came the words, “What’s the rush boy? Take your time.” There was a long consumptive breath, as if the old man’s next words were killing him with repetition, “I know where you are going, and you’re already there.”