Above the Seas of Dunkirk

Guten Morgen, Little Bird

Hazy sunbeams filtered in through the flower-dappled curtains of Johann's bedroom.

The curtains were, though never directly mentioned by anyone, ugly. The stitches around the flower designs were thick, chunky--made obviously by a human hand rather than machinery, for machines were far more precise than whomsoever had sewn Johann's curtains. They were a bit of an atrocity compared to the simple, minimalist look of the boy's room, but he tended to take a strange comfort in the abhorrent execution of the curtains. His mother had saved them from generations past, or so Johann assumed, and regarding them was always a warm sort of act; they made him think of his dear mother, who woke early every morning to try and prepare him something to eat despite the shortages of food in the city. She was very kind to him. But then, he supposed, she had to be; he was her only child.

The sunlight seldom woke Johann up from his deep slumbers. With the bulkiness of the curtain fabric, the rays were dulled enough that it was near-impossible to perceive them as bright when said curtains were drawn. And they usually were. Johann had also formed a habit of burying himself underneath his thin blankets before falling asleep, so the few strong rays of light that journeyed as far as his bed were intercepted promptly by his covers. Only the calls of the morning birds were enough to rouse him from his sleep--but lately, the calls had been less frequent.

He'd begun to assume it was because of the food stamps. Because of the rationing. People might see the birds and imagine a new meal rather than a symbol of the new day. Johann often pondered whether Essen was going through the same crisis that Berlin, his new home, was. The Xylanders had moved not long after Johann turned five--or maybe it was six--and Johann had welcomed the change. His bedroom in Berlin was nicer than his bedroom in Essen. There was more space, more room on the walls for his posters of German heroes.

But the birds. Today, the birds were not singing. Johann would likely not have woken at a decent time had it not been for the sound of his family's Volksempfänger radio blaring some new announcement. His groggy mind couldn't comprehend the words, but he assumed it was a program his mother was listening to, probably something about the weather or news or maybe something broadcasted from the state. Too early, he thought. Much too early. If it's the state, everyone would still be asleep by now. We'd miss their broadcast.

With a great deal of effort, Johann lifted himself from his bed and gave a hearty yawn. For a moment, he sat idle on his bedside, gaze resting on one of his posters but not really noting the details or colors on it. He just remained there, distant. His white hair turned gold in the gentle bath of sunlight--or what little sunlight made it through the curtains, to be exact. It looked like thread spun of the very sun itself, but when he stood up and left the haze of light, it returned to its usual look of thread spun by the moon. Weiss--white. But Johann knew, in time, it would shed its snowy hue and become more yellowed, more blond. That's what had happened to his father. And his mother, maybe. Except her hair was a bit more brunette than it was blonde.

He'd have school soon, regrettably. Johann loathed it. He didn't mind the work, necessarily, nor did he dislike his classmates, but he did not like the repetitive nature of the school days. They always felt like the same thing to him, as though he were stuck in an endless loop. But at least his professors were kind enough, and they had the same amount of nationalism as any self-respecting German. Otherwise, the days might be intolerable. 

After he got dressed for the day, Johann did not stop in the kitchen for breakfast or to listen to whatever was on the Volksempfänger. It did not interest him. Rather, he merely continued on outside, saying goodbye to his mother before he closed the front door behind him.  

He walked wordlessly along the Berlin streets, nodding at whomsoever passed him by but never directly greeting them. It was courteous to be polite, but he did not feel the need to overindulge and have conversations; there was no reason. Johann preferred the silence, if anything. Luckily for him, the school building was not too far from his house, so he didn't run the risk of being roped into any unnecessary conversation, as he'd found the odds of that happening increased exponentially the longer he walked. 

Outside, in the schoolyard, stood a tree. It had been there presumably ever since the school had been built, and it reached almost as high as the building itself. It was gnarled in appearance, like old, wrinkled skin--kind of how his grandfather looked, if he thought about it--but there was something soothing about the tree and how gentle its leaves were. 

Nested high among the branches was a small, chubby bird. It chirped at Johann as he passed by, and he smiled. 

"Guten Morgen."