Echoes From the Dead

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The wall was built of big, rounded stones covered in grayish white lichen, and it was the same height as the boy. He could only see over it if he stood on tiptoe in his sandals. Everything was gray and misty on the other side. The boy could have been standing at the end of the world, but he knew it was just the opposite — the world began on the other side of the wall. The big wide world, the world outside his grandparents’ garden. The thought of exploring the world on the other side of the wall had tempted the boy all summer long.

Twice he tried to climb over the wall. Both times he lost his grip on the rough stones and fell backwards, into the damp grass.

The boy didn’t give up, and the third time he succeeded.

He took a deep breath and heaved himself up, held on tight to the cold stones, and managed to get on top of the wall.

It was a victory for him — he was almost six years old, and for the first time in his life he was on his way over a wall. He sat there on the top for a little while, like a king on his throne.

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