Tag: historical-fiction, literary-fiction

9 November 1989. A day nobody would forget. She had heard rumours about the wall.

I don’t know, Benes. I’m not sure I’ve ever really understood women for that kind of commitment.’ He flipped his beer mat up int the air with his index finger and caught it in his hand.

To Jana’s mind everybody seemed happy to see BAbichka and resisted returning her, like a misplaced package sent to the wrong address. It was as if the recipient opened it up, knowing it should be returned, but wondering who long they could legitimately keep it before being changed with theft.

The others moved in like a wake of vultures, ready to devour their prey. she had seen it on television once. ‘Scavengers,’ Tatinek called them. They swoop in and feed off the carcasses of animals that are too weak to escape – lots of them on battlefields. This looked the same, only the victim wasn’t there, just his writing, his typewriter, and bits of dark paper.

One word was the method by which the state collected their information. They could reel in the informants and spread them out like tentacles, ready to sting in any direction.

Mr Martinek turned back to Jana. ‘Thirty-eight per cent alcohol, sixty-two per cent fire – all the way from Karlovy Vary.

As the sun lowered into the city’s skyline, casting an orange glow over the islands, Jana could feel people’s hopes rising.

The lines in the corners of her eyes spoke of years of wisdom, as a tree with the number of rings increasing with each passing year. She was a small frame of a woman with piercing eyes that suggested that they knew you, understood you even.

Don’t ever let anyone tell you that things can’t be changed, that things can’t be done. The can and they will, if we are united in what we believe.

The sublime beauty was almost hidden withing the castle walls. She believed that the treasured things in life were often hard to find – a pearl in an oyster shell, a kind word in the heat of the moment.

As people’s hopes soared, Jana felt a tinge of fear.

He nodded, looking across the room at the sea of photographers and journalists. The microphones spread around him like birds waiting to be fed.