Inspirational Short Stories About Life digitalbloggers.com /Yusupov8/inspirational-short-stories-about-life/
Of all inspirational short stories about life, mine begins while I, Sergei, was merely a child, as real life awaited me and with it, the end of my early youth; the conclusion of a life past in carelessness and joviality, in the outdoors under the sun and the livid clouds, where the freshness of the countryside and the little woods all vanished along the great and inaccessible dreams that I had.
The Iron Curtain I was still so naïve, full of illusions and candor, but everything began to change very quickly on a fateful summer day, when we nervously walked, my mother and I, through the ice-cold entrance of a high, massive and greyish concrete wall. When, a little bit further down the path, we halted at the edge of a thick barrier, I noticed a small surveillance bunker; I then pictured two soldiers posted on front, one of them was pulling on a cheap cigarette while the other, had launched a flamboyant discussion about some round girl, imitating the imaginary shape of her feminine body with a gesture of his hands. The first one, a large man with hands two size of my skull, lifted his head and saw us walking their way, and with a swing from the back of his hand, knocked at the chest of his noisy companion as to bring him back to reality. “Look out, someone is coming!” “What?…oooh!!!” Squealed the other soldier, a young man with huge eyebrows that complemented each other to
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form a single stripe over his bulging eyes. As my mother and I approached them, the man with the cigarette began to speak, in a horrible Russian, surprising the newcomers. While my mother tried to describe our situation to the German sentinel, being a bit curious, and with a movement of my head, I looked around; and I perceived, there on my left, parallel to the wall, a ditch and some fences made by a hard-to-climb sharp metal mesh. So here I stood, hazily and unsuspectingly, in between two worlds, seized by a profound apprehension. I was in what was called a no-man’s land, inside the infamous “Iron Curtain”, a “miserable tomb” as my mother would often call it later on. Throughout my immature boy’s eyes and thoughts, it was scary, suddenly all of my body started to tremble and as I turned my head around again, I remarked a huge dog tied to a chain nearby and on my right, two tanks gathered at diverse places. But in this unfriendly scene, I noted something strange I hadn’t noticed yet, an odd picture…strange as it may seems, several rabbits were bouncing free along the lengthy no man’s land. In my fresh mind, I, Sergei, had not fully understood yet the extent of what was happening or where we were. A few minutes earlier, at the first corner, in the company of my mother, I had already passed a military barrier, without any real difficulty, under the concerned look of some American soldiers, but on the other hand, here at the end of this short street, the atmosphere felt extremely different, almost unkind. We were in the early 70’s and, my mother and I had entered into the Soviet zone of occupation. And what frightened me the most, in this context, was not being able to comprehend the cause of this gigantic wall or even anything else around for that matter, but fear would really settle in because of the words my mother had pronounced: “Don’t say a word, and please don’t move; don’t give them a reason to hurt us”, had she whispered to me very anxiously with the mimic of her index finger over her mouth, while we entered the border bunker. Therefore, every gesture, every word shoved me, hailed me as this new place was suddenly becoming the terror of my world as a child. It looked as if I disappeared into the darkness, losing my consciousness in it; it seemed that right then, I could feel in my neck the breath of another realm, and every step I made towards this unknown confinement, with my mother’s hand holding mine, brought in me therefore a strange and inconceivable sorrow. And at that point, I became convinced in my tiny childish mind that life was not going to be so tranquil at all from then on. When the questioning from the border police was nearly done with, a man, behind the officer on duty, that had a very severe aspect and sat on a chair in a feeble light against the back wall of the room suddenly stood up and approached the desk:
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“Oh Gospodi, a KGB agent! “ Thought nervously my mother. There, taking over the ranking officer, he looked sturdily to the document, then towards the blond woman, followed by his eyes on me, alternating between both of us in silence. After minutes feeling like being hours, he then took a seal, stamped the passport of my mother, and as he laid the document back in her hand, the man brushed his fingers slowly across her skin; then raised his head and gazed at her with a murky grin: “Welcome back home, comrade Mariya Grigorievna!” said he with a throaty tone. Obviously, the agent wasn’t insensitive to my mother’s beauty, but right there and then, his eyes revealed such malice that my mother, worried, grabbed my hand promptly, and with a noiseless “Thank you” to the man, slipped her passport in her pocket and hurried out, pulling me, her young son, with her. Meanwhile, as we both marched away in silence, the weather had changed into a drizzle; we walked away as fast as we could, from this frightening and enigmatic place, deeply into the dreary depressing East-Berlin.
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Sergei VanBellinghen, Founder &CEO of First-Class Lifestyle, laptop lifestyle educator, consultant & coach, digital marketer, counselor in East-West relationships, a passionate Globetrotter and an avid audio booker.
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