What would I do now that the war was over? I needed money, and the only place money could be found was… the city. The antithesis of my childhood now stood before me. Its poisonous columns of smoke could be seem from a distance of miles upon miles. The wealthy lived as far away from it as possible, leaving the poor to try and survive in the city centre. You could make a decent living there only if you knew somebody; otherwise, you were consigned to the poverty of the masses. I was fortunate enough to have fought alongside a soldier whose father ran a decently sized business making parts for car engines. Upon my arrival, I was given a job there with a wage considerably higher than the other workers had. I was soon able to rent a tiny apartment nearby, and before you knew it, I was indistinguishable from everyone else in the city.

The blue sky evaded me for years. I tried to be content with working, eating and sleeping, and at long last I thought I was. Deep down, however, I was tortured. I was not myself under the darkened heavens. A deep depression withheld me from getting married and starting a family. The only thing I could do was be diligent in my work, and I was rewarded for it. The man I had fought alongside died four years after we came to the city, and fifteen years after that, his father retired and put me in charge of the plant.

My income increased along with my responsibilities, allowing me to finally buy my own house. I relocated to the edge of the city, where I was blessed: the windiest of days would clear away the smog and afford me a glimpse of the clear blue sky. It was during these scarce moments that I remembered where my home truly was. Flashbacks would remind me of a child who eagerly ran to the top of his hill to enjoy nature. I wanted that life again. I wanted to return home.

Once the desire was awakened, it would not leave. What reason did I have to not return to the place of my childhood? I was advancing in years, and the money I had saved up made retirement possible. It was too great an opportunity to be missed. At the age of sixty four, I passed the management of the manufacturing plant on to another. What a feeling! I had not felt such freedom and excitement in decades. I eagerly put my house up for sale and waited for a buyer.

My dreams thereafter were filled with the backdrop of great snow-capped mountains and with the scent of wildflowers, newly arrived with spring. I wasn’t even sure I remembered accurately what wildflowers smelled like; you learned to turn your nose off in the city. Envisioning the beauty of nature there was like a starving man imagining a banquet.

I waited for my house to sell for two more years. It was the first of May that a couple came to look at the house. I could not understand it, but they had come from out in the country and had decided it best to come to the city. I dared not talk sense into them, and I soon saw my house sold.

Packing my things made me feel like I was once again a child getting ready to go up the hill. However, I also began to think of some things I had not pondered before. For one thing, what had become of my parents? I would likely find tombstones behind the house with their names on it. Deep down, I had foolishly expected to find them both enjoying life as they had been when I left them.