When One Side Wins a War

Part 2

December 15, 1951

Fear was a common tactic used during this time. Royals and politicians held it above the citizen's head as one would do for a donkey with a carrot. This is inhumane, of course, but it was a common sight, so how much protest could really be given to it?

Ilse has grown use to the boy's presence, and although she never seems to enjoy their company, she doesn't detest. They find ways to live in harmony with each other, even if that means avoidance of the other party. But Ilse loves the lab in the corner of the city, and she loves Dr. Lewis. And they can't take that away from her.

Though admittedly, the stalemate irritated Dr. Lewis to no ends. Try as he might, nothing he said or did would persuade the kids to engage in conversation with each other. And so, he paced around his oddly silent lab, careful to avoid tipping the scales to another fight.

Ilse followed her normal morning routine. A familiar path that involved going over the old wire fence, across the dirty alley, and then slip quietly in through the back door. She was excited, just as she always was. Ilse always enjoyed conversations with the doctor; it brought her a peace of mind that wasn't found in any other parts of her life.

Though, today, as she opened the metal door and stepped into the dark room, something was slightly askew. Doctor Lewis smiled to her as she entered before quickly turning back to his project. The shelves remained a mess, and loose parts and forgotten tools coated the bench surfaces.

But in the corner of the room—the most comfortable part of the room that Ilse had essentially claimed residence upon—were Mark and Allen, sitting just atop her wooden table. 

And so, with a confidence she wouldn't have achieved without intially confronting the two boys—not that she would ever admit this to them or herself—she marched over. The intent to argue her way to the top of the table burned with the strength of a fire within her, but, unfortunately, it was quick to ignite.

Sitting between the two boys was a small cake with poorly done white icing, a blue and yellow striped candle stuck in the center of it. Aside from the distinct fire hazard it created, Ilse found herself enjoying the domestic sight.

Upon her approach, Mark hastily looked away from the dessert, dark eyes landing harshly on Ilse's form. She stopped, hesitant around him for the first time in a while. "What?" he asked sharply. "What could you possibly want."

Truly, the worlds should never collide.

"Happy birthday," she whispered.

Unless curiosity allows them to.

Allen looked up to, though the smile gracing his face was a delightful contrast to the hate evident in Mark's eyes. "Thanks. I'm finally sixteen. Honestly, it's felt much longer than just a year."

And then Ilse laughed. It was pointless, really, but she couldn't help herself; the opportunity was too good to pass on. "I'm older than you," she snickered.

"Well, that's no surprise." It was a shock for Ilse to hear Mark's voice—she hadn't heard it in such an easy tone before—but her ears didn't deceive her. He looked at her, truly looked at her, and smiled as she looked between the two boys. "Allen here was born at the end of thirty five. Nearly our whole class has months above him."

"And Mark was born in thirty four, yet this old man is still in the same class as me."

"Old?" Dr. Lewis questioned from his place. The three kids turned to him, unaware of his participation in their spontaneous conversation. "Born in thirty four, and you say old? Allen, my dear boy, what would you call the man born in the middle of twenty two?"

"Oh, Glenn, I'm so sorry," Ilse muttered, her face darkening with worry. The two boys looked to her, worried of the sudden change. "I'll admit, I'm no mathematician, but born in twenty two? Well, you must be nearing the age of seventy now. How much longer do you have with us?"

And then they were all laughing, Dr. Lewis rolling his eyes and turning his back to them. Mark quickly slipped off the day and approached Ilse. Had he been aware of his actions, he would've prevented himself from getting too close. But that was unimportant. There was something he must know about the girl, and it couldn't stand to wait.

"Ilse, when were you born."

"Oh, well," the young girl stuttered, thrown by the suddenness of the question. "August 13, 1935. Why do you ask?"

"I'm older than you both," he snickered.

"Well, of course you are!" Ilse exclaimed, arms flying to the air in mock outrage. "You were born in thirty four, what did you expect from me?"

The bickering continued, but none seemed to care; Dr. Lewis found he rather preferred their childishly antics to the mature silence of mere tolerance. 

It was a simple question Mark proposed to Ilse, and she returned an appropriate response, but that exchange did something for her she had never seen before and she would never be granted again.

She was given an opportunity.