Callused fingers smoothed out the lone crease on the picture; it stood stark against its sepia toned surroundings. Next, her index finger delicately circumambulated the title " Escape to the Alps " printed in bold red. Lynda continued tracing the snowy mountain tops with her fingertips. She could almost feel the cold breeze rifting through her hair accompanied by the gentle sunshine falling on her face. She could still remember that glorious weekend with her husband.
They had played and frolicked around like lambs. It was exhilarating to let free after all the death and devastation of the war. An ear splitting grin appeared on her wizened face. She continued reminiscing their lengthy moonlit walks and hushed late night conversations. Her husband Jonathan had died soon after; and it was like she had never escaped the war to begin with. All the insecurity, the grief, the tiredness returned with the force of a thousand biting suns. She had returned to their sacred place the following year ;but the magic was gone. The only solace to be found was in her mind. Ironic considering that her mind was the very source of her turmoil. So she had done what she did best and stubbornly persisted through life; throwing herself into her work with more enthusiasm than ever before. Years passed and the pain lessened. The memories started hurting less and the picture; her one memento of that blessed weekend became a source of happiness rather than pain. In fact she became so attached to it that she slept with it under her pillow every night. She smoothed the picture once more and pressed a gentle kiss on top of it before placing it under her bed.