I bounded, with such grace, out of my bed bare feet kissing the frosted stone floor. My toes did a minute jig over to my dresser made of mahogany to grab a pair of my mother's woolen slippers she had left me a long time ago before she left.

Placing them upon my feet I bounded back to my bed, leaping gazelle style and landing knee deep in comforters. It was so foggy out I had to press my nose and palms to the window just to see two inches past my nose.

Gently I set the heavy wooden block upon my bed that I kept in the window frame to prevent people from gaining access inside my house. Call me paranoid. I'm up on the third story. With a little less enthusiasm I tugged upon the three inch thick so called window and tore open the peeling green shutters.

So much for being sleepy.

The sub zero Berlin temperatures gnawed at my skin as I continued to gaze out upon the grassland that was my home. Big black tumblers loomed out at me in the far distance. I smiled as I rolled back into my blanket then back onto the unforgiving floor once more.

So swaddled up in my down blanket I couldn't pick at my fingers. I found it very annoying as my fingers twitched, longing for something to tear into. I bit my lip instead. So, that by the time I rolled down the stairs and onto the base landing that separated the first flight of stairs from the second, my lip was totally shredded and bleeding.

Just ever so slightly.

I blame the Americans for imposing their values upon us Germans. I blame Hitler even more.

For taking my brother away from me.

I made it down the second flight of stairs with a dull thud. I had to laugh as I clumsily got to my feet once more. I had rolled to a complete stop at the base of Grandmother's ancient rocking chair causing it to rock back and forth just so.

It would drive me crazy if I watched it any longer.

I was already dizzy from my harrowing journey down the stairs.

I took my time getting to the end of the hall. I was not pleasure seeking when I went to go throw open the heavy oak laden door, pounce on the bed of the living dead and throw open his window.

And still he slept. Bloody hell. How one manages that beats me.

I covered his slumbering form back up with the mountain of blankets I had piled there last night just before I, myself went to sleep.

Not a stir. I chuckled to myself. He sure could sleep through anything I'll tell you.

With a kiss to his silken auburn head I made my way back up the stairs, finding it difficult to maneuver those tight corners.

I felt ridiculous. Like a penguin. Tight corners indeed.

With a resounding pounce I slid across the floor, arms out stretched like our Nazis, I managed to skid my fingers along the bottom of our gas stove.

So much for a smooth halt.

Tink, tink, tink. I'll be darned. I can't find the tea kettle. I bet you anything, the cat ate it. He has a stomach made of steel. Which kind of makes sense as to why he ate our kettle? I grabbed a small pan and headed outside to the little pond we held captive in our back yard.

Crunch, crunch, crunch. The pond was so clear, so smooth. Like glass. If I could, I would preserve it forever.

Chink, chink, chink. When I was satisfied with the amount of water in my completely glazed pan, I hustled my stiff form back into the house.

The sound of steaming rising from a pot was a soft whistling sound that almost put me back to sleep.

Until I slid halfway down the corner cupboard, ending up jamming my back into places I never knew it could fit.

This time I stumbled and bumped my way down two flights of stairs, nearly spilled myself into his room and was all that I could do from crumpling into an unmistakable Anna heap upon his bed.

Bloody rum. He was already awake and sitting up, idly staring out the window.

And he laughed. So I poked him.

"Water's ready. Eggs, toast and raspberry jam with a side of sausage alright with you?" I had to tug on his sleeve a couple of times before I could completely tear his vision away from the foggy image.

My response from him was this face deforming yawn that allowed me to poke my index finger into his mouth. I was rewarded with a disheveled glare.