The Berg.
The house of my childhood was a sepia seeping place with a back yard full of rats breeding as fast as the humans who lived there.
The house was near a berg that had a chasm like a half smile, I used to hide there when wanting to be alone, planning my escape.
Twenty adults and children sharing one loo, a bathroom, my mother explained was for rich people she used cleaned one when in service.
The berg was not a mountain only a big rock, now dynamited to give way to progress, crushed memories not even the very old remembers it.
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