WHITE FLAGS

She made her way up from the U-Bahn station and into a clear square. Everyone had long since gone to work and school, so the typically cluttered sidewalks and streets were empty and she found herself frozen in place, unsure about the silence. Then she glanced at the map in her hands, moving forward, trying to configure her way through the maze to the museum she had pinpointed earlier that morning over tea.

After wandering in circles for the better part of an hour, she looked up to discover that the clouds had finally decided to wage war with the ground, making good on their threat. The artillery found its way to her guide, and the already fragile paper wings slowly began disintegrating in her hands.

She tucked her map away, giving up on finding refuge, cleared her glasses of the unrelenting rain, and brought her camera up. The shutter clicked, and in the midst of all of the arrows of rain falling from the sky, Beauty’s tip found its way to her soul as she caught a glimpse of the city staring back at its own reflection, releasing sorrowful tears upon itself. In that moment, white flags began to rise in her heart – a declaration of peace on the horizon. Somehow, in the middle of Vienna’s empty vein, a man appeared in the frame, stopping for only a moment. And in that moment, she wondered if he had felt it, too.