Chapter 1 - New beginnings on Brookstrasse
The large apartment building, a prefabricated building from the 1970s, sits heavy and gray in the middle of an endless concrete desert. Its angular facades rise high into the sky and cast long shadows on the dreary parking lot in front. The sun fights its way through the cloud cover and throws isolated, pale rays onto the building, making the concrete shine in a pale light.
The gray facade of the high-rise building looks as if it has already experienced countless years of fate. Large, concrete balconies span the entire width of the building, testifying to a time when people thought they could brighten up the city’s grayness with a few potted plants. But most of these balconies are now deserted, their flower boxes have long since faded, and only a few residents still have the will to look after their little green oases.
The windows of the apartment building are rectangular and sober. They reflect the sky, which on this day is dominated by a heavy gray. Here and there there are curtains that are either drawn to hide the dreariness of the outside world or with faded floral patterns and faded colors as if they have been around for decades.
The entrance area of the prefabricated building is unadorned and functional. A large double door made of wood, metal and glass leads into the interior of the building. There is a faded sign above the door that reads “Brookstrasse Residential Park”. The caption seems like a bad joke given the fact that the sun rarely shows its face in this location. There are several mailboxes on either side of the door, several of which are piled high with notes. The names on the pieces of paper are usually barely legible, and it seems as if residents no longer bother to pick up their mail.
The floor in the entrance area is made of worn linoleum, which was certainly modern in the 1970s, but today just looks dreary and stained. A moderately successful attempt to brighten up the room is to add a few artificial plants in bright colors placed in tall pots. Their leaves are dusty and the green has long since faded.
A large, dingy carpet leads further into the interior of the apartment building. It is littered with various stains and footprints that have told their stories over the years. At the edge of the carpet there are worn shoe cabinets where residents store their shoes. Jackets and coats hang here and there on the hooks, as if their owners could put them back on at any moment to go out.
There are old, yellowed photographs hanging on the walls, showing scenes from times long past. Groups of people in 70s clothing smiling happily into the camera as if the world was still okay back then. But the faces in the photos have long since aged and the joy has given way to tired smiles.
The hallway stretches endlessly into the depths of the building. Here and there doors lead to the residents’ apartments. The doors are all different designs, some freshly painted and with new doorbell plates, others weathered and marked by years of wear. Some doors are decorated with children’s drawings, others with handwritten notes that say “Please don’t ring the bell!”
There is a silence in the hallway, filled with the thoughts of the residents. You hardly hear any noise, apart from the occasional squeak of a door or the hum of an elevator slowly moving up or down. But beneath this silence there is a melancholy that permeates the atmosphere of the apartment building.
Some of the residents have been at home here on Brookstrasse in Frechen for decades, have raised their children and grown old. Others have recently moved in, looking for affordable accommodation in the big city. They all share a piece of their lives with this prefabricated building, this gray colossus.
The large apartment building may appear dreary and forbidding on the outside, but it holds stories and life within its gray walls. It is a place where time seems to stand still while the lives of the residents continue unceasingly. In the narrow hallways and unadorned apartments, dreams are dreamed, stories are written and destinies are lived. And so the prefabricated building remains not just a building made of concrete and steel, but a place where life in all its facets has found its place.
Svantje quietly slips out of the old wooden door of the large apartment building and enters the street. She glances left and right before shyly looking around. The hustle and bustle of the city around her seems to overwhelm her and she retreats even further into herself. Her petite figure seems lost between the tall buildings and the constant stream of pedestrians streaming past her.
Svantje carefully sits down on a lonely bench at the side of the road. Her eyes are downcast and her blonde hair falls in messy strands across her face. She pulls her legs close to her body, as if she could hide from the world outside in this small gesture. Svantje is only eleven years old, but she carries the weight of the world on her narrow shoulders.
Her mother, a disinterested woman, hardly has any time for her. When she is not at work, she buries herself in her own worries and problems. Svantje misses the security and warmth that other children get from their parents. Her mother is overwhelmed and burned out, and Svantje often feels like an annoying disruptor in her life.
Sadness has settled in Svantje’s heart and she feels lonely even when she is surrounded by people. She longs for someone who will listen to her, who will take her concerns seriously and give her security. But so far she hasn’t found anyone who takes the time to get to know her.
Svantje stares at the floor in front of her and sinks into her thoughts. She thinks about school, where she always tries to be quiet and inconspicuous. The other children laugh and play with each other while she stands on the edge of the action. She is too shy to approach them and has learned to withdraw into her own little world.
Her mother taught her to be strong and hide her feelings, but sometimes loneliness hits her like a wave. Svantje longs for a friend, someone who will accept her for who she is. But so far she has been too shy to approach others and the other children hardly seem to notice her.
People on the street rush past Svantje without paying her any attention. She is like a shadow in the crowd, almost invisible. The city lives its own life, and Svantje feels isolated from this world. It’s as if she doesn’t exist, as if she’s trapped in a bubble of invisibility.
Svantje closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. She tries to push away the sadness and loneliness inside her, but it’s hard. The tears burn in her eyes, but she fights not to let them out. She’s so used to being strong that she can’t allow herself to appear weak.
Her gaze wanders to the passers-by who hurriedly walk past her. She watches the happy faces, the lively conversations and the hands touching lovingly. Svantje wants to be a part of this world, a part of something bigger than herself.
But she doesn’t know how to take this step. The fear of rejection is too great, and so she remains sitting on her bench, alone and invisible. Svantje longs for connection and a better life, but the path there seems rocky and difficult.
Time passes and the city pulsates around them. Svantje remains sitting quietly on her bench, trapped in her own world. She knows that she has to be strong, that she can’t give up, but sometimes she feels so lost and helpless.
Maybe one day someone will notice her loneliness, maybe someone will come up to her and shake her hand. Until then, she will continue to sit quietly and reservedly on her bench, an invisible girl in a busy city.
When it was already getting dark, Svantje sadly went into the large apartment building and walked purposefully to her apartment. Dusk falls heavily over the small town and the street lights begin to tentatively unfold. Svantje enters her apartment, a place that normally represents comfort and security, but today there is something melancholy in the air.
The hallway awaits them with an innocent cage in which a little rabbit sits, curiously looking out into the world with his watchful eyes. But a quick look at the empty food bowls tells Svantje that he hasn’t been fed yet. She sighs softly, feeling guilty that in her rush to get to school she forgot to take care of her furry friend.
Just as she is about to fill the rabbit bowl with fresh food, her mother’s heavy step is heard in the hallway. Her mother, overwhelmed and irritable from a long day at work, storms into the apartment. Svantje flinches and turns to her mother, her heart beating wildly with fear.
“Why hasn’t the rabbit been fed yet?” her mother shouts, without a greeting or a smile. The words cut through the silence of the room like sharp knives.
Svantje stammers apologetically: “I’m sorry, mom. I just went outside for a moment to get some fresh air and then I forgot about it.”
Her mother rolls her eyes and snorts before she sets about feeding the hungry bunny. But the anger inside her continues to simmer. She handles the food and water bowl with impatient movements while she takes out her anger on the small animal.
“You can’t even do a simple task. You always forget everything. You’re so useless, Svantje!”
Her mother raises her head, her eyes burning with anger. Her voice drowns out the gentle sound of the rabbit drinking.
“Why do I do everything for you?” complains the mother. “What do I work myself out for every damn day?”
Svantje feels small and vulnerable. Tears gather in her eyes, but she bites her lips and refuses to cry in front of her mother. She doesn’t want any more trouble.
The mother gives the rabbit a final blow on the head and turns to her daughter.
“You just sit here and do nothing, like you’ve just been moping around all day. You are so lazy. Can’t you do something sensible at least once in your life?”
Svantje wants to defend herself, but her voice fails her. She lowers her gaze to the ground and wishes she were invisible.
“Come here and get this rattle from the nursery,” the mother orders harshly. “So that the bunny doesn’t just fidget all evening.”
Svantje obeys silently, almost like a robot that has no other choice. She runs into the nursery and finds the rattle she loved as a little girl. She can still hear the ringing laughter she and her mother shared as they played with it. But today nothing is like it was back then.
With shaking hands, she returns to the living room and hands the rattle to her mother. Her mother takes her without a word of thanks and casts a disapproving look at her daughter.
“Now go to your room and don’t cause any more problems,” she hisses. “If you are unable to act rationally, then just stay there.”
Svantje nods, although she would have liked to rebel against the injustice. But she has learned that in such moments it is better to put her head down and obey. She turns around and makes her way to her small room.
The door closes quietly behind her and she sinks onto her bed. Tears stream down her cheeks and she wishes she could escape the world. The rabbit in its cage and the rattle in her mother’s hand are the only witnesses to her silent suffering.
The hours pass while Svantje sits alone in her room. Her mother’s voice comes through the door, muffled yet tormented, as she argues with a friend on the phone. Svantje would give anything to see her mother happy, but she doesn’t know how to change that.
Finally the house becomes quiet and Svantje hears her mother going to bed. The evening is now as dark as her mood. She lays down under the covers and sobs quietly into her pillow.
At some point she falls asleep and in her dream she finds herself in a world where she can fly. In this world she is brave, strong and free. But the dream ends far too soon and Svantje wakes up in the darkness of her room.
The pain in her heart is still present, but she knows she must move on. Svantje wipes the tears from her eyes and thinks about the little rabbit in the hallway. She knows she has to take care of him, no matter how hard it is.
She gets up quietly and carefully, opens the door to her room and goes into the hallway. The rabbit sleeps peacefully in his cage. Svantje smiles as she looks at him. She resolves to always be there for him, even when no one seems to be there for her.
