From his office window, Mathias could clearly make out the red-tiled roof of his mother’s apartment block. She lived barely two miles from her only son and his family, yet they hadn’t been together for over ten years – not since the border was closed. In the tower, guards smoked their cigarettes and laughed. Between them and him lay nothing – only death to those who tried to cross. Mathias didn’t know anyone who’d tried.
His mother’s last letter had said she was ill. The thought of never seeing her again was hard to accept. In the distance a dog barked as gunshot echoed.
These words form my entry into Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.