The place where I grew up is still called Fryslân, but when I was born there, it actually still was. The Frisii were compared by some to the Spartans, all war and no culture. But I saw no war… only survival and slow assimilation into the culture of others.
There was nothing to do, except wait for something to happen. As a teenager, a bird crashed, one day, into my closed shutters. I went out and picked it up. It was a baby. It was terrified. I cradled it in my hands and its shivering slowly subsided. Then, I snapped its neck. To put it out of its misery, I told myself. But, really, I just wanted to see how death felt.
There were signs.