My story is a story worth telling. It wasn’t just a “flat line.” It was a life full of ups and downs. The ups and downs are what I today call life. You know, the deepest and the darkest pain that rips you apart and the highest, sweetness of love and joy. Both make you feel alive. Feel that you are there, in the middle of life. After life there just is the “flat line.” Or is there something else? Who knows what I could get up to as just a “flat line?”

My name is Mary. Mary Eileen Cooke, but my friends and family call me “Mollie.” So please call me Mollie.

*****

It all started at the beginning of the twentieth century. I was born as first Price child on a chilly September morning. The year is not important. We all have our little secrets. But it was before the Second World War, so much I am prepared to give away. I was meant to experience the Second World War very well, but more of that later on in my story.

Anyway, I grew up as a country lass, near the Welsh-English border, with two brothers. The three of us were quite a bundle. We loved to roam and play outdoors. Growing up in the country is a lovely thing for children. We ran up the rural hills, played hide-and-seek in the woods and lay in the long grass, letting the wind comb our hair. Coming home late with muddy fingers, the grass strains on our clothes and our sticky hair would always get us into trouble with Mum. But we would consider the trouble worth it in order to be able to spend as much time as possible in our fantasy world in the woods, or on top of the hills.

*****

After school, we ran up the lane squealing and shouting, expecting only the best to come along. My legs were always a little shorter than everybody else’s. I really don’t know what the Lord was up to when he was making me. So consequently I would be the last to jump into the soft grass on the other side of the cattle grid. My quick and witty humour made up for my shortage of legs, so I never really felt like the loser of a race.

A short but steep hill led up to the wood. Arriving at the entrance of our cool wonderland after defeating the rather large steps that were dug into the hill, indicating the path, we were panting and our foreheads glistering with small wet pearls. This is the moment our adventure would start. We stood in front of the great doors to our secret magic kingdom. Feeling dizzy from excitement, paired with a little hidden fear of what or who else could be roaming the wood, we slipped through the gate with wobbly knees. The tall trees protect the spongy footpath from sunlight. Their roots are like spider legs, just much larger and ideal to hide behind. The moss patches bet