Life After France

★彡 𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓸𝓷𝓮 彡★

╰☆☆ 𝔗𝔬𝔪𝔪𝔶'𝔰 𝔓𝔒𝔙 ☆☆╮
My warm breath fills the cotton mask that lays sloppily over my mouth and nose. The clay clovers my body in thick, slimy layers; sticking to me like a second skin. Urges to cough were almost becoming unbearable in the unclean, clay infected air; but I knew I couldn't cough, I couldn't let our position be known. I had to stay quiet, they would catch us; I couldn't let that happen. Suddenly I heard it, guns and bombs going off around me, this couldn't be happening. I hid my head in my arms, covering my ears. Boom. Another bomb went off, they were getting closer. Boom. Again and again, the bombs and guns went off, round after round. Deafening noise.
Gasping for air with beads of sweat running down my face like marathon runners trying to win. I was awake, another dream, France haunting me like the plague over and over every night with little to no sleep each night. I can't deal with this. The stress each night, the flashbacks. Sitting up, I find my clothes thrown across the floor, laying where I left them last night. I pick them up and put them on, looking at the diary I decide to head to The Garrison, with nothing better to do than drink and smoke till the day is out and I dream another flashback. Walking in I sit down at the bar, "Whiskey, Irish" I speak, looking down at the waxed wooden bar surface. The clinking of the glass against the bottle brought me back to reality, I look up to be met with the handsome face of a new barman "I've been told your order is on the house. Here" he says as he places the whiskey and glass in front of me. "Thanks, I've never seen you around before. I guess you're the new barman" I say as I pour myself a drink "I am indeed Mr Shelby" he replies as more men appear at the bar "I'm sorry Mr Shelby, I need to tend to the others" walking away he takes the others orders as they find a table. The six men find their seats, after pouring the pints he carries them over. "So, what's your name then" I speak as he returns to the bar "F/N, F/N L/N, Mr Shelby but you can call me Y/N if you prefer" he speaks, wiping the bar clean "Well Y/N, what did a nice man like you end up doing in the pits of Birmingham?" I ask him, for a man living in Birmingham, he is strikingly handsome. "Well, I was originally living in H/T but after some family dispute and arguments, I found myself strung up in Birmingham; and if I'm being honest, it's not as bad as I thought" Y/N spoke, as he tended to other orders, pouring pints and Whiskey to paying customers. "Your choice or no other option?" I questioned "Bit of both really, seemed like a new adventure, and a cheap option" he spoke, his voice soft like a horses mane. "My shifts over, but I... um i'll see you around" he says folding his apron and leaving. Hope filled my thoughts as I wish that I'll see him again.