In case anyone is wondering, the weird 'raffle' thing which happened in the previous chapter was actually done in the UK during WW2. Maybe not exactly that but at least similar things. For example, games were held in public places (very commonly bingo) and determined who would stay and who would go off to war, because they were desperate for men. That's just a little fun fact for all of you.
Also something I forgot to mention is that there will be some possible controversial racial opinions stated in this story. I obviously think everyone is equal and I do not agree with some of the opinions, I'm just trying to put the views of people from back then into perspective.
And sorry for the lack of Kellin. He will be in chapter 3 though, I promise.
Enjoy.
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One day. That was all the time they gave me to say goodbye before they would drive me away.
Looking into the eyes of my family, neighbours, friends, the kids that I taught, was almost physically painful. I felt like I was ending my own life. Because that was essentially true. This here was my life and I was leaving it behind for a new one: a life haunted with constant fear and paranoia of the unknown.
I had spent the whole night shamelessly crying, as this was the only way to express my emotions. Everyone who shared my opinion on war knew exactly what I was feeling (even though they had not experienced it themselves): paralysing dread. But instead of talking about it, I sobbed hysterically into my pillow so that no one would hear. Why? Because my point of view was looked down upon, so I just had to keep it to myself.
To say that I was completely shattered was an understatement. I considered hiding, running as far as I could, heck! - even shooting myself in the leg with my father's hunting rifle, or doing anything so that they would not take me. But that would be cowardice and, although that may have seemed contradictory judging by how many tears I shed that night, I was not a coward.
I just wanted to make everyone proud, but at the same time I was terrified of what was to come.
When I finally woke up, after crying myself to sleep, I was greeted by my mother who had just entered my room holding a plate of food.
Our little setup must have been unusual to outsiders. By my age, 24, most men were already married or had at least picked out partners and would be living with them in their own homes. For us, it was different.
I was not blind so I clearly noticed many of the local women watching, or rather admiring, me from time to time with hopeful expressions dazzling on their youthful faces. To their disappointment, they were all ignored because of a little secret that I was hiding. Well, it was not exactly a little secret as I could probably get publicly executed for it. That was why I just kept it all to myself and, rather than being public about it, I stuck to keeping my eyes on some of the men, much like the ladies did to me.
I gazed up at my mother through thick lashes, just to see her smiling down at me. Although she tried to seem kind and reassuring with her facial expression, I could tell just how broken she felt. It seemed as if her face would crack at any moment and the mask she was hiding behind would tear in two, revealing the fear that she held inside.
It was strange: my mother had always reminded me of a pearly swan. She moved with grace and harmony, her voice was sweeter than honey, and her favourite thing to wear were long, white dresses. She could be a bit strict, but she always held the shine of such an elegant bird but today, with those heavy bags under her eyes and the defeated hunch to her back and the monotone skirt, she looked more like a crow. A dead one, at that.
"Good mornin', love," she grinned at me tiredly. "You weren't comin' down for breakfast so I thougut I'd bring it to you to eat 'ere."
"I found it hard to fall asleep so I've had a bit of a late mornin', sorry. Thank you, though," I nodded, yawning and stretching. "What is it this time? Bread crumbs with a single cheese slice? A scoop o' rice?"
I could not stop my tone from being slightly bitter, even though I knew that it was not my mother's fault. The ration system these days was appalling, especially in the recent few weeks since those darned Germans shot down multiple British ships which were transporting food into the country. We basically had to live off scraps and it was enfuriating to watch people struggle so much.
"Actually, a few neighbours and friends came along early this mornin' and dropped off some things for you. They wanted to make your last day 'ere better so they left some nice items. Mrs Wilkinson from down the road dropped by with some fresh milk from 'er cows; little Jimmy Cunningham, the son o' the shop owner, brought you some things from 'is mom."
I smiled softly to myself and looked down at the sheets which hugged my body. It was surprising to me. I knew that a few people would miss me but I did not think that people would actually go out of their way to make me happy on this miserable day. They were unexpected as well. Those people were not specifically my friends or close to me, but I grew up around them and they grew up around me.
Mrs Wilkinson? I would help her out with her farm sometimes because, now that her husband had gone to war, she could not handle it herself. Jimmy Cunningham? I taught him a couple of years ago and he was one of my best students, always enthusiastic to learn. I was somehow tied to all of these people, but I would be forced to let them go.
Mother placed my plate of food on my covered lap and, deciding that I must have wanted some privacy, she left the room. She was right. As much as I wanted to cherish the time with my family, I was too busy yesterday crying rather than thinking things through so I needed some time alone now. I stared down at my lap, my mouth nearly watering. There was bread with jam, a few pieces of bacon, a small block of cheese, some fried eggs and a glass of milk on the table beside me. I had not had something like this in years.
I started eating slowly, with the bittersweet knowledge that this would be my last meal at home.
***
Sitting with my back as straight as it could go, I assessed the people around me. They were mostly middle-aged men, all of which were picked through that sick game. Everyone here had a few things in common.
Firstly, there were the expressions of pure horror which showed just how much we did not want to be here. Then there were the trembling hands that unfortunately made people see through the tough exterior we tried to present. In addition, every man here had a reluctance in their step as they made their way up into the large trucks and sat down in the available places.
The metal seat was cold against the flimsy material of my brown trousers, when they finally loaded us on. I looked out at all of the faces, my long hair getting pushed into my eyes by the harsh air. I glanced up at the sky to see that it had turned a murky grey colour. This, as well as the wind, signified that rain would be coming soon. It fit in perfectly with my mood.
Everyone here was trying to look their best at this gathering, but I did not see the point in impressing people with your slicked back hair or nicely shaven face. The only reason I made an effort today was to distract people from my expression, which I knew would not be able to hide the morbidity, and draw attention to my clothes instead.
The trucks were full. Some of the men around me looked vaguely familiar, but I was the only one from this specific area. I was a bit disappointed by that, seeing as I would not have anyone familiar with me but, on the other hand, I did not want anyone I knew to have to get dragged into this as well. It was for the best that it was just me, even though I wished that it was not.
I turned to the side and looked over the other mens' heads to spot the faces of my parents and colleagues. Mother looked distraught. She must have completely dropped the faux act of positivity and rather focused on reality. My father, like always, looked pretty emotionless as he balanced on this self-made walking stick. We were never that close, but I would still miss him more than anything.
My eyes travelled elsewhere and I instantly regretted it. I could have sworn that every single person who had been a part of my life was standing before me, all gazing at me with glossy eyes. There were all of the kids, waving goodbye and throwing flowers my way, even though obviously none would ever reach. The elders who had been great influences with their wise words snd useful advice stood looking disappointed. Not at me but rather at the world.
All of this made me wonder. There were so many people who would miss me. So many people who, somewhere deep down, I meant something to. I had tried my best to be a nice person and do good deeds all my life, so how did I end up here? After all of the things I had done, why did God put me in a life threatening situation? Why were bad people rewarded for being cowards and good people punished with nearly definite death?
I sighed heavily to myself and my gaze landed on my mother again. There she was, with a black dress and a drained heart and a wet face. This was the woman who I had always relied on, who I could go to with anything. She was always there for me, always hearing me out and never judging. My mother was one of the best people I knew and she raised both my brother and I to the best of her abilities. She meant the world to me. So why did it all have to end with me leaving her? Why was she taken away from me when I loved her so dearly?
I did not want to see more sad faces of people I knew, so I averted my gaze to my lap. My ears picked up on the sounds of cries: most likely the wives, mothers and children of those unlucky enough to be picked. The air was poisoned with heartache and I was feeling all choked up because of it.
I could not help it. I felt my eyes becoming wet and my bottom lip trembling. This could not be real, it just could not. I pinched myself hard, hoping that I would suddenly wake up and realise that this was all just a nightmare. That I was not leaving everything behind, I was still happy as ever, and a huge part of me had not been ruthlessly ripped out as if it meant nothing.
My god, I could not stop crying now. I buried my face in my hands to hide from everyone. They did not have to see me like this, with tears freely falling and choking back sobs. I was such a mess. I felt so helpless, like I had no control over my life anymore. All I wanted was to be in the warm embrace of my mother who would tell me that I was okay and I was safe and I was not going to die.
My eyes widened at the sounds of the engines starting up, yet I did not look up because I knew that I would once again see the distraught expressions on everyone's faces. I had cried enough tears for all of us already, so I did not need to see theirs as well.
At last we were off and all I felt like doing was collapsing and never getting back up.
After that, I just dozed off and my mind went into a sort of shut down. I was in my own world, while still acknowledging what was going on around me. Apparently we would be driven to the border and, from there we would be going on a ship to be taken to France. I had never done either: been on a boat or to France.
I did not speak much and just sat silently for a long time, wanting everything to go by quickly just to get it over with. I followed every order that was thrown my way. Stand here, take this, wear that, move there, give me this, sit here. Wait.
That was the most agonising part: the waiting. Because you just had no idea what to prepare yourself for and the paranoia was eating you alive. So I just sat with my head hanging low and my feet nervously tapping.
I was not even there yet and I could almost already feel the bullets daringly dancing on my skin.