𝐳𝐞𝐫𝐨
𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫
♕
𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵
In no way was it planned. Not for the eighteen year old Dawn who sat shivering on the cold hard wood floor, letting the harsh winter breeze attack the nauseating glimmer on her forehead, the soft shimmer gluing blonde flyaway hairs to the sickly skin.
For her blood rose against its tissue, slapping a rosy gloss over her frail frame, which set alight a fire within her body, the heat overpowering the icy winds of January's weather. Her winces and groans duetting with the choir of the howling winds, in a harmony of assault which once again left her heaving over the toilet seat, emptying her stomach into the bowl before her.
This was not how the new year was supposed to go, 1914 had rolled in through a wave of celebration for the Johnson couple, the young adults finally felt free from the hands that held them down. With no parents in sight they had happily wedded in the November of 1913 and escaped to Elijah's hometown of Newcastle in time for a new start.
Despite her broken English and heavy accent she had thrived, Elijah found work in the docks and Dawn found herself selling flowers in a quaint shop on the corner of the market. Eventually leading them to buy a run down flat in the slums, it was not the perfect life but they were happy none of the less. Young and free, it was them against the world.
However there she sat, sickness washing over her as she ran late to her shift at the shop, too weak to pull herself up from where she fell to the floor that morning with a thud which would surely leave bruises on her porcelain tone.
To her luck her husband had heard and rushed to her aid straight away, though upon realisation that there was nothing he could do, he left their home in search of a doctor, not before leaving one last fleeting look of concern at his ill wife.
It was if an angel from the heavens above heard her call, because as the last wet cough flew from her throat, the door flew open. The heaviness of the slam surely leaving a dent in the doorway but the thought was lost in the crowd of panic as Elijah dragged a confused doctor into the bathroom and per his request for some privacy with the woman, Eli reluctantly dragged himself out, wanting nothing more then to hold Dawn in his arms- after all he did promise her all his love through sickness and health.
After pacing the living room, almost burning holes in the ground he walked on, the sound of a door clicking open echoed through the tense air, and he had never turned on his heel so quick. To his surprise the doctor had a tight lipped smile stuck on his features, nodding his head and patting the shoulder of the younger man before him, a soft 'congratulations' leaving his mouth.
And with confusion lapped in his brain, he ran to his wife who now sat on the toilet, enveloping her in his broad shoulders, letting her tears cake the scratchy material of his shirt. Dawns skin was still sickly green, and pants left her body in attempt to suck some life back into her drained body. But a ear wide grin tackled the pain she felt, her shaky hands meeting to greet the stubble on Elijah's face, who couldn't help but match the contagious toothy smile.
With a quirk of his eyebrow, Dawn let her thumb run over his sharp cheekbone as she spluttered over her words, "Nous allons avoir un bébé!" Happily shaking the face of her beloved, "We're having a baby!"
To say they were excited was an understatement, but it wouldn't come without great difficulties. With no woman in her life other then herself and Mrs Clarke (a sweet old lady who owns the flower shop) although with no children of her own, there was no one to guide the eighteen year old girl in the birth of her child.
Which happened in a great time of inconvenience, as months past through with the tensions growing higher in Europe, labour shook through exhausted girl on the 23rd of July 1914, and as a welcome into the world gift for the blonde baby boy, a letter of recruitment lay in their letterbox addressed to Elijah Johnson a few days later.
For little Theodore had only been huddled in the warmth of his parents for a few weeks before his father put on his uniform and and journeyed over to France, a constant reminder of his wife and baby at home who would definitely grow up with his mothers French twinge in his tongue.
Dawn hadn't felt pain like it, feeling apart of her soul rip from her at the sight of the empty side of the bed, though finding comfort in the bundle of joy that giggled and blurted constant noise. Though to awaken in the darkest hours of the night almost if aching for his fathers hold.
Little did the young adult know that the pain she felt then would only worsen and grow over due time, that would forever taint her mind.
And Dawn Johnson found that heart wrenching ache in the summer of 1916, midway through September, Elijah Johnson has been shot on the frontline, death didn't come quick to him but in his last moments he knew he saw an angel ready to take him away, with her delicate French accent that fit perfectly with her doll like complexion and platinum hair, she adorned a halo and a set of wings so white that illuminated the dark battlefield as she pulled him to the light, a smaller angel attached on her hip, bubbling soft coos at him only furthering the need to follow them to his peace.
His body was never found however, buried underneath other corpses and thick blood and mud, leaving Dawn and her little Theo to bury an empty casket. The two year old boy oblivious to why he and his mother were dressed in black, lowering a box into the dug up ground as tears fell down her face like the crying clouds above.
That sickly feeling had once again resurfaced, that nausea flowing through her veins, but not because she was welcoming a new life.. no, she was simply saying goodbye to one.
The walk back to their flat was dull, with the toddler hooked on her hip and sorrowful gazes directed at her in the street, from the woman who may possible suffer the same fate.
She wanted nothing more then to escape.
So that's she did.
With the last of her money that didn't go to the little funeral, she packed their belongings and bought tickets to the first train she could board.
That evening, Dawn sat on the dirty train seat, the blonde boy on her lap as her head trembled against the window, slowly watching as the sunset hues fell into a smog ridden grey, factories replaced the trees and smiles were replaced with frowns.
A new start she reminded her self.
Whispering sweet French hushes to the fidgeting boy cradled on her waist, as her foot stepped into the dreary platform of the Birmingham station. Suitcase hung behind her as she stopped dead in her tracks, taking in the scenery and feeling more out of place then she had ever felt.
Letting a single tear roll down her hollow cheek before starting her journey into the bleak hustle.
Leaving parts of herself everywhere she was not, the train, NewCastle and in France.
A new life she reminded herself, but Dawn Johnson couldn't rid herself of the hunger she felt for the love she lost so early in their long life together.
And she would rather starve then let her Theodore to succumb to the pain she had felt in the last few years.
♕
𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫