A chilly morning, with mist in the air.
I exit my stone house. It rests beside others like itself. A meadow lies across from me. The mist stands above it like a perceptual peace might take over it. Sparrows chirp from the rooftops, singing their own little songs. I pull up my coat to combat the cold. The sun continues to rise from the east, bringing light back to my homeland. The world will be waking up now, just as I have.
Steam rises from my coffee mug. I take a sip and the black liquid runs down my throat. It is refreshing and wakes me up a little bit more. The mist limits my sight from what may be beyond the meadow. I believe a forest lies beyond it. I am not sure. Today will be a cool day. Perhaps even rain in the afternoon. The boys will enjoy that, I think. They've always danced around in the rain. Sometimes they sing too. I have never been one to enjoy the rain. It makes me sick. I don't like being sick.
An hour passes. My mug empties. The mist begins to rise. I am sure the boys are getting up now. They tend to rise like the mist. I don't know why. They aren't normally as concealing though. The window to their room opens. Fresh air seeps into the house. The boys are up now.
They would go to school this morning. It's Sunday so it will be Sunday school. I do think they enjoy Sunday school. They only ever complain about the reading that they must do. The boys find the bible very dull. I find the same thing. We have to read it though. In a couple hours we'll begin to walk to church. The top of the church peeks over the treetops that lie across from the meadow. The green grass is full with dew. Our shoes will be wet from travelling through it.
Today is the Ninth of September, 1940. Last night bombs were dropped on our city. They have not yet reached our home yet. The Germans want to take us over. That's what the paper says. The boys are afraid. I am too. I have seen the ruins that the bombs make. They don't stand. The ruins are grey images of the past. I have seen the past before the bombs fell though. The ruins were quite beautiful once. If only this war never started.
The war started on the First of September, 1939. The Germans started it all. It is a dreadful war. Over a year now it has gone on. Barbarians are what we have fallen to. Death creeps across the land. No one wants him to. He does anyways. Soon he will come. He will steal the boys away from me. There is nothing I can do to fight him. I am powerless. He is unstoppable. War is his dearest friend.
Sometimes I wish the mist would not rise. I enjoy the mist.
A delicious smell wafts from the open window. The boys are making breakfast. They will call me out to join them. I will refuse. In the cool of the morning I would rather be. The kitchen will be hot. I do not like the heat. It reminds me too much of fire. I like water. I do not like fire.
Sirens go off. German planes have been spotted. The boys call out to me. They want me to go into the bomb shelter. I shake my head. “Have Faith.” I reply. My body warms with the world. I put my mug down on the ground. It chills with the ground. I step onto the meadow. My shoes get wet. I like water. I walk towards the church top. It barely over reaches the trees.
Behind me, a bomb drops.
-Zero
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