Lovers through war and peace (beginning)

[K.M Roberston]

This is the beginning of a short story i am writing for school. Sorry if there's any run ons, spelling mistakes ect.


I squeezed my eyelids shut and gripped my hands tighter, until they turned white. Another plane flew over the Cathedral, the great white crystal chandeliers shook, and a piercing sound cut through the peace of prayer as an unsettled statue smashed to the floor. My lips glided over the salient words of my prayer. The prayer that my dearest sister and her husband would be safe over those vast and rough seas, helping finish this war, this mass murder once and for all. I tightened the headscarf around my neck with fumbling hands, my eyes still closed. I couldn’t bring myself to look at all those grieving faces around me; mothers now sonless, wives now widows, children now orphans.
As the sunrays dimmed in the stained glass windows and the shadows cast by the candles grew, I knew that I had done all the praying I could for that day.
I rose from my long kneeling pose and made my way out of the church…back home, back to hiding.
I headed up the split stone steps of our pleasant, snug house. I could see the silhouette of my father’s bold build through the warm, deep red drapes that my sister and I had hung up to enliven the cold, dull grey street. My numb hand had just clutched the brass door handle of our front entrance when I heard the panicked pace of someone’s heavy boots striking against the road. The empty walls of the houses seemed to imitate the sound. I turned my head to see the lonely figure of my beloved fiancé hastening toward me. The sight of him brought indescribable warmth to me. My stomach got all knotted and my skin tingled at the memory of his touch, but most of all a sense of understanding, relief and belonging surged through me. The second I saw his face, everything stopped, all those warm memories flooded out of me like a river racing to get down a mountain. Something was more than wrong; I could feel the anxiety hanging in the air surrounding him. What caught my attention was not his eyes, but what he was clasping in his hand. A large brown envelope could only mean one of two things nowadays; neither was good.



More in the comments!!!!

***Complete story at bottom

[Gladdy11]

Incredible start!
I especially liked your style and use of parallel structure. Keep working on it!

[K.M Roberston]

Thanks! i am glad that i have someone like you, who wrote one of the best short stories I have ever read in my life (remember), commenting so positively on my writing!

[K.M Roberston]

Ok i just edited it, and wow there were a lot of mistakes! Sorry to anyone that had to read it that way!!!

[The Walker]

very well done! you catch the reader in anxiousness for more to discover was next.

[K.M Roberston]

Here is a little but more,but i wrote this very late last night (or early the is morning) so it's not every good and need lots of editing, sorry about nay spelling of grammar mistakes!;)


I ran down the steps, the same ones that I had only moments ago taken in so closely, now they were just an obstacle. A soft rain padded down on my auburn locks. As I ran closer I could see the tears streaming down his tanned cheeks, his eyes where immensely blue and wanting. I ran down the dampened street, my heart pounding in my head, my footsteps sounding larger than life. I stumbled into his embrace; I buried my head into his jacket and took in his smell, fresh hay, newly made bread and some type of sharp, yet warm spice. I could feel his heavy tears adding to the wetness in my hair. We stood there until time itself stopped. I pulled back gently and gazed up into his face. He had such sharp fetchers, and broad shoulders. He cupped my cheeks in his satisfying rough and strong hands; he brushed away tear form under my eye with his thumb. He had stopped crying, but the tears were only just making their out of my brimming eyes down to the tip of my chin.
“I’ll only be gone a few months…” He whispered tenderly into my ear. I could feel my lip tremble as he confirmed my nightmare; he had been drafted. He was being swept away into the current of this rapidly moving river of war. This man that I was to marry was going to be gone, no longer could I meet him under the old elm, steal a kiss under the mistletoe or take long walks with him through the wheat fields.
“Patrick…” I breathed as I ran my finger tips over his lips, I couldn’t hear another word. I shook my head disbelievingly.
“My rose….Anita, it will be alright, I promise you that that I’ll come back…..alive.” He tilted my chin but with his finger and looked me in the eye; I needed nothing else, I knew he meant it. I had his love to hold on to until his return.
He left soon after that day, that nightmare. One more person to pour my prayers over, another cross to hold on my shoulders, where crosses before had left there scars, memories of the past. It was a bitter farewell, one that I wanted never to come, it was full of words of affection and worship, and enough tears to fill all the oceans. I held on to him, in the middle of the crowed train station of our parting place, until my father had to tear me from his secure arms, from my being, from my life.
As the train pulled away from the station, and the tears damped my cheeks more, Patrick pushed his head out the window of the train cart “I promise you, my rose, I will see you again!” he called out to me. I ran along side the train, holding on to the sight of his face, until I could no longer, and was swallowed up into the hectic throng of weeping wives, mothers and children.
I cried days upon days, until it seemed the tears had stained my face with their tracks. Each of his letters was a landmark of how long he had been gone, showing how long he, us, had made it through. With each letter came relief, he was still alive. All the constant worry was gone, until I started waiting for the next. Each one, I would soak up every word he had penned on to the thin, creamy sheet, looking for more meaning in them each day. I tried to find more comfort in his words, even if they were about the horrible battle fields of World War II. It kept me away, a little but, from the reality, until the letters stopped coming………

[The Walker]

oh girl you are killing me!!! what's next?! oh my! wonderfully written. I like how you (I forgot the word for it) write in the exact order it must be.
By the way, I keep awake until the next day morning writing too. It is addictive.

[K.M Roberston]

I know I just couldn't stop writing! Thank you, and I will try and get some more written to put up here.....

[K.M Roberston]

Here is a little bit more...Enjoy!


I was standing over the sink swabbing away the dirt left on the tableware from my family’s early evening dinner. The sun was just hitting me in a certain way that it made my hair have a warm, evening orange, glowing tone to it. My head turned toward the door when I heard a knock. I took my hands out of the filthy dish water, flicked the droplets off my fingers and snatched up the ratty old tea towel off the counter beside me to dry my hands as I took a stride over to the door. As I walked across the kitchen, I unrolled my sleeves, straightened myself up and tossed the towel back over to the counter. My life was about to be hurled into a wild adventure and the beginning of it was waiting right out side my door……

[K.M Roberston]

Again a little bit more (I kinda repeated some of it)


My sister and I were always the best of friends, and when she joined the Red Cross and was shipped over seas to be a nurse in France it was another heart break for me. I was going too signed up at the same time and go with her, but Patrick had just purposed and that held me back. Being the sisters we were we set up a kind of personal code so she could tell me were she was and who she had seen that we had known with out it being blacked out. She, her husband and Patrick had all been posted to the same location.
I was standing over the sink swabbing away the dirt left on the tableware from my family’s early evening dinner. The sun was just hitting me in a certain way that it made my hair have a warm, evening orange, glowing tone to it. It set an unusual pleased attitude to this beautiful summer evening and its sunset, it was the kind of evening Patrick and I would go for one of our endless walks. Just us two alone, socking up the loveliness of the evening and just each others presents. A sharp knock at the door whipped me out of my thoughts and back to life, I noticed that I had altogether stopped washing the plate I was before and had let them both fall into the sink. I took my hands out of the filthy dish water, flicked the droplets off my fingers and snatched up the ratty old tea towel off the counter beside me to dry my hands as I took a stride over to the door. As I walked across the kitchen, I unrolled my sleeves, straightened myself up and tossed the towel back over to the counter. My life was about to be hurled into a wild adventure and the beginning of it was waiting right out side my door……
I turned the brass door handle of the door and was greeted on the other side by a tall man in a military uniform. At first I quiet confused, I had no idea why he might be standing there, then it hit me, it was like taking a blow to the heart. I took the letter he was handing out to me, and with a solemn nod he turned and left.
I couldn’t take me eyes off of the envelope, sealed with the militaries approval. I closed the door and walked into kitchen, the sunlight seemed to be replaced with a dark black fog. I stood there for a minute just staring at what was seized in my hand. Then I turned it over and began to tear the lip of the envelope. I pulled out the letter and unfolded it. No matter how formal and sympathetic it didn’t soften the blow of the news, Patrick had gone missing.
I stood over the sink, one arm on each side of it to support me, and I sobbed. My shoulders shook violently, and sobbed silent tears until I could feel my throat close, my eyes where squeezed shut.

[K.M Roberston]

My father came up without a word and put his arms on my shoulders, he new what was wrong by the letter lying on the floor.
It had been a month since I received the news and it felt was though I was baring the heaviest rock upon my back. There had been no more information on Patrick being missing except the letters Carol had been sending me, and it didn’t sound hopeful of his being found. So I took it into my own hands, it was time for me to step up and fight this war, a personal war.
I stood in front of a simple wooden table, I wore Patrick’s oversized light brown rain cote, my body swimming in the many yards of fabric. My skin had gotten extremely pale, and my cheekbones stood out more on my face as a result of not being able to eat. My hair was a mass of confused and muddled curls from the colossal storm outside. The red scarf I had been knitting for Patrick before he left was tossed over one shoulder. I placed the papers I had finished sighing back on the table. A young, very attractive, women looked up, she gave a sympathetic smile, obviously from the state of my being.
“Thank you very much Miss, the Red Cross is most thankful for your volunteering.” I was going over, across the seas, away from I had known, to find the only person who ever really knew me, to find the piece of me that had been gone for much to long. “Good day.” She added on quietly as I left.
At the end of the form in the section for suggested posting, I slowing wrote Patrick’s posting, I paused for a moment, a sudden wave of emotion overwhelmed me and I uncontrollably started to sob, the tears that dotted the page blurred my script. I had to do this for Patrick, I promised him I would see him again, and I was going to keep it.
I had to go through a month of training before I could be shipped out. I had received the lettered that told me my posting, the one had suggested, I was sure I was going to be shipped there, from the sounds of Carols letters they were in a great want for help, and I was off the offer my service, but mostly to find my Patrick.

[K.M Roberston]

And some more, again about the spelling, I haven't really checked it over....

I was perched on the end a canvas stool whipping a soldier’s brow, trying to comfort him in his last minutes in this world. I tried to hold back the tears as I watched him struggle on his cot. I had been there only a week; it was still an unbelievable shock, the change of worlds. The soldier didn’t make it to see another day, to see another moon set and another sun rise.
They didn’t know whether Patrick had been taken prisoner, or if he had gotten injured in no-mans-land unable to come back. But I knew what I had to, I couldn’t delay any longer.
I was walking through the rows of sick-beds, I picked up a pear of military pants, the smallest ones I could fined, that were draped over the back of a chair, I also scooped up a jacket, boots, helmet and later a gun. I was going from being a nurse on the front lines to a soldier.
The battle was leaning in favor of us, Canadians, and they were sending out patrols to investigate the country houses between the two fronts to make sure there were no Germans hiding within. I was part of one of the patrols. The helmet I took was big enough for me to tuck my hair up into and I smudged some soil onto my face, and roughened and deepened my voice hoping no one would discover I was a women.
We trudged out to rummage through a farmhouse searching for any Germans. The journey getting there was not easy; there where still Germans whose bullets could reach us. The mud was as thick as glue, adding permanent layers onto our boots. There was debris of stakeouts, plains and tanks everywhere. Blood flowed like rivers in some places through the grounds, mixing with dirt and rubble. Then there were the bodies, freshly dead, some of them I could put names to their transparent, lifeless faces, somewhere hard to see, mixed in with the mud, it was hard not to step on them. There was barn; storehouse and a home, there were six of us, two for each building. Another soldier and I took the storehouse, we sauntered over to it, one complete wall was missing and anther had crumbled away and only half the roof remained. We stepped over the rubble from the walls, into a dark corn of the storehouse. There where sacks of oats and wheat, some split open, stacked into a heap in the corner, a wooden stair case, still in one piece, lead down into some sort of cellar, which contained more sacks of grain. My partner and I stalked around the cellar searching all the crooks, feeling around in the darkness, straining to distinguish anything. Finding nothing my partner singled to head up back stairs. He was already exiting up the flight of steps, leaving me in the abyss of darkness. My foot had just landed on the bottom strep when the strap of my gun got twisted, I stood fumbling with the leather band when a head some movement in the corner of the cellar to my right. I crooked my head slightly to the side and moved my eyes over, I was easy to spot, standing in a ray of sunlight flooding in, highlighting the stairwell. From the corner of my eye I saw a figure rise in the shadows, I had been seen. I could see the figure title forward as though it was trying to get a better look. I gripped my gun and turned.
“It’s alright” the man moved forward, favoring his right leg, from the many sacks he had been hiding under, and form the looks of had been eating too. “I am Canadian too.” He must have seen my uniform. A familiar voice came form the man. As he stepped out into the light his face was uncovered.
“Patrick?” My heart had stopped and I could barley get the name out. The man stepped forward, a questioning look on his face. He broke out into tears when he saw it was me. I dropped my gun and pushed my helmet off, letting my hair fall loose. I fell into his arms. Into the arms of my beloved Patrick.
“My rose.” He breathed into my hair. I buried my face into his jacket; his old smell still lingered in it, but was covered by the stink of mildew.
Patrick let go holding onto my hand for a long moment. I walked over to retrieve my helmet, tucking my hair back up into it. Patrick leaned on one of my shoulders as I help him up the stairway. Outside the others stared in disbelief that he was alive, but reunited with hugs, and cheers.
We advanced back to the dugout, but Patrick, who I was supporting, slowed me up. He struggled every time to cover from a bullet, he would stumble down into pits of mud, pulling my down with him. We where just insight of the camp, the other soldiers where already there, when a rain of bullets came thundering down on us. All time seemed to slow. I pushed Patrick down, covering him with my body, he shouted no when he realized what I was doing and tried to push me off him. Bullets came plunging into my back, piercing though my skin; I had never experience so much pain before. Patrick pushed me off him, and I rolled onto my back, my mouth open, I half sit up, chocking on my breath, fighting for one more. Now I lay here, I can see Patrick yelling and screaming, tears of pain deluge down his face, they sound far away. The pain has stopped; I can feel my face relax. Patrick is kneeling over me, gripping my hand, begging me to hold on. I run my fingers over his lips I can’t hear another word. He promised me he would come back home alive, he would. I promised I would see him again, I did.
They were promises to keep that were kept. I would see him again, in a better place.
“I love you” I whisper to him. I close my eyes and draw my last breath, smiling.

The end

[The Walker]

finally i read it.
i liked the idea for the plot. But it goes too fast sometimes and some of the post dont follow the previous one. I think if you polish it a little bit adding some dificulty to the main character it will be perfect.
I admire your imagination. I've notice i need to practice in it more.
Keep doing your stuff, young writer. Just keep practicing. you do it good

[K.M Roberston]

Ok so here is the whole thing, i could only use 3000 because it was for school and that was the most we could use. That's why it jumps a lot in time and stuff. I also changed the title. Hope you enjoy!


A Promise to Keep

I am lying here now gasping for life, my mind races back in time, to the time it all started…………


I squeezed my eyelids shut and gripped my hands tighter, until they turned white. Another plane flew over the Cathedral, the great white crystal chandeliers shook, and a piercing sound cut through the peace of prayer as an unsettled statue smashed to the floor. My lips glided over the salient words of my prayer. The prayer that my dearest sister and her husband would be safe over those vast and rough seas, helping finish this war, this mass murder once and for all. I tightened the headscarf around my neck with fumbling hands, my eyes still closed. I couldn’t bring myself to look at all those grieving faces around me; mothers now sonless, wives now widows, children now orphans.
As the sun rays dimmed in the stained glass windows and the shadows cast by the candles grew small, I knew that I had done all the praying I could for that day. I rose from my long kneeling pose and made my way out of the church…back home.
I headed up the split stone steps of our pleasant, snug house. I took in everything around me, for who knew how long it would before it was all gone? I could see the silhouette of my father’s bold build through the warm, deep red drapes that my sister and I had hung up to enliven the dull grey street with their rich colour. My numb hand had just clutched the brass door handle of our front entrance when I heard the panicked pace of someone’s heavy boots striking against the road. The empty walls of the houses seemed to imitate the sound. I turned my head to see the lonely figure of my beloved fiancé hastening toward me. The sight of him brought indescribable warmth to me. My stomach got all knotted and my skin tingled at the memory of his touch, but most of all, a sense of understanding, relief and belonging surged through me. The second I saw his face, everything stopped, all those warm memories flooded out of me like a river racing down a mountain. Something was more than wrong; I could feel the anxiety hanging in the air surrounding him. What caught my attention were not his eyes but what he was clasping in his hand. A large brown envelope could only mean one of two things nowadays; neither was good.
I ran down the steps, the same ones that I had only moments ago walked up so carefully, now they were just an obstacle. A soft rain padded down on my auburn locks. As I ran closer I could see the tears streaming down his tanned cheeks, his eyes where immensely blue and wanting. I ran down the dampened street, my heart pounding in my head, my footsteps sounding larger than life. I stumbled into his embrace; I buried my head into his jacket and took in his smell, fresh hay, newly made bread, and some type of sharp, yet warm, spice. I could feel his heavy tears adding to the wetness in my hair. We stood there until time itself stopped. I pulled back gently and gazed up into his face. He had such sharp features, and broad shoulders. He cupped my cheeks in his satisfying rough and strong hands; he brushed away a tear from under my eye with his thumb. He had stopped crying, but my tears were only just making their out of my brimming eyes down to the tip of my chin.
“I’ll only be gone a few months…” he whispered tenderly into my ear. I could feel my lip tremble as he confirmed my nightmare; he had been drafted. He was being swept away into the current of this rapidly moving river of war. This man that I was to marry was going to be gone; no longer could I meet him under the old elm, steal a kiss under the mistletoe, or take long walks with him through the wheat fields.
“Patrick…” I breathed as I ran my finger tips over his lips, I couldn’t hear another word. I shook my head unbelievingly.
“My rose….Anita, it will be alright, I promise you that that I’ll come back…..alive.” He tilted my chin with his finger and looked me in the eyes; I needed nothing else, I knew he meant it. I had his love to hold onto until his return.
He left soon after that day. One more person to pour my prayers over; another cross to hold on my shoulders where crosses before had left their scars, memories of the past. It was a bitter farewell, one that I had never wanted to come. It was full of words of affection and worship and enough tears to fill all the oceans. I held onto him, in the middle of the crowded train station of our parting place until my father had to tear me from his secure arms, from my being, from my life.
As the train pulled away from the station, and the tears dampened my cheeks more, Patrick pushed his head out the window of the train car “I promise you, I will see you again!” I shouted to him, he blew a kiss. I ran along side the train, holding onto the sight of his face until I could no longer do so. I was swallowed up into the hectic throng of weeping wives, mothers and children.
I cried days upon days, until it seemed the tears had stained my face with their tracks. His letters were landmarks of how long he had been gone, how long we had made it through. With each letter came relief, he was still alive. All the constant worry was gone, until I started waiting for the next. I would soak up every word he had penned onto the thin, creamy sheet, looking for more meaning in them each day. I tried to find more comfort in his words, even if they were about the horrible battle fields of World War II. It kept me away, a little bit, from the reality until the letters stopped coming………
My sister, Carol and I were always best friends, and when she joined the Red Cross and was shipped overseas to be a nurse in France it was another heart break for me. I was going to sign up as well and go with her, but Patrick had just proposed and that held me back. Being the sisters we were, we set up a kind of personal code so she could tell me where she was and who she had seen. She, her husband, and Patrick had all been posted to the same location.
I was standing over the sink swabbing away the dirt left on the tableware from my family’s early evening dinner. The sun was just hitting me in a certain way that it made the ends of my hair have a warm orange, glowing tone to it. It set an unusual pleasant attitude to this beautiful summer evening and its sunset, it was the kind of evening Patrick and I would go for one of our endless walks. Just us two alone, soaking up the loveliness of the evening and just each others presence. A sharp knock at the door whipped me out of my thoughts and back to life; I had altogether stopped washing the plate I was before and had let both my hands and the plate fall into the sink. I took my hands out of the filthy dish water, flicked the droplets off my fingers, and snatched up a ratty old tea towel off the counter to dry my hands as I took a stride over to the door. As I walked across the kitchen, I unrolled my sleeves, straightened myself up and tossed the towel back over to the counter. My life was about to be hurled into a wild adventure and the beginning of it was waiting right out side my door……
I turned the brass door handle and was greeted on the other side by a tall man in a military uniform. At first I was confused. I had no idea why he might be standing there. Then it hit me, it was like taking a blow to the heart. I took the letter he was handing out to me, and with a solemn nod he left.
I couldn’t take me eyes off of the envelope sealed with the military’s approval. I closed the door and walked into kitchen; the sunlight seemed to be replaced with a dark fog. I stood there for a minute just staring at what was clasped in my hand. Then I turned it over and began to tear the lip of the envelope. I pulled out the letter and unfolded it. No matter how formal and sympathetic, it didn’t soften the blow of the news. Patrick had gone missing.
I stood over the sink, one arm on each side of it to support me, and I sobbed. My shoulders shook violently. I sobbed until I could feel my throat close. My father came up without a word and put his arms on my shoulders; he knew what was wrong by the letter lying on the floor.
It had been a month since I received the news. I was bearing the heaviest rock upon my back. There had been no more information on Patrick’s whereabouts except the letters Carol had been sending me. She didn’t sound hopeful of his being found. So I took matters into my own hands; it was time for me to step up and fight this war, a personal war.
I stood in front of a simple wooden table. I wore Patrick’s oversized light brown rain coat, my body swimming in the many yards of fabric. My skin had become extremely pale, and my cheekbones stood out more on my face as a result of not being able to eat. My hair was a mass of confused and muddled curls from the colossal storm outside. The red scarf I had been knitting for Patrick before he left was tossed over one shoulder. I placed the papers I had finished signing back on the table. A young woman looked up; she gave a sympathetic smile, obviously from my appearance.
“Thank you very much Miss. The Red Cross is most thankful for your volunteering.” I was going over, across the seas, away from all I had known to find the only person who ever really knew me, to find the piece of me that had been gone for much too long. “Good day.” She added quietly as I left.
At the end of the form in the section for suggested posting, I slowing wrote Patrick’s posting. I paused for a moment; a sudden wave of emotion overwhelmed me, and I uncontrollably started to sob. The tears that dotted the page blurred my script. I had to do this for Patrick. I promised him I would see him again, and I was going to keep my promise.
I had to go through a month of training before I could be shipped out. I had received the letter that told me my posting, the one had suggested. From the sounds of Carol’s letters, they were in a great want for help, and I was off to offer my service, but mostly to find my Patrick.
I made my way across the seas for days, until I was there, on the battle grounds…………
I was perched on the end of a canvas stool wiping a soldier’s brow, trying to comfort him in his last minutes in this world. I tried to hold back the tears as I watched him struggle on his cot. I had been there only a week; it was still an unbelievable shock, the change of worlds. The soldier didn’t make it to see another day, to see another moon set and another sun rise.
They didn’t know whether Patrick had been taken prisoner, or if he had gotten injured in no-mans-land unable to come back. But I knew what I had to, I couldn’t delay any longer.
I was walking through the rows of sick-beds, I picked up a pair of military pants, the smallest ones I could fined, that were draped over the back of a chair, I also scooped up a jacket, boots, helmet and later a gun. I was going from being a nurse on the front lines to a soldier in battle.
The battle was leaning in favor of us, Canadians, and they were sending out patrols to investigate the country houses between the two fronts to make sure there were no Germans hiding within. I was part of one of the patrols. The helmet I took was big enough for me to tuck my hair up into and I smudged some soil onto my face, and roughened and deepened my voice hoping no one would discover I was a woman.
We trudged out to rummage through a farmhouse searching for any Germans. The journey getting there was not easy; there where still Germans whose bullets could reach us. The mud was as thick as glue, adding permanent layers onto our boots. There was the debris of stakeouts, planes and tanks everywhere. Blood flowed like rivers in some places through the grounds, mixing with dirt and rubble. Then there were the bodies, freshly dead. Some of them I could put names to their transparent, lifeless faces, some were hard to see, mixed in with the mud, it was hard not to step on them. There was barn; storehouse and a home, there were six of us, two for each building. Another soldier and I took the storehouse, we sauntered over to it, one complete wall was missing and anther had crumbled away and only half the roof remained. We stepped over the rubble from the walls, into a dark corner of the storehouse. There where sacks of oats and wheat, some split open, stacked into a heap in the corner. A wooden stair case, still in one piece, lead down into some sort of cellar, which contained more sacks of grain. My partner and I stalked around the cellar searching all the crooks and crannies, feeling around in the darkness, straining to distinguish anything. Finding nothing, my partner signaled that we should head back up stairs. He was already exiting up the flight of steps, leaving me in the abyss of darkness. My foot had just landed on the bottom strep when the strap of my gun got twisted around my arm, I stood fumbling with the leather band when I saw some movement in the corner of the cellar to my right. I crooked my head slightly to the side and moved my eyes over, I was easy to spot, standing in a ray of sunlight flooding in, highlighting the stairwell. From the corner of my eye I saw a figure rise in the shadows, I had been seen. I could see the figure tilt forward as though it was trying to get a better look. I gripped my gun and turned.
“It’s alright” the man moved forward, favoring his right leg, from the many sacks he had been hiding under, and from the looks of what had been eating too. “I am Canadian too.” He must have seen my uniform. A familiar voice came from the man. As he stepped out into the light his face was uncovered from the darkness
“Patrick?” My heart had stopped and I could barley get the name out. The man stepped forward, a questioning look on his face. He broke out into tears when he saw it was me. I dropped my gun and pushed my helmet off, letting my hair fall loose. I fell into his arms. Into the arms of my beloved Patrick.
“My rose.” He breathed into my hair. I buried my face into his jacket; his old smell still lingered in it, but was covered by the stink of mildew.
Patrick let go of my shoulders, but held onto my hand for a long moment. I walked over to retrieve my helmet, tucking my hair back up into it. Patrick leaned on one of my shoulders as I helped him up the stairway. Outside the others stared in disbelief that he was alive, but reunited with hugs, and cheers.
We advanced back to the dugout, but Patrick, who I was supporting, slowed me up. He struggled to walk over the uneven ground, stumbling down into pits of mud, pulling me down with him. We were just in sight of the camp. The other soldiers were already there when a rain of bullets came thundering down on us. All time seemed to slow. I pushed Patrick down, covering him with my body, he shouted “no!” when he realized what I was doing and tried to push me off him. Bullets came plunging into my back, piercing though my skin; I had never experienced so much pain before. Patrick pushed me off him, and I rolled onto my back, my mouth open, I half sat up, choking, fighting for one more breath. Now I lay here, I can see Patrick yelling and screaming, tears of pain tumble down his face, they sound far away. The pain has stopped; I can feel my face relax. Patrick is kneeling over me, gripping my hand, begging me to hold on. I run my fingers over his lips I can’t hear another word. He promised me he would come back home alive…. he would. I promised I would see him again……. I did.
There were promises to keep that were kept. I would see him again, in a better place.
“I love you” I whisper to him. I close my eyes and draw my last breath, smiling.