Dedicated to my 6th grade English teacher and her 4th period class.

By: R G D
Virginia
Chug, chug, chug. Clang, clang, clang. Whistle, whistle, whistle. The methodic music of the train plays in the background. The scenery is a blur of color. Trees and fields past our window on the way to Oswestry. Virgil sits across from me staring off into the distance. His face is wrinkled in concentration, making him look more like a fifty year old man rather than a sixteen year old boy. I know he’s still thinking about this morning.

Bombs. Air raid sirens. Shelter. Mum and Dad at Grans. Did the bomb hit them? What would they say when we told them the house was gone? Were they alive? Or were they….? No, I couldn’t allow myself to think that way. I wish I could sleep but my head is spinning. At 3 am the sirens went off, an hour later the house was gone and we were fleeing London. My parents said to go to our uncle’s house if anything ever happened. I’ve only met him once, a long time ago when I was little, maybe two or three. I don’t remember him much and hope he won’t mind his long forgotten niece and nephew showing up at his door at 10 o’clock in the morning like some lost baby pigeons.


Virgil
Mum and Dad are dead. I read it in the paper this morning. Uncle Fred said nothing. I knew he and my father had been close, but we never visited. The way Dad had described it, they had been inseparable. Dad. He was gone now and so was Mum. Virginia spent the morning locked up in the guest bedroom, crying. I don’t blame her. Neither one of us expected the war would affect us. I will not join her in her misery, however. Of course I’m sad. Of course I feel there's no hope. But most of all, I’m angry. Liverpool was bombed. My grandmother’s house was bombed. My parents were killed. The spawn of a monster killed my parents. Hitler will pay. This war is not over, they have not won, and I will not let them.
“Virginia, please. I need to. For Mum and Dad and all the other souls who have lost so much because of him .” I look down at my sister’s tear streaked face.
“You can’t leave!” She pleads. Her eyes are large dark wishing wells. No wishes had come true in years however and now the wells were beginning to dry up along with all the hopes and dreams they carried. “I’ll be back. I promise!” I need to fight. I need Virginia to see reason.
”Virginia, please try to understand.”
“I’ll come with you!” She cries.
“No. You're only thirteen.”
“And you’re only sixteen. What difference does it make?”
“You’re a girl they won’t allow it, and you know it.”
I’ll sneak in. Dress myself up, go undercover!”
“I’m sorry Virginia, I have to go alone.”
She glares at me, tears pouring down her face. Red-faced and furious she turns around and storms upstairs. She’s mad at me, but I know it’s not just me. It’s this whole situation. War. Nazis. Bombs. Neither one of us in our wildest dreams would have ever imagined this nightmare.
Virginia
He left me. Virgil left me! All this, Mum and Dad dead, the house destroyed, mass bombing crisis, and what does Virgil do? He runs off to join the military leaving me in the dust. And for what? A chance to get himself killed?
This month has been torture without Virgil. Uncle Fred has been my sole company (besides Lizzy of course). Lizzy’s old. She’s Uncle Fred’s cat. She lounges around with a disdainful look about her. She doesn’t like me much and I’ve found it’s better to keep to myself.

Uncle Fred told me I should explore the house a bit, maybe even take a walk around town. I don’t feel like it, and I don’t know if it’s wise to take advice from a man with a beard that could quite possibly be home to small rodents.
I suppose he’s right, but I feel like there’s no point. Today I sit in the old leather chair reading Little Women as Uncle Fred smokes his pipe. We say nothing. Our first few attempts at small talk had been unsuccessful. Uncle Fred doesn't seem to get out much and is obviously not one for conversation. Eventually he speaks, “Why don’t you explore the basement? There’s quite a few photos and knick-knacks down there you might like to look through.” I look up from my book. He seems sincere. I sigh. Perhaps I should look into it. It would help get my mind off things.

I creep down the stairs into the basement. It’s dark, and the cold is intense. It must be at most ten degrees down here. I shiver, wrapping my arms around myself. I reach the bottom of the stairs and fumble around for the light switch. I find it and a small overhead light flickers on. The basement is filled with boxes. I walk over and pick up a small brown box with a bright blue ribbon tied around it. I untie the ribbon and open the box. It’s full of photos. Photographs of my parents, and of me and Virgil as kids. My vision blurs and a stray tear falls down my face and onto a photograph of our family. Mum smiles. Dad looks strong and tall, brave, but we knew he was soft on the inside. A small smile forms on my face. The tears are falling freely now, but I let them.



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Dedicated to my 6th grade English teacher and her 4th period class.

By: R G D
Virginia
Chug, chug, chug. Clang, clang, clang. Whistle, whistle, whistle. The methodic music of the train plays in the background. The scenery is a blur of color. Trees and fields past our window on the way to Oswestry. Virgil sits across from me staring off into the distance. His face is wrinkled in concentration, making him look more like a fifty year old man rather than a sixteen year old boy. I know he’s still thinking about this morning.

Bombs. Air raid sirens. Shelter. Mum and Dad at Grans. Did the bomb hit them? What would they say when we told them the house was gone? Were they alive? Or were they….? No, I couldn’t allow myself to think that way. I wish I could sleep but my head is spinning. At 3 am the sirens went off, an hour later the house was gone and we were fleeing London. My parents said to go to our uncle’s house if anything ever happened. I’ve only met him once, a long time ago when I was little, maybe two or three. I don’t remember him much and hope he won’t mind his long forgotten niece and nephew showing up at his door at 10 o’clock in the morning like some lost baby pigeons.


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