till' we meet again, william schofield

one

one

      ROSINE ST. MARTIN had never hated anything more than the town of Ecoust. Trembling vibrations from the ground never allowed her to sleep, while the smell of smoke constantly clouded her lungs. But, that didn't stop her from searching for food. Usually, dead soldiers had food left on their bodies unless another solider was smart enough to take it.

She scurried between the shadows of the buildings, praying silently to any higher being who would listen. Rosine was good at staying hidden, that's how she made it this far. But that hasn't stopped German soldiers from trying to use her as target practice. Everyone's a target and fair game in this war.

Her family perished long before the bombs, fires and soldiers flooded her town. Sometimes she wished she perished with them, and that way she wouldn't be suffering like a sewer rat in the streets. Her mother must be rolling around in her grave at how dirty her daughter is.

Thundering gunshots rang in her ear, and without hesitation, she dived into an alley — cradling herself, and trying to regulate her laboured breathing. It'd be unfortunate to be caught and killed because of her loud breathing. Shots continued to go off. The ringing slapped her in the face and stung her ears as she waited. Two shots rang at the same time, and then as soon as it started — it ended.

She slowly came from her dark alley. The souls of her once pretty shoes were now not any thicker than a piece of paper. She felt every piece of glass and rock as she walked towards one of the only standing houses on the edge of town. Her heartbeat quicken as she heard a gargle of blood, followed by a cough. Bending down carefully, she picked up a piece of stray glass— although she knew it would be useless against someone with a gun.

Men on the war front aren't always the kindest. Because of that, to protect herself, Rosine had been force to end a man's life. Only one, and she didn't plan on ending anymore. It was almost four months ago, when they first arrived. She had been hiding when a German solider came into her hiding spot. He was drunk when he grabbed her waist, digging his dirty fingernails into her skin. The smell of whiskey on his breath almost intoxicated her.

She wondered if he had a family, or a wife to go home to. Or maybe he was just a wicked man. All her thoughts about him ceased when she grabbed a brick that had fallen from the wall. Her mind was blank when the brick collided with his skull. His fingers searching for her panties stopped moving as she let out a muffled sob. He stumbled backwards, muttering incoherent things.

Then, after silently crying while staring at his twitching body, she decided to put him out of his misery. She looked him in the eyes, his dark chocolate eyes as he muttered more words in German. She looked away as lifted the brick up with her scrawny arms. She brought the brick down, and all the noise stopped. She stumbled away, choking back her sobs as she ran in the burning streets. She vaguely remembers throwing up as she ran and cried, but she didn't dare stop until she reached a new hiding spot. The place she now currently resided.

She pushed open the door to the house, listening for any sign of movement. Nothing stirred. She slowly walked in, ignoring the small prickles beneath her feet. She looked around at the house. She personally didn't know the people who lived here, but she knew they owned the bakery up the street. Well, the bakery that was up the street.

The house was dark and musty, and everything was covered with dust, dirt, and ash. The first floor had furniture tossed around, with broken glass from mirrors and windows littered all around. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted a small porcelain doll. She walked towards it, and picked it up with her free hand.

Half of it's face was missing, but it was still pretty. For a second she imagined what that doll once looked like. It's skin was most likely pale like the moon, with a light dust of pink along the cheeks. It's blue eyes would have been vibrant, and it's white lacey dress would have been adorned with small perles and pink flowers. Her sister had a similar doll growing up.

  Half-heartedly, she placed the doll down. She continued through the house until she came across a set of stairs. If there was any soldiers stationed here, it would be on the second level for the height advantage. She hissed as her feet ached while trying her best to avoid squeaky spots on the floorboards. She turned the corner cautiously and gasped at the sight in front of her.

A boy, seemingly a bit older than herself was sprawled out on the stairs, with a small pool of blood around his head. Rosine kneeled down towards him, and placed two fingers on his neck. A soft steady pulse could be felt. She took in his uniform cautiously— British. She knew he was of no threat to her, unless he deemed her a threat to him. That's assuming he wakes up and sees her. He very well might be in a coma, or even brain dead. She tiptoed around him, and continued up the stairs. The door directly in front of her was open, and slumped down on the ground was a German soldier. Blood soaked his uniform. She had found the source of the gargles. Rosine looked out at the scene in front of her. The sky was beautiful. Truly beautiful. If only it wasn't tarnished by all the violence going on around it.

She knelt down in front of the German soldier and got to work. She undid all his buckles and pulled it off of his body. She dug around until she found a piece of almond bread and some old tea in his pack. As she gathered it all up in her tiny hands, she pushed herself up off the ground. She turned as quietly as possible and got ready to exit.

Her heart dropped as she was met with the barrel of a gun. She dropped everything she held and she quickly put her hands up.

"I'm a civilian, please don't shoot!" She begged in french. The boy, who now looked like a man compared to when he was asleep, shakily looked at her confused. She realized he didn't speak french. She cursed in her head. She knew english, but hadn't spoken the language since her father passed. "French. I'm French. Please don't hurt me."

Rosine closed her eyes and began to pray for the second time that night.

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