Chapter 2: August 17, 1940
Part 1
A black aura of mist blanketed the once bright of day. Sprinkled with glitters of diamond like objects, it was hard to believe that something as dark can be as hauntingly beautiful. High above rose cotton gum drops, sweetening the dreams of the innocent children lay to sleep. Peaceful echoes bombarded the city of London. Everything remained calm and collected as people rested their heads for the return of the morning sun.
I stood awake though, seated in the little quaint space of my bedroom window. I always felt like the lonely widow standing at the peak of a cliff whilst looking out towards the sea, still stubbornly waiting for her lone sailor to return. London was my ocean; I was the heart broken woman. My love was only for the families who had fathers and sons fighting countries away for a purpose that felt unjustifiable. In my opinion alone it seems to be, a life was not worth losing for the purpose of retaining ultimate power. Men and their wars. This seemingly childish play was dragging far too long. But when a woman is dealt with the reality of a man's world, no one would think twice at the thoughts of a seventeen year old girl. To be upfront I wouldn't think twice at my own opinions. For the most part, I am not a wise thinker in the eyes of men. It seems I have presented myself rather boldly to the extent that I appear rather foolish than clever. To add more to my fabulous status, I have an innate ability to skip school more than one should. Though I heavily read my poor grades still fell deeply into a dark abyss. It turned for the worse when dismissing homework every other day became a daily routine. Some matters were of greater importance than others at the time being. For one, I will say for myself and the people that this world battle was needed of dyer attention. Going to the music store and blasting music into the studio still didn't deafen the truth of what was going on around me.
If this war was a disease it would be that of the Black Plague. Massive in death tolls and contagious as a breath of air, it was spreading like infections on the skin. This unanimous topic was not left untouched by tired lips without a conversation attached to the notorious Adolf Hitler and his brooding German army. Newspaper articles and talk shows on the radio were also contaminated with this war fever. There was no seclusion from it all. You were trapped just like every other human being in the world. We were all part of the same bubble of chaos no matter who you were.
Even as France came to its downfall, destruction was endless. The English Channel was now being paraded with airplanes. The ocean turf had transformed into a battle zone between the Luftwaffe and the Royal Air Force.
By mid August the assault was enveloping near the coastal regions. Rumors were coming about of Hitler's plans to invade my motherland. This pausing news seemed to thicken the air amongst here. Days seemed to mingle as one with the people's lit fire of woe. Even with everybody carrying along, taking in each morning, noon, and night with normality, you couldn't dispense the war that was upon us. I couldn't dispense the war that was upon us. It was what kept me up all night with no sense of reassurance that an attack was just seconds away from galloping by.
"Death is near…." My sixth sense spouted in my brain.
Death.
I must be exhausted when all I can conjure up in this young mind is that of the dead. If I follow along this psychotic route, I will definitely end up sleeping in a padded room with all the other miscreants of society. You think you are safe when all you have to cling onto is your sanity, though that can be easily gone if you let yourself slip away. One's most feared enemy in life is the reflection you see in the mirror. They are the ones who stretch your perception of what is real and what is false.
At the moment it seemed the only thing I feared would be losing my strength to deny myself some sleep. Just when my eyes were about to surrender, a knocking sound radiated in my room from the downstairs kitchen. I had the urge to answer the door out of politeness, but with the night sky still brewing along it didn't seem wise to open the door for a stranger at this time of the hour.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
Growing impatient, I made an attempt to fetch the door but was immediately stripped away of the chance when I heard the bulging footsteps of Mrs. Evergrin, our pudgy house cook, pass my door and give an exasperated sigh before she loudly descended the stairs that led to the origins of the sound. From what I could hear, she gave the door a tough tug until it finally gave itself ajar, enough to see who was trying to keep the residents of the house from a needed rest. Awakened with this newfound curiosity, I tried my hand at being sly by lending my ear to my bedroom door in hopes to catch a hint of who was this stranger. But all I could muster from the conversation was the tone Mrs. Evergrin was speaking in which changed from hospitable to annoyance. A slip of anger was captured and then all that was heard was a loud bag from the closing of a door, presumably from the cook's doing. It seemed I would never find out the identity of this peculiar fellow who thought it acceptable to visits another's home in the dead of night.
But another tap on the door would soon change that presumption and give me the needed to push to see to the person waiting at the door myself, confronting the man I was destined to meet.
