Finally, another chapter! Hurrah! Just a little warning, without giving too much away this chapter may be a little iffy for some, so by all means if you find Ellen's little bit distressing don't continue to read. I hope you enjoy.
There were many people milling about at York Station as Ellen stepped out of the carriage. She was buffeted and jostled around as she tried to exit the platform. Everyone seemed to need to go somewhere. Both Ellen's arms were aching as she found the way out, her grip on her suitcase was starting to slip, but just then one of the rushing commuters crashed into Ellen, sending her suitcase flying behind her. She ducked back and knelt down to pick it up, but someone else knocked her onto her onto her face. Ellen was now in serious danger of being trampled by the crowd of people.
The crowd thinned slightly, so she crawled forward on her hands and knees towards her suitcase, as another train pulled into the station. Ellen scrambled forward, desperate to reach it now, tears of frustration building in her eyes, she grasped the handle of her suitcase. She hauled herself to her feet in a new sea of legs and dull coloured dressed, coats and suits. Stumbling forward under the weight of the case, Ellen stumbled into a smarmy-looking man. He shoved her roughly onto the floor again.
"Watch where you're going," he snarled.
"You would be stumbling around if you had a broken arm and a heavy suitcase!" Ellen snapped back.
The man stepped forward, threateningly. "Brave aren't you?"
"Leave me alone," she muttered, staggering backwards, slightly.
He walked towards her, Ellen fell backwards as she stripped on the hem of her dress. "Nah, oh look you've fallen over. Why don't I help you up?"
He clutched her arm, pulling her to her feet and started dragging her along the platform. "Get off you brute! Get off!"
"Shut up!" he growled.
Ellen tried to brush away the tears forming in the corners of her eyes. "Get off!" she shrieked. "Help!"
"Shut up, you little harpy!"
Ellen dug her heels into the ground, trying to stop him from dragging her any further. What is he going to do to me? Sheer terror flooded through her body as she thought of what could happen. Ellen dug her nails into his arm. He grunted. A few people were staring, but many were too preoccupied with their own business to heed her cries.
"Please! Help me!" she screamed, tears pouring like an April shower down her face.
"Ellen! ELLEN!" roared a voice from the crowd. "Get off of my daughter!"
The crowd stopped moving as a short, stocky, man forced his way through the cloud of people. The man slackened his grip.
"Get off, you scum bag!" he thundered, hauling Ellen from the man's grip.
"Dad!" she yelled, tears of relief now falling from her eyes.
Ellen threw down the suitcase as her father enfolded her in a bear-hug. "It's good to see you, Ellen."
The smarmy man started to edge away.
"No you don't!" growled Ellen's Dad, seizing the man by scruff of his neck. "What gives you the right to think you can man-handle my daughter?!"
"Well, erm, um," stammered the man.
"If I ever lay eyes on you again, I will make you sorry you're alive. Do you understand?"
The man nodded, rapidly. He scampered off into the packed station.
Ellen's father turned to her. "Come on. Let's get you home."
John collapsed onto his bed. There had been a surprise attack on German trenches by the Allies and the Casualty Clearing Stations had not been informed. They were flooded, like flood-planes in April, and the staff barely coped. Man upon man was wheeled into the theatre to be operated on. Some died on the table, others afterwards and some, very few, were still alive. John rolled over onto his stomach and screamed into his pillow, like he had when he had found out about Idris's death. It was agonizing to think that so many men were dying. I'm supposed to be helping! Why do I feel like I'm killing more people than I save?
Tonight had been worse than before, something was different. So many off the men that had died in the courtyard had, had breathing difficulties, had trouble seeing clearly or at all. John had heard of the gas attacks on Allied soldiers by the Germans, but had never had to treat the men affected. Chlorine gas was lethal – John was under no illusion of how lethal it could be. Idris's death had proved that. She may have lived if it were not for the barrels of liquid chlorine in the cellar of the pharmacy. They had all died, her whole family just wiped out. John rolled back over onto his back.
This is no time to get emotional about her, again. Have a wash, get all of this grime and dirt off of you and you'll feel a whole lot better. He sat up, this head spinning slightly due to the sudden movement. He looked over at the cold, empty hearth and suddenly realized how cold it was. There was no more wood in the box John kept by his door and he needed water to wash. He swung his Daddy-Long-Legs, legs off of his bed and stood up. His quiff brushed the ceiling of his room.
The old out-building had become John's temporary home for the past two years since the war had started in 1914, it was now nearing the end of 1916 and he felt more at home in this room than anywhere else. Drawings, sketches and photos lined the walls and were stuck around his mirror on the old, rickety dresser. John crossed the room, and picked up the basin that was perched on the dresser. His eyes quickly flited across the sketch of Ellen he had done, whilst she had been treating a soldier. A stray strand of hair had been falling from her head scarf and he had decided she was one of the most breath-taking things he had ever seen. It was all the more reason to have a wash and feel normal around such a beautiful being.
With a sigh, John heaved the basin off of the dresser and left his room. He stepped outside. The whole place was silent, almost as if the buildings were exhausted from the trauma of the day. He crossed the courtyard, averting his eyes from the rows sheet-covered dead bodies that were laid out on stretchers behind the hospital building. Reaching the shed door, he yanked it open. There were only a few blocks of wood left, but they would suffice for a fire. John awkwardly fitted them under his left arm, then walked back across the yard to the water pump to fill the basin. After filling the basin, he went back to his room.
John did not want to think about the bodies lying in the courtyard. He just wanted to feel happy in the endless despair he felt for humanity. It took him several attempts to light the fire. The matches shrivelled up without even scorching the wood. In the end he resolved to use the discarded letters from his family was tinder. These worked better. Slowly, the concern his family held for him melted away before his eyes. When the fire was roaring, John hung the wash basin over it and let the water heat through, whilst this was happening he stripped off his shirt and the rest of his military uniform, so he was just in his underwear.
John took the basin off the fire, dipped his flannel in the water, and started to wash away the grime that was encasing his body. He was not aware of his door creaking open.
"Hello John."
He whirled around. Amy was leaning in the doorway, a flirtatious look on her face.
"Amy! I'm not wearing anything! Get out!"
She laughed. "No, I'm fine here. Who knew what you were hiding under that shirt?"
John looked down at his chest. He was far more muscled than he had been when he had started serving at the Station. John had never considered himself 'butch', however, he had noticed that the muscles on his chest and torso were defined and hard, almost like the ones in Roman temples. Perhaps he was not that skinny teenager anymore. Still, he could feel himself blushing in Amy's presence.
"That's enough Pond!" he commanded, finding his shirt and pulling it on. "What do you want?"
"That's enough? I said one sentence!"
"Well I'm not in the mood for teasing…"
"Obviously, seeing as you're undressed."
"Pond!"
Amy roared with laughter. "I'm joking! I wanted to ask you how you were! And how Ellen was when you said goodbye."
John looked like a tomato now. "Ellen was fine, and so am I. Would you please step outside so I can put some clothes please?"
"No. You've got a shirt on already."
"Fine," muttered John, grabbing his trousers and pulling them on. "As I said, Ellen was fine but…"
"But what?"
"Promise you won't say anything awful?"
"Now why would I do that?" Amy said, giving John an innocent look.
He rolled his eyes. "I know you Pond! Anyway… I sort of kissed her on the cheek before I left…"
"And?"
"Well, honestly, I think I like her and not in a friendly way…"
Amy stared at him. "John!" she squealed, punching him on the shoulder.
"What?!"
"You fancy her!"
"Yes, yes I know! The problem is she doesn't know, and well, Ellen is very innocent…"
Amy thought for a moment. "And her brother has just died. I know! You should write to her."
"And let her know how I feel?"
"No! That's a face to face sort of thing, and you don't know if she likes you or even if what you feel will last, so write to her get to know her."
"You are a wise person, Pond."
Amy grinned, "I know, now get to work, I will see you in the morning!"
With that, Amy departed. John chuckled to himself, pulled up a chair to his dresser and started to write.
Hello again, my lovelies! Sorry for the gap, the last week of college was MANIC and I have been given a load of holiday work to do, so I'm sorry if this chapter's not up to the standard they usually are at, plus I'm very tired and ill. But still I hope you enjoyed and will favourite, follow and/or review!
