Gilbert stood in the rain, clutching his stomach in pain. It seemed to him that the raging war behind him would reach no end. The rations had long since diminished, and soldiers were becoming desperate for food. In a last attempt of scrounging up a meal, Gilbert fled: he was officially a deserter.
Deserter. In the past, the soldier had only thought of that word in contempt, pronouncing it as if he had a bad taste in his mouth. Back then, he never would've thought he'd become the definition of it.
Running a hand through his drenched hair, Gilbert groaned. "This is extremely un-awesome." He proclaimed. If he had just a little bit of food, he might have enough strength to reach the nearest town- wherever he was.
As if reading his mind, a sweet aroma reached his nose. There's food around here. I must be getting closer, Gilbert thought. Sure enough, there was a small, seemingly abandoned house on the hill.
Gilbert crept through many bushes and thickets, all too aware that someone would turn him in for a large enough reward. Sitting temptingly on the sill of a seemingly abandoned house, there lay a large apple pie.
Hesitantly, Gilbert reached out toward the pastry. First I bailed on people that needed me, and now I become a criminal? Eyes darting from side to side, he swiped the delicious snack, making off with it into the dense forest behind him.
When he felt he was a safe distance from the small, shack-like house, he dug into the pie, using his hands to sloppily shove the sweet goodness down his throat. Sure, it wasn't exactly beer and wurst, but food was food.
For a small moment, he almost felt bad about not sharing his prize with his unit. He quickly discarded the idea, licking some of the filling off his gloved fingers. They're miles away, Gil. Don't start regretting things now…
Before he had time to fully devour his meal, he heard a creak behind him. Whipping his neck around quickly, Gilbert saw the thing/person that had made yet another rustling noise. His first instinct was to reach for his rifle, which, of course, was a long ways away.
Silently cursing himself, he set the pie down, preparing himself to run like crazy if there was something waiting to get him.
"Show yourself!" Gilbert bellowed, scanning the surrounding area. Instead of receiving a severe blow to the head like he expected, he heard a small whimpering sound.
Parting the some of the foliage, Gilbert saw a little girl with eyes as wide as saucers, her tear-stained face quickly being replaced with fresh tears at the sight of the large man.
It looked to Gilbert that the poor girl had been outdoors for days: her clothes were caked with muck and grime, her hair was ridden with twigs, and her face was drained of color. Gilbert cringed. He knew all too well the affects of war, but this was extreme.
When she saw the German man towering over her, she immediately hit the dirt, sputtering a string of words the soldier couldn't understand. It seemed that the little girl was French, seeing as Gilbert recognized the dialect. Seriously, where the heck am I…?
His eyes softened when he noticed how shaken she was. "Calm down, frau…I'm not going to hurt you." He spoke gently and slowly, guessing she wouldn't understand him.
She seemed a little more at ease around the Prussian, but she kept her defensive stance on the ground: head in between her legs, knees hugged to her chest.
Realizing how condescending he must look from her level, Gilbert sat just a few feet away from her, gradually scooting closer as not to spook the girl.
"So vittle one…I guess I'll have to stop calling you vat soon… Vat's your name?" The girl gazed up at him through blurry eyes, confused. Gilbert repeated himself, adding emphasis on certain words and moving his hands about. To the girl, he looked like a complete fool.
Gilbert sat, waiting for a reply. Eventually, he sighed. This is going nowhere fast…
"Grace"
Gilbert looked up from the ground, not quite catching watch she said in her small voice. She took a deep breath and tried again. "M-Mon nom… est Grace..." She gestured to herself.
Nodding, Gilbert held his hand out to her, making her jump. The older man had a small smile plastered across his face. "Kesesesese~ My name is the Awesome Gilbert. But you, Grace, can call me Gilbert."
Grace stared intently at the Prussian's hand, then at his piercingly red eyes, as if she were searching for something. It appeared she found it as she shook his out stretched hand, a husk of a smile eventually reaching her lips as well.
Grace had opened her mouth to speak again, but her growling stomach cut her off, making her blush in embarrassment. "Are you hungry?" Gilbert said, patting his own gut. The small girl nodded slowly, looking away.
Glancing at the remains of his mini-pie, Gilbert fought a mental battle. The girl said she's hungry…But it's my own pie!...But she looks so…lonely…
Grace was snapped back to reality when she heard the tall man next to her get up and walk away. When he was out of sight, a single tear escaped her eyes. She wrapped her arms around her legs again, feeling like trash once again. What have I done to deserve this?
She was so caught up in her despair, she almost didn't notice Gilbert walking back toward her, the pie extended out to her. Gently nudging her shoulder, Gilbert sat a medium-sized slice of pie in her lap. She looked back at him incredulously, silently asking him why he would do this for her.
Gilbert crossed his arms and looked away, a faint pink dusting his cheeks. "Eat up. I-I know it's not much but-" The soldier looked down to see Grace digging into that pie like crazy- she had worse manners than him!
Her cheeks full of apples and frosting, Grace looked up at him graciously (Get it? *shot*). "Merci, Monsieur Gilbert!" Gilbert didn't know a lot of French, but that little bit he did know.
"No problem, frau. Anyway, where are your parents?" Grace's jovial face was soon replaced with a deep frown. With a face full of sadness, she shrugged. "Je n'ai aucune idée où ils sont." Gilbert somewhat understood, now wondering what he was going to do with her.
Finally, he made up his mind. Gilbert scooped up the little girl, catching her off guard. She clung onto the collar of his jacket to keep herself steady, afraid he might drop her.
Gilbert scanned the area for the third time that day and asked the question that had been on his mind for the past three hours:
"Grace, where am I?"
He motioned to the hills and villas around him. Groggily, the little girl picked up her head. She was only a few seconds out from falling asleep on his shoulder. "Paris, France." That was the last thing she whispered before falling asleep on the soldier's shoulder.
Gilbert's lips curled into a miniscule smirk before he placed Grace over his shoulder. He set off to find the largest house he could see. Looks like I get to pay someone a visit…
Yes, I have finally made a story for Prussia~! Here are the translations:
1. M-Mon nom...est Grace.- M-My name...is Grace.
2. Merci, Monsieur Gilbert! - Thank you, Mister Gilbert!
3. Je n'ai aucune idée où ils sont - I have no idea where they are.
So, who do you think Gil's gonna visit? Tell me! Please R&R~