Yay--it's the weekend! And here is a snippet of my short story "The Soldier." (Historical fiction is one of my favorite genres) "The Soldier" takes place in Kent, England on February 24, 1942 (during World War II). The narrator is nine-year-old Frances, who is eavesdropping on her sister and a young soldier's conversation.
I heard the familiar rattle of the
back door handle, and I ducked behind a column. I peeked out as far as I dared.
An older soldier stuck his head out the door. He nodded to Maggie then waved a
magazine at Neil.
“This
your copy of LIFE, mate?” he asked. Neil said it was. “Been passed around to
the lads now.” The man tossed it to Neil, who caught it neatly out of the air,
before retreating inside. I closed my eyes and smiled and leaned my head
against the column.
“All
right, guess my birthday,” Neil said to Maggie.
“Wait," she said. "Is that yesterday's? ”
I
opened my eyes and pictured my sister with her eyebrows drawn together.
“The
magazine?” Neil asked. “Yeah, twenty-three February. Why?”
“Could
I see it?”
“I
don’t think,” Neil paused. “I don’t think you’d want to read this. It’s not a
pretty article.”
“I know.” Maggie swallowed.
I got up quietly and risked putting
my face up to the bench. Through the space between boards, I could see neat rows of soldiers marching across the cover of the
magazine in Neil’s calloused hands.
Neil ruffled his hair, mussing it even more. “Do you know what it’s about?”
Maggie looked down at her clasped
hands. “When I went to town with Gran yesterday we stopped by the newsagent,
and she picked one of those up to read in line. I was about to open one too,
when she told me to put it down.” Maggie touched the cover. “It’s about those camps.”
Neil nodded, and Maggie sighed. “I’ve heard talk
here and there at the green grocer’s and from some of the older girls at work,
but never a word from Gran or Granddad. Especially because Frances, I think.”
Me?
What didn’t Granddad want me to know?
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