I was staring outside the window the other day looking at the falling snow when I got inspired to write a short novel. I wrote it in French however I decided to (try and) translate it to share it with you guys. The story might be a little too long for one post so I’ll post it in segments.
His hands were shaking from hunger and exhaustion but he was determined to continue. No stopping now, not when he was so close. The village was deserted. No trace of allied troops in the area. Carrying the last of his rations in his military backpack, Adam rejoiced in thinking about that idea as he was crossing the main route. He avoided pondering if she was still there. For him, it was the only possible choice. She would have left him hints about her current whereabouts no doubt. Surely she was still alive. She has to be.
“And all who decide to turn back will see death with a nice swift bullet to their heads. Do you want to live? Go back to your families? Then beat the Axis.” Lacroix never was a sympathizing man towards his squadron.
Two weeks have gone by since he had deserted. An order of execution with his name and picture would have appeared by now. A dry and deafening sound suddenly propagated throughout the atmosphere. He lifted up his head towards the white-grey sky. An airstrike? Here? But why? He stopped and closed his eyes. Was it really now that he is to be taken away from this accursed and God forsaken world? Another violent and terrible sound rung. He cowered in fear on the humid ground. A water droplet wet the tip of his nose. It started to rain. Other thunder strikes were echoing in the distance. Adam stood up and looked around him, being right in the heart of the village, he recognized grandpa Martin’s bakery. A traditional bakery reduced to ruins. The walls pierced by bullets, the windows glassless, but walls still erected and surviving notwithstanding the Orne village’s razing.
He entered the bakery. A deep feeling of melancholy and nostalgia suddenly took over.
“- A loaf of bread please Mr. Martin.
– Didn’t I tell you that calling me mister was for adults kiddo?
– But I am an adult mister!
– How old are you?
– Well then, repeat your sentence.
– A loaf of bread grandpa Martin.
– Now there’s the handsome Adam that I know. An eclair too? Compliments of the baker?
– Yes, gramps.
– Don’t be impatient to grow up, life is too short for that. Here’s your order. Pass my greetings to your dad for me.”
He sat down in a well dried corner of the building, whose role and identity are lost with every projectile. Whose identity was only preserved inside of Adam’s thoughts. As long as he was breathing, this place will keep its value.