Shell shock

Chapter 1 France

The room was cold. Plastered with white walls and tiled floors to make it seem spacious. But I still felt in closed and claustrophobic. Iron instruments scattered about unevenly and papers littered over a dismal desk in the corner. There was only two reasons I came here, one Because dr Beaufoy cared for me and two to avoid going home. Back to Manchester.
"I really do think it would be best to return to England mr owen." Said Daveed Beaufoy.
Dr beaufoy had been treating me since I returned. Every time I'd visit him he would claim I have no physical untreated wounds and I should return back to England. A part of me can't bring my self to see everyone. But I doubt I can keep living in France any longer.
Daveed began to speak before I could open my mouth, "I am going to England tomorrow, I thought I should tell you sir, in case you still want to come I got you a ticket."
"Daveed I- I don't think I am ready." Panic fills my throat the thought of home shatters my mind.
"Then you will have to find another doctor who will waste their time in 'treating' you!" I have never heard him raise his voice before, it left me speechless until he responded with "sorry sir I do not know what I am saying, it's just all you soldiers are seen as waste for the medical profession i mean what is wrong with you other then your hand, which has healed?" He questions.
I grip my cast tight,
"I don't feel that it's healed."
"Well mr Owen our ship leaves at 8 in the morning I expect you there, yes?"
"Yes Daveed I shall be there."
"Good I shall see you tomorrow sir."
He turned out of the room and left me with my thoughts. In the deep crevices of my mind I can hear him. His lungs bubble. I can see the life dissipate from his eyes. And the way he grabbed me. Begging for his life. Coughing his speech. I feel faint and grip the aspirin on the table and take a morphine tablet before rushing out of Daveeds practice. I push through the pristine door and I look around at everyone. Everyone just Stares. It could be my clothes it could be my scruffy unkempt beard. Or they know what I've done.
I stumble into my hotel room in the hotel le littre. The smell hits me instantly, familiar and yet pungent as ever. The carpet was scrunched in the corner leaving crooked floor boards exposed that creaked every step, covered with black stains. The mattress was on a twisted angle and only a slab on the floor. I was half exhilarated to leave and half anxious for what awaited me at home. I put the light on and remove my blazer while walking to the bathroom, the light flickering like a weak flame. I pick up my razor to remove the beard I had used to hide from myself. Cutting it off so my family will recognise me when I returned Manchester. But it still revealed who I was. William Owen. A coward. I slump onto the mattress and Stares at the ceiling. I spend most nights like this I fear that if I were to attempt to fall asleep I would wake up in the trenches. Alone. The sound of machine guns piercing the air as I sit there clutching my rifle. Half prepared half terrified of the horrors of no man's land. However sometimes they're with me.The four of us me Anthony, James and Thomas. Side by side just talking about home and how we think the war will end soon. But I can never go back to them now. So as I finally close my eyes and begin to drift to sleep I am awoken. By the sound of cries, I see him Anthony Turner standing at the top of the trench looking down on me. Protecting us.
"Turner what's happening!" I screech so he can hear me over the sound of artillery crashing into no man's land.
Anthony was from urban Sheffield and spoke with a colloquial tone. You could never quite tell if what he was saying could be taken seriously or not which made it very difficult to follow orders.
"Owen, the Germans are about to charge I need you to man the machi-"
"Anthony what?" I question as his face turns red.
Blood begins gushing down his face as his body slumps down the trench into my arms.
"Anthony? Anthony! No- no- not, please not again!" I scream but my cries for help go unanswered as I wake up in a pool of sweat. My arms in front of me as if I was still holding him.
After another sleepless night I drink a bottle of scotch until the sun comes up hoping it withers the memory of Anthony and James away. However mid bottle a gust of thought flood my brain. Was I not meant to go somewhere today? I pondered until I checked my pocket watch to reveal the time was freshly quarter to 6. In which i remember about the boat I was meant to catch. I quickly put on a fresh shirt, trousers, suspenders, blazer and then tie to finish it off. I then hastily pack my suite case and check out my hotel key. I then rush to the train station where good Daveed is waiting.
"j'ai le ticket ici monsieur, j'attends juste un ami, voici son ticket." Is what he says to the man at the station.
"Bonjour monsieur William, here is your ticket." He exclaims with buzzing excitement.
"Thank you Daveed i appreciate this." I thank him because he is a good man I'm just unsure if I do want to get this train right now.
"Sir we have to go now it is leaving soon come, come" he again exclaimed enthusiastically.
He then sprints down the stairs and on to the train.
"Come, come will I am, today we go to engaland!" He shouts while waving me on to the train.
I jump on to join him and we take our seats.
"Only a few hours and we shall be in London." Daveed tells me.
But all I can think off is this shadow that looms over me warning me to get of the train while I still can.