𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄'𝐒 𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐄 // 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐎𝐘

CHAPTER 2, storehouse of madness

1941, Philadelphia

America's participation in the war was inevitable by this time, brave patriots already enlisting in the army by free will. Protect the homeland, they said. That was their motivation. Either that, or they let the words of toxic parents get to them. Your life's not worth anything anyway, at least make something useful of it, they said. So much death could have been avoided, but here he sat, waiting in line, squished between two other guys, both around his age, waiting for his name to be called out.

It's been a while since he had arrived, he read through the newspaper twice already. He wasn't in the mood to converse with the other men in the waiting room. He tapped his feet against the pale, marble flooring of the room, his patience wearing thin.

"Monroe, Benjamin!" a distinct, deep male voice calls out. Folding the newspaper to its original size and placing it back onto the chair, he rises from his seat. He sauntered over to the man who called his name. The man was almost bald, and in front of him, on the wooden podium, was a piece of paper. To Ben, it was upside down, and reading things that were upside down was not his profession. Neither was war, but here he was.

"Monroe," the balding man exclaims, not even looking at Ben. His fingers flipped through the two papers in front of him, his dark brown eyes racing between the words. "You're James' son?"

"Yes sir," Ben replies confidently. He didn't like that this man brought up his father. Unbeknownst to the man, his father was the reason he was here today. This man was a friend, or more like an acquaintance of his father, he knew, he's seen him around a lot.

"Hm. Interesting. Did he sign you up for this?" He inquires, adjusting his round glasses, pushing them higher on the bridge of his nose with his index finger, eyes still fixed on the papers.

Ben remained quiet. No, his father did not sign him up for this. But was he doing it for his father? Yes.

"I asked you a question," the man sternly states, now glancing at Ben.

"No, he did not. But I want to make him proud."

"That's what got you to sign up, hm? To make someone proud," he scoffs at the last part.

It's not funny, Ben thought, and he was right, it wasn't.

"You really think that you, dying in unknown territory, will make your old man proud of you?" The glassed man asks, pursing his lips into a gloomy smile. "I might have something better for you, son. Something that your father can really be proud of."

Ben's brows knit together, his mouth opening to ask a question, but right after opening it, he shuts his lips back together.

"Great medical record. Go sit back, I'll alert you when I'm finished here. Not many people left now." With a weak smile, the man nods in assurance.

Doing as told, Ben plops down on the same seat he occupied earlier. Should he pick up the same newspaper and read it all again? No, he's not going to. To pass time, he decided to observe the waiting room. Behind the podium and the man was a door. it was closed when he got up from his seat, but somebody seemingly left it open while he was talking. Now, he gained access to watch the events going down there.

To his best knowledge and from what he could see, it was a medical area. The men whose medical files were eligible were escorted there, and had to undergo a medical check up there. Vision, reflexes, things that fall into these categories. He watched the doctors and nurses run around, going from one booth to another. There were maybe four of these booths at most.

Exiting one of them was a brown haired girl, a nurse, her hair tied up so that it didn't get in her way during work. She sprinted down the hallways behind the door, from one booth to another, almost every five minutes. Ben knew for sure that he will ask her why she couldn't stay at one, but this was a question for another time, because the man's familiar voice rang out from near the doorway.