A girl and her camera

Chapter one-ten years later

ten years later.

The heart of Martha's story began in the summer of 1942: three years into what was announced 'The war'. If it were being envisioned through film, then there would be an eight second shot of the forever-spinning spokes on the wheels of Martha's bicycle. From there, the camera would work its' way up, over the feet and legs that peddled the bike, the torso that was bent forward slightly, then finally, to rest upon the side-on face. And there she was; Martha Gillespy. A girl, now at sixteen, and as vibrant as ever.

As she peddled, at top speed, through the half-alive, streets of Warsaw, Martha revelled in the cool, fresh air that kissed her cheeks, and ran through her up-tied hair. Then, closing her eyes for just a second, she parted her lips slightly, to taste the air that was coming so frequently to her. Ah...if only the air around the rest of the world could taste like this, she thought. With the taste of sunshine, quite literally, on the tip of her tongue.

Martha was on her way to the Kosken's factory, where her mother, Vera Gillespy worked. It was almost four O'clock. Which was around the time Vera's shift ended, so Martha had cycled there to ride home with her. She didn't like the thought of Vera walking home by herself; in the evening, those streets could be a dangerous place for women. So Martha made it her responsibility to keep her mother as far as possible, from harms way. Even if it was normally the parents job to protect the children, Martha didn't care.

So Martha cycled on, until she'd reached the front entrance of the Kosken's ammunition factory. She knew that many women worked there; it was one of the most available jobs to women in this day in age. She just didn't like the fact that her mother had to work there too. Ammunition work was a dangerous business, in Martha's eyes.

It was at the curb of the footpath that Martha waited, until at last, her mother pushed through those double doors.

Vera Gillespy was, by all means, a pretty woman in the eyes of her children. She was even a pretty woman in the eyes of everybody, years ago. But along the years, hard-work and age began to make itself known to Vera. Where there was once a dark, glossy sheen in her brown hair, was instead, a dullness that made it frizzy and brittle. Her face, which once sparkled with mature beauty, was now pale, worn, and almost to the point of looking haggard. But what could shock a person most about her change in appearance, was her body. A once healthy-weighted, admirable figure now seemed thinner, frailer, and forever hunched forward just slightly. Vera Gillespy wasn't exactly unhealthy; just not the strong, lively creature she once was.

When Martha saw her mother, Vera gave her a small, sweet smile, then went to embrace her. Martha, who was now just three inches taller than her mother, had to bend slightly, so that Vera could kiss her on each cheek. Hmm, even when Martha was nearly an adult, it still felt nice to have some affection from her mother. With food, and supplies coming in such short amounts, Vera never rashioned Martha on how much love she gave.

"How was school today, dear?" She asked her daughter, as she climbed onto her own bike.

"It was alright," Martha answered, vaguely. "Victor didn't bother me today."

"That's good," Vera remarked, "He was always such a...pompous one, wasn't he?"

Martha laughed, thinking just how right her mother was.

Victor. Marthas' persistant, but rather unsuccessful suitor. Victor was a senior member of the Hitler youth club; of which, it's popularity was spreading about Warsaw like a rash. He was for Hitlers' cause; unlike Martha. He was entirely concieted on his good-looks and good fortune; unlike Martha. And his sole ambition in life it to become a well-respected Nazi, and aqquire himself a blond-haired, blue-eyed spouse. Unlike Martha. And that wasn't to say he didn't try to persuade her! For a while now, he'd been dropping indiscrete hints that Martha should bleech her hair peroxide blond. He even said once that it would 'bring out more of the blue in her eyes'. But Martha hated the thought of losing her lovely shade of brown, so she decided it was best to just ignore Victors' 'friendly advice' altogether. For it wasn't just to do with her hair.