A girl and her camera

Chapter five

"Martha?" Vera sat, bent over her sleeping daughter. Gently prodding her to wake. "It's time to get ready for school."

Martha yawned, rubbing her eyes as she slowly, shuffled into a sitting position. Martha had a mostly restless sleep the night before; the memory of Samuel, calling her a slut and a whore, swirling around in her subconcious. Of course she didn't tell her mama about this! That would've made things more difficult. And, judging by the state Martha was in at this moment, she probably wouldn't have to.

"I'm awake mama, it's alright." She murmured, "I'd better get dressed."

"Hold on Martha-" Vera placed her hands gently upon her daughters shoulders. "You've been crying. Why?"

"It's nothing mama," Martha lied, "I'm just tired, that's all."

"Martha, I know you, and I know the different between teary eyes and tired ones." She insisted, "Come on Martha, if there's something wrong, you can tell me. I'm your mother."

"Honestly mama, it's nothing." Martha said, "You shouldn't worry about me. I'm just fine, see?"

Vera still wasn't so convinced, but had decided to drop the matter, for Martha's sake.

"Alright, Dear." Vera sighed, "You'd best get ready for school now; you wouldn't want to be late."

Of course not, Martha thought. School seemed to be the only thing that kept Martha's mind off of Samuel; and even there it wasn't easy, with Hanna on her back. How could I keep doing this? Martha asked herself. No matter how much she threw herself into the documentary work, she knew that Samuel's cold, hard glare would always be at the back of her mind; looking straight through her, as if she were a pane of glass.

But today, Martha would just have to grin and bear it. For she had more footage to collect, and an interview for Hanna. So shaking off her anxiety, Martha dressed in dusty-rose, button-up frock, along with her only, unladdered stockings, and her beige cardigan. It was going to be an acceptionally warm day, with summer approaching in nearly a month. And Martha knew it was time she started dressing in more happier tones. It wouldn't hurt to try and lift her mood herself, would it? Even if it was just through a cheery choice in wardrobe.

Once dressed and groomed, Martha ate her small breakfast quickly, then descended to school before Vera could ask her any more questions. She didn't mean to ignore her mother like that, but Martha didn't want to recount those insults, or transparent glares. No. Martha was going to be happy, even if it killed her.

When Martha had finally arrived to her small, metal locker in the corridor, she was soon joined by Hanna and Bart. Between them, the two held stacks of plain, off-white, printing paper in their arms. Ah, those would be for the first edition, Martha thought. Speaking of which, she did wonder if they actually needed that much paper, for just one edition.

"You'll never guess how many orders we have for the first edition!" Hanna whispered, excitedly. "Every student in our year has ordered one, as well as the year below, and half of the year above!"

"Christ, that's a lot!" Martha gasped, "So that's what all the paper is for?"

"That, and a delivery for the teachers bulletin," Bart added, "Brams and Cecil are writing that one."

Brams and Cecil were two, wirey, greasy, young men from the year above. Martha and Hanna didn't think much of them, but Bart was completely in awe of their work. In particular, the propaganda comics they wrote, parodying Hitler, Stalin, and even DeGaul. Well, Martha did secretly think their comic strips were valuable. After all, war needed as much humour as it could get.

"So when are you doing that interview again?" Hanna asked her, for what felt like the thousanth time.

"I told you, today. And after I've finished up with the footage, I'll leave, and drop the answers in to you on my way home. Speaking of which, do your parents know I'll be dropping by?"