Letters, Losses, Loved ones.

What words can't Express:

I could hear children and parents crying, desperate families surrounded me, as the train honked, smoke bursting from the cole working deep within to keep the train moving at a fast pace. Mother clung to my jacket, steam emerged from her mouth. "Hold on, Abby, hold on." Finally, we managed to make it passed the crowd and beside the train. Mother hugged me tightly, and stroked my hair. She said no words, but her eyes told me everything. "I love you. I am sorry." I felt the same way. Neither of us said goodbye. It was almost too much to bare. All of a sudden a gigantic knot formed inside my throat, and my eyes burned with tears. What was I to do? What if I never saw my mothers face again? What if this was it? The end?....No! I thought. I won't believe it. No matter what happens, I won't believe it. I will go to the country, and when the war ends, me and mother will return home, everything will go on as it was before. That's what will happen. I thought, desperately trying to hold on to positive thoughts. I will never really remember what happened that day. Everything seemed like a dream. A long, nostalgic, blurry, dream. One moment I was in my mothers arms, and the next, I was sobbing, my face pressed against the window, trying to find my mother in the crowd, and waving frantically. The next, I was fast asleep. In long peaceful slumber. Only to awake with a painful shock that pierced my heart. I was no longer home. I was with strangers at my side. I was all alone.

***

When I arrived at the country, I felt numb and sleepy. No emotions were felt or expressed. I must have looked like a rag doll, flopped on the seat, without a movement. I breathed deep into my nose and glared at the window. Miles of green grass that seemed to never end. "Not at all like london." i remember thinking. They surrounded me: animals, plants, mansions. It was the most beautiful place I had ever seen. I breathed out, slowly. Fog covered that section of the window. I used my fingers to draw a tear on the glass. Most of the children were glaring out of the window as well, gasping. I heared many comments and remarks about the surrounding environment such as: "This is so much more beautiful than the city." or "I don't think i shall ever want to leave." or even, "After the war, I am going to ask Mother if we can live here forever." I became infuriated by this and scoffed and scolded at them. "How could you? London is our home! We grew up there, and now your willing to trade all of those memories.... and throw them away, for what? The country side! Why? Because it has pretty green grass? Or cute animals? I can't believe you!" I yelled angrily, unaware that I was crying throughout my little "speech." Half of the children on the train were shooting me judgemental glares, or even frightened ones. I sunk deep into my chair and pressed my cheek against the window. It began to rain and soon I could not tell the difference between tears or rain drops. "I just want to go home." I whispered.