AMA-Con: The Compilation

Tenth

Written by: Natskie (@skienat_pex) 

Prompt: Alden is a soldier who meets Maine through a pen pal program

Prompt by: @faulkersonrj

***

There is an unusual stillness in Westerville, a strange sense of peace over the streets lined up with towering trees. A cool breeze passes by every once in a while, gently rustling the leaves, creating a soft lullaby for this now sleepy town.

Peace and quiet has been a rare sight in almost 5 years since the war broke out, that a time like this is a treasured commodity among the townsfolk. The streets will typically be buzzing with people running from one house to another, holding newspapers, posters and transistor radios.

Troops in military jeeps and tanks would drive by, with a uniformed soldier updating everyone of what is happening in the country barracks and overseas, encouraging others to enlist and join the force, or lend a helping hand.

And once in a while, wails and cries from the inside of homes can be heard, of mothers weeping for their fallen sons and daughters, of fathers cursing at the atrocities of the enemy, of little children crying alongside a parent, even without fully understanding what's going on.

This afternoon was calmer than most, and Maine relished at how it had quieted her mind. She didn't have to think of the things she heard just a few hours ago. Another refugee camp was invaded by the Germans in London, the broadcaster had said in a broken voice, killing thousands of troopers, volunteers and innocent civilians.

She didn't need to fill her thoughts with more worry and escaped the somber mood in their living room, and her father's endless rants about the Nazis and Japanese.

And besides, today was a Thursday. And in the middle of the chaos and strife that each day at this time of war brings, this day was the most normal and dare she say, happiest, time of the week.

She sat on the front steps of the porch, her heart-shaped mouth turning up into a tiny smile as she waited for a familiar face to come up her side of the street. She twiddled her fingers and tapped her feet to a new rhythm, shaking her head as she thought of this little situation she placed herself in.

After what seemed like an eternity, she sees him come up the corner of their street. It was the man with a moustache, sporting the familiar light-gray chambray shirt and blue pants. She quickly stands up and tiptoes on the porch, as if she'll catch a glimpse of what she's been waiting the whole week for.

"Settle down, Maine! I'm there in two." And as if to spite Maine, he walks with a strut in his step, like he's in the cabaret performing for a crowd.

"Haha, very funny Bill." Maine then walks to her family's white mailbox and begins tapping her fingers incessantly.

Bill finally stops in front of her and opens his brown messenger bag, rummaging through its contents of packages, telegrams and letters.

"I hope there's something in there for me." Maine tries, again, to peer over Bill's shoulder, to which he responded by closing the zipper of his bag. "Oh, none for me today Bill?"

"What do you think, Maine?" And before she could reply with an answer laden with sadness, Bill holds up a tiny brown envelope. "Would you look at that? It's another V-mail for Nicomaine! That makes four just this month!"