The war

War

The war was coming in, and coming in fast. Days seemed to skim by, never stopping to say hello. Arthur was always busy, getting ready to leave for battle, and Cora was left in the shadows of loneliness, as everything around her began to change. Separation day was coming up, and Art was too busy getting and trying on his new uniform, making sure he had absolutely everything he needed to go into combat. She traipsed down the cold street, her cloak wrapped around her tightly, looking for the place Art was learning to shoot a gun, to fight a war. Finally she came to what looked like the right place. There was through a red door, framed by yellow bricks with a copper sign swinging above that read, 'Newmans Place; learn to shoot, fight, and survive the war'. She shoved open the door with a cold shoulder and was greeted by a tinkling bell and a large and wonderfully warm fire.

A cheery sight for a place filled with gunshots, she thought savagely. And indeed, gunshots pierced the golden bricks, obviously a result of practiced shooting gone wrong. A line of men stood at the right-side wall, Art among them, all brandishing rather large guns. She hurried over to where the only safety seemed to be, just behind the shooters where a line of people stood expectantly. Once she got there, a small man with a big moustache barked "Line up men! 1... 2... 3!" On the three there was a deafening bang and bullets through shot the air.

"Too bad there isn't more men," said an obnoxious man loudly to his neighbour. "I tell you, if I'd had any sons, they'd be going straight off to war." So they needed more men, thought Cora. Maybe they'll get some.

"Sis!" Art called, and she stood to go find Art, leaving the man to talk about the overpriced prices of pickles.

Let him talk. An idea was forming in her mind.

A week later, separation day was here, and Cora's idea had come in to play. She'd spent days convincing her parents that she'd really love to go and visit Aunt Eliza in the country for a while, and finally they'd bought her the train ticket. She hurriedly smiled at them, kissed Mama's cheek and gave Papa a quick hug, and, hoisting her bag onto her back and climbing through the gate at the station. As soon as she was out of sight, she ducked behind a corner, and opened her bag. She took out an old set of Art's clothes, and changed into them, sliding on the shoes and tying the laces. She then took out a pair of scissors and sheared off her golden hair, making it as short as possible without cutting herself. Satisfied, she stuffed everything into her bag and stepped out, trying to look normal. She walked discreetly up through the crowd to reach the desk that read 'Last Minute Sign-ups' and smiled nervously at the red-faced man behind the desk.

"I'd, uhm, like to ask about a s-sign up for the w-war?" She asked. The man sized Cora up and she anxiously smoothed her now short hair down.

He finally brought his eyes to hers. "Cutting it a bit close, are we?" He remarked. Cora gave a tight-lipped smile, wishing he would just hurry up, the train was about to leave. "Name?" He said loudly, making her jump.

"Cor-"she stopped hastily. "Cory. Cory Ar- Arton." He raised his eyebrows but said nothing, writing it down. The man handed her a uniform and a gun and motioned to the train. She gave another nervous smile and hopped on.

Another couple of weeks later they were about to attack. Between the train, boat sickness and the scratchy uniforms that gave Cora a rash over her stomach, they were glad to be finally leaving. The plan wasn't fool-proof and her glances of Art had been rare and sweet, but finally they were going. They stood on the boats, anxiously waiting for the word. It came. "ATTACK!" They dived into the water, and began struggling to the shore. A light suddenly gleamed at the top of the hill and gunshots fired. Bodies dropped like stones. She ducked, running and tripping on a body.

Cora looked at it and choked. No... it couldn't be... not that familiar face staring up at her... not those glassy blue eyes... not already.

Dropping to her knees beside the body, she couldn't feel anything. Not the tears coursing down her face. "Art," she whispered hoarsely. "Art... no...Oh...Art." Her big brother. Dead. Forever. It couldn't... no. The pain was unbearable. "Art." She couldn't stop saying his name. "Art." Then she felt agony in the back of her neck, and she could only see blackness.

~~~~~~~

A/N

I know, I know, that sucked. The start was alright, but the end... Anyway, so I hope you liked that. It's been sitting in my documents for about a year and I needed to get rid of it. I'm not going to put one of those 'Warning- death' things in that people seem to do. Come on, you are not going to read a book about WW1 if you don't want death. Thanks for reading!!! Vote, follow me, I don't really care. Bye!!!

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