Alternative Endings

Chapter Five

World War 2. Londoners P.O.V

After I had finished talking to the Warden, A.R.P, I slowly walked through to the kitchen. I kept hearing words, ringing over and over again in my head. Images flashed into my mind of Hitler declaring war. What was going on? I could remember everything from the start of the war. I remember listening about the invasion into Poland; remember being frightened about getting recruited. I knew I was in London, after the Blitz, but I didn’t know exactly where I was. And then, as if prompted by my thoughts, I heard It, deep within my mind.

Location: 12 Sutton Row, Soho, London.

 

“Thanks,” I said, my voice laden with sarcasm, “Real helpful.”

Happy to help.

 

“I’m gonna be stuck with you the whole time, aren’t I?” I asked, starting to get frustrated.

Is the Pope a Catholic?

 

“Great. Just great. I get taken back in time and I’m stuck with a smart-ass, rhetorical-question-asking mechanical robot. Just my luck.” I found that now my frustration was turning to anger, but I wasn’t sure if that was an outcome of It’s manipulation over my body.

Enjoy it while you can. Now sleep, you can get acquainted with the others later.

 

“Others?” I asked, curious at the previous statement, “What others?”

The people who saved you from the bombing. A family of two parents, three children, and 1 grandfather. You will understand, and if you don’t... Let’s just hope for the best.

 

“Bombing, what bombing? Hope for the best? Understand?” Questions were rising as fast as they were disappearing. I was desperate to know what was going on, but soon I felt my legs getting dragged to the bed once again, and after lying down my eyelids were forced shut, my body being persuaded to sleep. Soon, I felt my mind drifting off to a place of peace, a place where there was no bombing free from the horrors of the war. I had found that It had put memories into my head as if I had lived them, through the war, through the grief and horror, through life.

***

I woke the next morning with aching legs and sore eyes. My muscles felt strained again, as if I had been plunged into ice water, hands attached to the wheel of a Mill. My body turning with every current, arms stretched out against the pull, body stiff and hard against the cold flow of the water. My arms were cold, stung by the winter air, sharp against the icy water.

“Must’ve been tensing again,” I said to myself, my voice deeper than usual but better than the shrill cry I had experienced the night before. I took a look around at my surroundings, and once I found the drawers I got dressed. My attire consisted mainly of a neat cotton shirt, and some brown trousers. I soon forgot all about my muscle pain as I walked down the hall, once again noticing the clean hallway. As I entered the kitchen, air hung heavy with the smell of food, I heard a shrill cry.

“Good morning! Are you all right? Is there anything we can help you with?” At first I didn’t know where the sound was coming from, but then I realised a girl, of about my age, standing by the sink.