We All Go To Hell...

"Same As Usual."

It was the end of a long day for Charles. What started off as a beautiful morning had ended as a miserable evening. The sun was already setting, filling the sky with a fiery orange glow. Closing his stall and throwing his jacket on, Charles walked out of the market and back home. Down the cobbled streets, through narrow paths, turning sharp corners, and there was his home, a tall brick building, connected to many others. The lights were on when he looked through the window, and Charles let out a sigh of relief. At least he wasn't alone. Fumbling for the keys in his pocket, he grabbed them and unlocked the door before it creaked open.

"Mama, I'm home."

A middle aged woman with pale skin and natural features came walking into the doorway of the rather small house. Her eyes were dark and tired looking, her black bun was still tight and her dress was its natural beige shade. She smiled softly and nodded.

"How was the market, Charles?"

A quick flash of panic swept across his face before he composed himself and smiled back.

"It was fine, Mama. Same as usual."

Charles threw his jacket on the kitchen table and hung his cap on the hat rack. The light in the living room was dim and yellow, giving an almost sickly glow to the cramped place. He rubbed his eyes and smiled thankfully when his mother passed him a bowl of hot broth and a mug of tea. Would London fall to pieces, he thought to himself. That was something he never even dared to think of. Maybe...no. He had to have some faith in his country. They would win the war, even if an entire city blew up. Britain would triumph.