It had been a week since Charles was told by the paper boy about the war. Propaganda posters were already being hung up, along with military sign up sheets and bulletin boards about how to protect yourselves. "GOOD LUCK!" a few of them read, others in bright red reading "JOIN THE FORCES!" He hated it all with a burning passion. How could his wonderful country, his own beautiful land sacrifice themselves for such stupid reasons? It was ridiculous to him, the Bosches could stuff themselves with gunpowder and bullets for all he cared...
"Excuse me? Can I get some carrots, please?"
A boy, aged around eleven, with pink cheeks and dirty blonde hair looked up at Charles with his hazel eyes, his hand outstretched with two shillings laying in his palm. Charles smiled and nodded, pointing to the wooden crate of fresh carrots at his stall.
"Right here, young lad. Take as many as you need, they're fresh in season right now! I say so meself but these beautiful carrots are straight from the paddy fields of Ireland."
The boy laughed and grabbed half a dozen carrots. Charles took a shilling from the boy's palm and slipped it in his pocket with a grin on his face.
"Thanks, guv'nor! Are you ready for the big battle? Us against the Germans, who'd have believed it?! I've only got a few years until I can join the army and fight for what's right!
He punched the air and ran off down the street, the carrots in his clutches. What a lucky boy, thought Charles. At least he didn't have to have society pressure down on him like it did to himself...and the day went on. Slowly, agonisingly slowly. Charles didn't want this, ever. When the war and all the propaganda went away, he'd be the happiest man alive. Only if he WERE alive until the end, mind you.
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We All Go To Hell...
Historical FictionCharles Rotherman is a young 19-year old man, just starting his job as a greengrocer in a busy market. Suddenly, his beloved city of London has gone to war, leaving his family vulnerable to the enemies. He is sent off to war, and made to fight in th...
