Guns and Horses

Chapter Five: The Calling

CHAPTER FIVE

D A N N Y

August 15' 1916

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Units of men stood shaking in their tight leather boots, their faces flushed white. The dawn sun was beginning to creep over the dry ground and the bloodshot sunlight covered the men’s faces with an eerie mask. It was silent; even the birds could feel the death that hung over the army below them.

My throat was dry my tough rough as I ran it along my front teeth. I tasted the dirt that settled in my mouth, its bitter gravely taste turning my empty stomach. Under the rim of my hat it was wet with sweat and it rubbed against my clean shaved skin, giving red sores that lined my hairline. Black Jack stood below me his fearlessness lost on me; my gloved hands held tightly onto his leather reins but I felt as if I could fall any moment.

The silence was deafening and I was left only with my mind. But my only thoughts were of Rose - I couldn’t leave her, not with out telling her how much I loved her. I tightly shut my eyes trying to imagine her flowing brown hair as it spilled over the grass. Her fruity laugh that always managed to tickle my damaged depths.

“Hurry up!” Rose shouted from the top of the hill, her hair flew around her in a perfect messy halo.

She was an angel, a beauty sent by God. Her features so delicate that even though her eyes were squinting against the sun they were still flawless. Why had she chosen me? I thought to myself, this angel, who could have had any man.

My chest felt strained as I pulled my legs up the steep hill, my mind forgetting the ach in my muscles it was transfixed by her beauty. Her eyes lit up as they followed the birds flying across the bright blue sky, her full lips pursed together whispering an Italian lullaby. Her smile was like the newly covered ground after a flurry of snow, and the feeling it gave me was like the sensation of excitement from a crisp winters morn. She twirled around on the spot her laughter tantalising me as I huffed up towards her.

My hand hurt where the wicker picnic basket dug into my palm cutting off the circulation to my fingers. However the thing that burdened me the most was the little blue box that weighed down my waist jacket.

“Danny,” she called, her soft her soft lullaby accent caressing the word.

I collapsed as soon as I reached the top, my face pressed against the long grass. Rose laughed and I could feel her hand resting on my back her thin fingers rubbing up and down between my shoulder blades.

“Oh, il mio bambino. Was that too much for you?” She crossed her legs down beside me and kissed me on the side of my head just were my scar ended. I felt the grass tickle my gums as a smile spread across my stupid face.

“I wouldn’t say it was too much.” I pushed my self up onto my elbows so I was level with her eyes.

Rose averted her gaze and picked up the basket, she unbuckled the leather straps and threw open the lid. I watched her as her hair fell over her high cheek bone.  She turned back towards me catching my stare, I felt almost embraced but kept looking, she was my sweetheart and I felt no guilt for staring.

A smile spread across her olive skin; her white teeth glistening in the sunlight. She was one of those rare people that wore her true nature in her appearance. I felt a foolish grin spread across my face but it was soon swashed when she pushed a ripe strawberry into my mouth. I laughed as I chewed the sweat tasting fruit. I blew in her face making, making her squint her eyes and flap her hands around in the air: in the adorable confused way she often did, when trying to understand someone with a strong accent or when following a fast conversation.