Fighting For Love

II - An Old Friend

    Hey, babes. How you doing?

    First I'd like to apologize for taking so long. You see, I was certain I had published chapter 2 on monday. However, I checked it now, and I actually haven't pressed the button "Publish". So I am really sorry for letting you guys hanging since Friday.

    As my way of making up to you, I' gonna publish the next chapter this friday, instead of publishing it on Sunday, as it would according to my four-day-apart realeases as this chapter is only being released on Wednesday (today).

    Hope I explained the situation. No, the story is not over, in fact, I am rewritting it faster than expected and I hope to have it all done by the end of August. (July 2020 me: ha, you thought!)

    Sorry once more. Enjoy the chapter.  💜

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Chapter 2: An Old Friend

October the 4th, 1939 - 5:30

Frankfurt, Germany

   I woke up to the sound of nothing. That's how empty and soundless the nights are in central Germany during Autumn. Hadn't it been for my enlisting in the army, I would have definitely stayed longer in bed.

   I jumped out of bed, so suddenly that I don't feel like my muscles had been prepared for it. I am always doing sudden moves and I guess that's not good for my heart, but I'd rather pay to watch it when I'm older than to live a calm life. Calmness has never taken me anywhere, anyway and I was way too nervous to be calm.

   I went to the kitchen on the tip of my toes. My mother had struggled with insomnia her whole life and even the sound of a feather falling on her bed — somedays even next to it — could wake her up. One of the wooden planks of the staircase creaked when I stepped on it and my soul descended from my body during that second. She is a raging bull when she is woken up by someone. I didn't hear a sound from my mother's bedroom; a good sign, I assumed, continuing my walk.

   I drank a glass of milk, though I wish I could've drunk coffee, I would need the energy after all. The sound of the kettle was the only reason why I didn't.

   It was an hour-long walk to Frankfurt's recruitment centre, but I could make it in half that time by bicycle, I was sure.

   The exact moment I left home was still night. However, there was a small stripe on the horizon, lighter than the surrounding. A strong clue that it was going to be a sunny day. Good. I like the Sun. I never understood people who say rainy days are good. They obviously say that because they don't live off the land. One thing is to say they like rainy days while they're comfortably sitting on a chair in an office somewhere, looking at it through a window, but I bet they would change their mind if they had to walk around a muddy terrain taking care of plants and feeding animals.

   The road was paved with simple cobblestones, surrounded by short trees. When it's bright, it's possible to see farms and woods, too, but when it's all dark you can barely see the things I just mentioned. And it was also quiet — not even the owls were hooting. Way too quiet, actually.

   Or at least that's how it was until I heard a yell cutting through the silence of night like a sharp knife, as soon as I crossed a small bridge over the stream.

   I stopped and looked down, to the stream, searching who could have yelled. Luckily, I had brought an oil lamp in the basket of my bicycle. I grabbed it and started to walk down one of the banks of the river. Maybe whoever screamed was under the bridge.