Tommy
The room smells of apple pie and wood.
Photographs are still set upon the chimney and kitchen cupboard, faces from another time staring at him in a way that makes his lungs swing — he recognises himself in a boy pouting as an older brother ruffles his hair.
It's been so long, but he's finally home, and the young man smiles painfully, his eyes filling with tears.
"Mom?" his voice trembles, but he doesn't care. "Dad?"
He hears a creak, the bedroom door opening, and fast footsteps resonate in the corridor. Tommy holds his breath, almost incapable to keep track of the sounds because of his heart pounding, hitting his chest harder and harder with each passing second.
Then he sees her walking in, her face twisting with emotion as soon as their eyes meet. She runs to him, pulling the brunette into a tight embrace.
"I'm sorry I couldn't call.." he whispers into his mother's shoulder, holding her exhausted, brave body close to him. "But I'm back, mom."
She steps back slightly, running her soft fingers along his face. She wipes tears away from his cheeks, trying to tell him about the prayers, the sleepless nights, how much she missed him.
Her boy survived the war.
Alex
"Your grandfather would've been proud of you."
Alex's grandmother smiles at him, wrinkles of nostalgia spreading all around her rosey, pale lips. She's got green pupils, just like his, bathing in memories and thoughts and places the young man could never know about.
"Do you really think so?" he asks quietly, still processing the fact that people didn't think of them as let-downs.
She sets two cups of tea on the table, moving slowly as though her mind was somewhere else, somewhere far from England's wide green fields and granite scales.
"You came back from France while he didn't, back in 1917. Yes, honey, he would've been so proud."
Gibson's family
A letter saying « Votre fils a disparu » ("Your son has disappeared") is all they get. The mother hopes he made it to England, the father sobs silently until emptiness numbs his pain. His little sister keeps sleeping in his room, wishing on stars that he'd come back.
They will never know he was a hero of his own.
Collins and Farrier
Collins makes it to the end of the war, but the memory of the German aircrafts' screeching and his dead friends haunt each one of his dreams. Once the war is called off, he sends telegrams and letters, staying awake until three or four am most nights, desperately searching any new piece of information about Farrier.
His friend had been sent to a Camp, somewhere in Germany; he had only received a couple letters from him. He feels guilty for leaving Dunkirk without him, but refuses to lose hope.
He will find Farrier. He will have him brought back home, where he belongs, with him.
The Shivering Soldier
"I killed him," his voice breaks down, sorrow and anger at the wreck he has become knotting his throat. "I killed that boy. He was seventeen. And I killed him."
He scratches his own fingers, leaving red trails on his rough skin.
"You weren't you..." a loving, sad voice whispers against him. The young woman takes his hand away from him, leaving a long, soft kiss on its surface. "It's war, it did this to all of you."
He struggles to hold in a violent sob, clutching her tender fingers from pain.
"But I killed him."
