The repetitive clacking of the train Amélie sits in keeps her awake with bounces, her small suitcase in her lap as she leans her head on the window to try and catch some sleep. It's been a long night of training and packing for the Red Cross women, especially the French Medics who have just left their homes at the hour of three in the morning. Her eyes open slowly as the breaks whine sadly due to the rain and the rusted tracks, there isn't a light to be seen outside of the window, and the compartment she sits in was empty when she had sat there over an hour ago. There's an older women, she must be around forty, and she's writing in her journal, a girl about her age, maybe twenty or twenty-one with a worried look and red eyes; she must have been crying, but who could blame her. The older woman looks over at her and they speak to each other so softly that Amélie can't hear a lick of it, but they must have been talking prior to her waking up. Stretching and soon remembering that she isn't home where she wants to be, Amélie yawns behind her hand and the two strangers across from her look up and the younger blond wipes away a tear that slipped out. "Good morning, we didn't want to wake you but the trolly came through and we grabbed you some bread" the older woman says. There's a motherly tone to her voice, perfect for being a helping hand in a time like this, and it almost makes Amélie feel at home.
"Oh, thank you, but you really didn't have to- Uh, my name's Amélie by the way," she says as she takes the wrapped bread from the woman's outstretched hand. "It wasn't my idea, it was Miss Lenore's, and you should call me Madam Fernsan" the woman says as she sits back in her seat. The blond smiles meekly at her mention and fidgets with her pencil as she looks at the notepad in Fernsan's lap, reading the neat cursive slowly and sleepily. Amélie rubs her eyes and gets her eyes adjusted to the light in the room, looking at the old pocket watch in her hand. It's only four, and they should be arriving at the battlefront by noon. Fernsan cracks her neck slowly as she puts her journal aside, and the page is base to read: 'Saturday, Sept. 2, We are headed to Hell by train, and it's all thanks to the Germans.'
YOU ARE READING
Red-Cross and Redder Lips
Historical FictionWorld War II takes the world by storm as countries across the globe battle to see who will crumble first. As with each major historical event, there is a story for each soul that is out and effecting the way the world moves. This story fol...
