ENC 1101-B3 & B4: Writing for Discovery

Innocent Battle Fields

The afternoon was clam, for Britain at least because lately it has only seen and heard talks about the wars that are getting oh to close to home. The bombings have continued for some time now and all inhabitants are in a state of disillusion. Will the bombing ever stop and will the country overcome the evil power that continues to get closer?

It was the June of 1942 where Sir Maxwell stopped and recollected the events of the last two years. The German carpet bombings had gone on for long enough, leaving all inhabitants of Ely to pick up their demolished lives and continue to live. He remembered the horrific faces that every one had as they emerged their bomb shelters or basements every time the Germans came to visit.

Maxwell and his family had lived in their house since their son Charles had come into the world. A beautiful house on the west coast of Great Britain; it was the family’s home. Now it lies in a state of ruin, and on this warm day in June, reality speaks to Maxwell from all walls of the house. He had tried to stop the voices for so many years, but they always would continue to bother him.

He thought back to May 1940 when Britain was at the front of the largest conflict in World history. While World War Two was waged in Poland and France, the citizens of Britain watched as Nazi Germany got closer and closer to their homes. If this wasn't horrifying enough, there had been non-stop talks about potential air raids on British towns. Hitler worked every hour of every day to torture those who opposed his evil motivation and everyone knew they were the next target.

The clock hit 3:30 as Maxwell’s concentration was broken by the clock sounding in the living room. As he slips back into his memories, he thinks back to that night. A night that would not just stick with him, but haunt him forever.

Maxwell and his family sat down for dinner around 6 pm like they always did. "So how was the academy today Charles, did you learn anything exciting," asked Maxwell to his small son. "We had a great time. We discussed how Nazi Germany is getting closer and closer to start bombing other countries other than Poland and France," Charles responded. Maxwell knew that Charles was too young to understand what was going on and he quickly changed the conversation.

Unfortunately, the topic didn't die in its tracks as Maxwell wanted it to. "What are we going to do if the bombings start like they talk about at work Maxwell," Abigail asked her husband in the same fear everyone else’s voice had. "There is going to be no such bombings, that is simply a rumor that has been taken too far," Maxwell said correcting his wife. This day was the 10th of July 1940 and Maxwell would be proved wrong.

The cool ocean breeze grazed Maxwell’s body through the kitchen window. “Why weren’t we more prepared, if we were, I could have done something,” Maxwell thought as the agony shot from that night’s memory in his brain, all through his body.

The night went on as usual, Maxwell was just happy that the talks about bombings were over. Abigail cleaned the dishes while Maxwell listened closely to the radio for updates. Charles was in the den looking over some comic books and enjoying them as he always did no matter how many times he read one.

It was 8:30 when Abigail came to Charles, "It's time for bed or you won't get up in the morning Charles," she told him as all other parents do. "But momma, these comics are just getting better and better with every new issue," he retorted back at her. "Don't you know that those things are making you stupid Charles, all you do is read those dumb things," Abigail said attempting to make Charles feel bad. "I am old enough to do what I want and you shouldn't have the right to tell me other wise mum," Charles said with an angry tone.

The argument was broken short when the news broke the nightly comic hour to announce that the Germans had been bombing different regions of Britain all day. "Although the Royal Air force is working hard to protect our homes, the German Air Force is overcoming our protection," the newscaster announced.

“Stupid news, why couldn’t they have told us they were just miles away from our homes,” Maxwell thought with resentment as he looked at the half burned radio in the living room. “But still, stupid me for ignoring, we should have slept in the basement,” he thought as the relaxing breeze took him back.

The family sat flabbergasted for a couple of moments as the comic hour continued. "Lord have mercy on Britain, and us foremost," Abigail said starting to weep. "Charles quit talking back to your mother and go to bed this instant," Maxwell demanded with an empty look on his face.

"Mum don't leave me alone tonight, I am scared that the German plains are coming," Charles said starting to cry. "You will be safe here, your father and I will never let anything happen to you," Abigail reassured Charles. She gave him a smile, turned off the light and closed the door as she walked out of the room.

“Charles was so scared,” Maxwell thought as he started to weep. “He had no idea that the Germans were coming and knew if they did, it would be bad. I know that because they were warning all of the children at the academy,” Maxwell thought as he started to cut some tomatoes for dinner.

Maxwell was frozen to his chair, he knew that something bad was coming and he could feel it in his stomach. "Darling, lets just go to bed, we will get an update over the radio tomorrow," Abigail preached to him. "I mean who would want to bomb this little town on the west coast of Britain. Not to mention that it has been raining and overcast all day long," Abigail said trying to heal her husband from his paralyzed state. "We might as well just go to bed, I would rather die in my sleep then be blown up awake," Maxwell proclaimed jokingly with his wife. It was 9 pm when the couple finally settles down for bed.

“Aw,” Maxwell proclaimed. His thinking had distracted him from cutting the tomatoes. The blood ran from the cut and dripped on the ground making a pool of red. “Oh Lord,” he prayed as the clock struck four and he slipped back to that night.

Maxwell's sleep was broken by the sound of the siren that hadn't been used since he was a boy during World War One. The loud explosions were only drowned out by the sounds of anti-aircraft fire near by. He jerked over looking at the clock that read 9:23 pm. "Wake up, they are here, we must get Charles and get down to the basement," Maxwell screamed to his sleeping wife.

They opened the door of their room and went running for their precious son when they were knocked to the ground by an explosion near by. The ground rumbled and shook below them. Maxwell pulled himself from the ground, "Abigail," Maxwell screamed. She had fallen and hit her head on the China cabinet in the hall way. Blood was pouring out of the back of her head.

Maxwell jerked back to reality. Tears streamed from his face and met the garnet on the ground from his hand. He had lived the nightmare for two years and at times become weak and vulnerable to his own self-destructive moods.

Maxwell picked her off the ground holding her tightly. He wailed for quite some time until he realized that there was no life left in Abigail's body. "No, don't leave, don't let go, you can't, I love you too much," he screamed as he let Abigail's body fall slowly to the ground. He knew there was nothing that could be done and the bombings continued outside the house.

Maxwell ran for his son's bedroom, nothing else was going through his mind, only getting Charles to safety. The bombing near by was causing light like day, which gave Maxwell vision to navigate down the hall. He slammed the door open only to find that the room had been totally destroyed by a bomb that exploded near the house. There was no sign of Charles or that he could have lived if he was even there.

Maxwell tore through the burnt wood and lava like bomb residue that was left. He finally found Charles over by where his bed would have been. The tiny boy's body had been burned and his skin was black and ashy.

Maxwell screamed, he thought of nothing but his wife dead in the hall way and his son lying here in ashes. "WHY," Maxwell screamed to the point that his voice cracked and no sound came from his mouth. The bombings around the house were getting worse and he knew that he had to do the only thing he could.

He grabbed his burnt son's body tightly, "I love you and I will see you in heaven," he said as he wept out loud. He laid his son back down to his grave, said a short prayer, arose, and walked out of the room.

“I turned my back on him,” Maxwell screamed out loud. The neighbors had tried to help him through his fits of depression and insanity that often occurred since that night. However, Maxwell was never himself those past two years. “I have had nothing to live for,” Maxwell thought as he slipped back into his memories.

The light of the bomb explosions was coming through all of the windows and he knew they were getting closer and closer to totally demolishing the house. He walked like a dead man with no soul or heart. He was only thinking of death now and that was all he cared about. Maxwell wanted to die, he wanted to see his wife and son again, but he never would.

He walked past his wife's body and started to weep once more. He hit his knees and picked her up from the ground so he could hold her one last time. "I love you, and I love Charles, and I know that I will see you both in a better place soon," Maxwell said with tears trickling from his squinting eyes.

He carried her down the stairs and through the back door to the back yard. He was shocked only to find that the whole city had been blown to nothing and all that was left was fire and burning wood. He could hear in the back ground British forces trying desperately to fight off the bombing campaign, but to no prevail.

Now the tears were flowing like a waterfall. Maxwell sat at the table in the kitchen looking at the gun he had bought. He pondered as he stared at the gun, not being able to remember whether he had purchased a real one or a toy.

He carried his wife's body to her garden, which she always worked and loved. He laid her down next to the reddest rose and kissed her lips softly. He knew that this was the last time he would see her, being he could hear the plains nearing again. He laid her down and arose keeping his eyes on hers. "I will never have another because there is nothing else I want," he proclaimed starting to weep again.

He walked away never turning his back on her. He stumbled over debris as he walked backwards towards the back door but never took his eyes off of her. He got in the door way and closed the door still watching her eyes for a movement, but they never even twitched. He stumbled aimlessly to the entrance of the basement, where he made his decent to safety.

“I left them both to die,” Maxwell murmured as the sun hit his face. As he looked down, he found he had loaded the gun during his thoughts. He couldn’t remember whether they were children popgun caps or real bullets. “Since then I can’t remember many things,” Maxwell chuckled to himself.

The bombings went on for some time the same as that night. Every time Maxwell, and everyone else who lived, would emerge the next mornings only to find pain and loss. After two years of this there was finally hope that it maybe over. For Maxwell though, it would never end for him. He would always be haunted by that night and he thinks this as he recollects about it.

"There is nothing I would rather have then death," Maxwell thinks to himself as his memory fades away back into his subconscious. "I won't have to worry about bombings, Hitler, voices, Nazis, and especially living without Abigail and Charles," he thought as the pain rushed in like it always did.

Maxwell turned to look at the back door and then looked at the gun he had purchased the day before. Everything became calm and clear to him. He grabbed the gun and walked for his wife's garden and sat down where he had laid his Abigail. He finally remember. He had bought the gun yesterday from a man of the black market. This meant that the gun was not a toy, but rather a weapon for his own demise. He began to weep and pray and then he took the gun and put it to his head.