by MaeEadie
Willi looked terrible. The weight of the oncoming war wasn't just resting on his shoulders, it was pushing down on him with ten ton weights. It disturbed Florence, seeing him like this.
"Nein Florence, I'm just eating up time 'ere. I wish I didn't have to go home at all."
"Can you say why?"
"Ja. Yeh see, me wife and me children are so happy at home. They're cheerful and joyous, just as always, yeh see?" Florence nodded so Willi continued. "I don't wanna go home because I ruin it for 'em. I can't sleep or nothin' with this war comin'. It's doin' me head in and I get all sulky and grumpy. Then everyone at home is too. It's 'orrible. I can't stand it." For the first time, Florence saw her friend miserable. The forever jolly and joke-cracking man she knew, was replaced with this miserable and teary one.
She almost didn't recognise him.
Newfound painful fear
1st September 1939
*
The Nazis marched.
I made them do it.
Their feet struck the ground,
unfaltering.
With swastikas stitched all over their uniform and painted in their eyes,
they crossed the border.
Poland.
Polish.
They ran,
they hid.
The Nazis kept marching on.
Not all wanted to,
but still they marched on.
Unquestioning.
Not wanting the answers.
Poland was taken as was any hope of no war.
I'm so bad.
*
Everyone breathed, the air no longer musty and second hand. The fear blanket had been lifted, the horrible silence was gone. But only to reveal worse. Everyone rushed around, all the time. Panic filled the air and it felt terrible. Like that feeling when you step out from a fire lit home into the freezing winter air.
Cold and sharp.
Like needles in your skin.
High pitched ringing in your ears.
The new panic felt worse than ever. A sharp pain taking residence in every gut. Driving them crazy. Making them panic.
That pain was terror. Fear. Of news. Good news. Bad news. Any news.
War was now inevitable, unstoppable. No matter what they did, it would come. The world had held the wild beast down but there was no way of holding it in its cage any longer. So they became afraid of news. Would it bring the beginning of war? They preferred not to risk it.
All day Willi would stay at the grocery shop, pottering around, not doing much. His eyes would be fixed wide open, his pupils were vague pinpricks. With stiff hands he knocked around the food, not noticing anything, just thinking. Thinking long. Thinking wide. Thinking of nothing.
It was no different anywhere else. The butcher. The tailor. The baker. The carpenter. Each toiled with cloudy eyes and unguided thoughts. No aim. Just panic. Cold and numb panic that gripped them and pulled them into paralysis.
The only one left visibly unchanged was Lisette. Fearful paralysation looked no different from normal. At least on from a distance. If you were to look really close, you could see it. The white cold fear in her eyes, her racing pulse, her whitened knuckles. Even in the fearless there was fear.
.
2nd September 1939
*
The last day.
The day before the country fists struck.
The day before the bees clashed.
The day before the fear blanket became so out of reach none could touch it for six years.
Get ready.
It's the last day.
Full stop.
.
*
A speech and a newspaper
3rd September 1939
"This morning the British Ambassador in Berlin handed the German Government a final note stating that, unless we heard from them by 11 o'clock that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us. I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently this country is at war with Germany."
The prime minister's voice echoed around the country.
Around the world.
Around every head.
It gave them a headache.
They wished it would go away but it wouldn't.
Not for six years.
Or for some,
forever.
"Now may God bless you all. May He defend the right. It is the evil things that we
shall be fighting against. Brute force, bad faith, injustice, oppression and
persecution - and against them I am certain that the right will prevail."
Yes.
God bless them all.
*
The newspaper lay on the kitchen table. The headline shouted out from the page. Florence walked over to her motionless father and picked it up.
She dropped it.
Stumbling into her secret
3rd September 1939
*
Words.
Four words.
Four words that struck the world upside down.
Four words that stole every breath.
Four words that blinded people.
Four words that announced the end.
We are at war.
*
She cried out.
She stopped breathing.
She fell.
She sprawled out on the floor.
She lashed out.
She pulled herself up.
She spluttered.
She stumbled to the front door.
She staggered outside.
She slumped over the railing.
Florence saw Ben. He stumbled down the road. Looking for her. Looking for comfort. Looking to comfort.
Florence wanted no help. She was distraught. She ran back in through the house, her father was unmoved. Oliver stood frightened at the bottom stairs.
She staggered out the back door, hitting the walls beside her, collecting bruises. She ran and the forest swallowed her up.
Wheezing, coughing, spluttering. The war was only hours old and it had already stolen her breath.
Ben got up and ran after her. Worried for himself. Worried about her.
He saw nothing, only the stumbling girl ahead with the limp strawberry hair and the yellow night dress. He ran faster than before, his lungs punching and beating his chest.
They both fell. Simultaneously.
*
It was the fists of Germany and Britain.
Striking from beneath.
Felt everywhere.
Impact.
*
Florence ran on blindly, not seeing. Unaware of Ben. Unaware of everything.
"Rafael." she whispered. "I'm coming." she ran to the frescreets. "They don't know. They must know."
Ben tried to call to Florence, but he choked up. Shock and fear holding him back. He didn't stop running. What was she doing? Ben had a bad feeling, what would she do? Terror can make one do insane things.
Unshed tears choked them both. Not misery. No sorrow. Just terror. Shock. War.
Then it dawned on Ben. Realisation like a splash of cold water on his head. This was her secret. She was running him into her secret. The pool, the clearing, the forest, her suspicious nature. He had been here before. He watched Florence reenter the trees, automatically. Without thinking.
'This is where she goes. This is her secret.' he thought. Panic stricken. He wanted to stop. But couldn't. He followed her. Into the forest. Into her secret.
The change
3rd September 1939
The boy stepped into the clearing.
He watched all the faces turn.
Their horrified, alien faces.
He wanted to be sick.
His heart kicked at his chest and his brain punched at his skull.
The terror.
The fright.
Florence especially.
Ben stood there.
Staring.
<
br /> "Seize them."
*
Tiny cold hands wrapped around his arms, jerking him. He could hear Florence shout out from the rest.
"Ben! What are you doing?! Get out of here! Run!" But he couldn't. Dozens of angry creatures wrestled with him, pinning him down on the ground, shoving his nose in the dirt. They screeched at him.
"GET DOWN THERE! BARBARIAN! SHOVE HIM DOWN! GET OUT OF OUR LIVES!" His vision was whirring and his head was spinning.
"FLORENCE!" he shouted out. A tiny, scratchy hand grabbed his lips, wrenching away the rest of his words.
They pinned Florence down on the ground, shoving her like brutes. Their white faces growled, her own friends. Her head smashed into the dirt, throbbing. Her own family. Her arms were savaged, ropes licking her skin like fire. Through her blurred vision and fuzzy eyes, she saw the strawberry haired girl. She stood aside, shocked, ashen faced, raging. A man stood beside her, restraining her. She caught Florence's eye, screaming out her name. Her groping hands broke free from her husband and she ran to Florence, almost getting there. Almost.
But he stopped her.
Rafael.
He struck her down with his cane, hard. His white hair was wild and his knobbly body whipped around.
He was raging.
Florence lost sight of her, the frescreets closing in, stomping all over her, knocking the wind out of her. Blows from above, blows from beneath.
Frescreets and country fists.
It had started. The war. They were the captives. Not only of the war, but of wartime secrets.
Writhing around on the ground, crushed under all the frescreets crawling over them, seeing the dirt that covered their eyes, tasting the shock they were in. Rafael advanced, a path cleared for him. Grace ran at him, raging, storming. Her porcelain hands flying at him, screaming like a wild animal.
"LET THEM GO! LET THEM GO YOU BASTARD!" Rafael knocked her away, his cane flying, Florence screaming.
He raised the cane.
He brought it down.
Ben was unconscious.
"NO! RAFAEL YOU TRAITOR! DON'T HURT HIM! GET AWAY!" Until the moment when the cane came upon her, Florence fought. She fought like a purine. She fought her forest family off, her only thoughts were of Ben and the strawberry haired girl.
The writhing mass moved off her and the stick flew upon her.
Unconscious.
Captured in the cage
3rd September 1939
Florence opened her eyes, quickly screwing them shut again. Her hand flew to the throbbing bruise on the back of her head.
The cane.
She remembered.
Ben. The cane. Rafael. The war. The frescreets. The betrayal.
She forced her eyes open again.
"Oh, shieße." She gripped the rope, dizziness taking over. As she swayed, she looked down. The village lay beneath her, not a frescreet in sight. She swung from a rope sack, suspended in the trees, high above the ground. "Oh shieße."
The tears.
They finally came.
It wasn't the war. It wasn't the shock. It wasn't even her fear of heights.
It was the betrayal.
Her own family, who she had protected with her life, had locked her up in a heartbeat. No questions.
It hurt almost as much as the bruise Rafael gave her. Almost.
"Ben? Hey, Ben." She gently shook Ben awake, noticing the egg sized bruise on his forehead.
"Hmm?" He winced as he sat up, slowly prising his eyes open. He noticed the height, the ropes, Florence.
"Florence!?" He shook his head, adjusting to the light, pulling himself together. "Care to tell me what THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON?" He shook uncontrollably, over a year of emotions squeezing out from the bloodshot corners of his eyes.
"I think I owe you an explanation Benjamin Seelenfreund."
*
High up in the treetops of a forest village,
tied up in a sack of ropes and bruises,
sat Ben and Florence.
Florence talked.
And talked.
Gazing around the village,
she explained to Ben about her secret.
There was no point in hiding it anymore.
He had already caught it stark naked.
She started right from the start.
Not long after where our story began.
She even explained Grace's disappearance and her suspicions of the strawberry haired girl.
She explained who the frescreets were,
or at least who she thought they were.
She was no longer sure.
He listened,
wide eyed.
Confused.
Her story was so absurd.
Too absurd.
He believed her.
*
When there was no more to be said they sat beside each other, silent. Ben had no more fury. No more despair. No more suspicions. His tears had dried up along with the pools of confusion that had collected in his heart. He now understood and Ben had never seen Florence more beautiful.
*
It never ceases to amaze me,
how sharing a burden can change a person.
It's beautiful.
When I saw Ben and Florence,
I almost began to envy them.
*
Night fell and the village was as quiet as ever. The moon shone in the sky above them, cloaked in a cape of teary stars. When Ben asked her why no one was around, she couldn't answer. She had no idea.
Just like they had no idea of anything at all.
How long had they been there?
How many days had passed while they were unconscious?
Had anyone noticed they were gone?
Was it humanly possible for them to be any thirstier?
*
The sun was coming up and their throats were dryer than burnt wood. Course and raspy.
"Ben?" Florence asked, shaking her friend.
"Ja. I'm fine. My head feels like death, though."
"Ja, me too."
Down below, a frescreet appeared. He held a small bag in his dot sized hand. Shimmying up the tree, he closed in on Ben and Florence.
"Florence and you boy. This will be your daily ration of food. Don't try to escape from your ropes. They are set up so the only way is down. Cut the sides and the rope holding you up will snap. You will fall. I strongly suggest that you avoid that. You will remain here until Rafael decides what to do with you. Personally, I would be worried. I have heard rumours. You should probably be afraid. Each day a different frescreet shall be delivering your food. Don't even think about creating alliances. You will regret it. I shall be leaving you now. I have answered everything I can. Don't bother asking more. No one will answer. Goodbye." The man shimmied back down the tree, having passed the small handful of bread, nuts, fruit and answers through the tightly woven ropes.
They looked at each other, expressionless. What were they expecting? Five star service? Criminal treatment? They received something somewhere in between and they didn't know whether they should be grateful or disappointed.
They quickly drained their containers of water, drops trickling down their chins in their haste.
"Florence?"
"Mmm?" She looked at Ben, a mouth full of stale bread.
"What on earth are we going to do? You heard the man, we can't get out alone."
"I know. I'm just hoping the strawberry haired girl, you know the one I told you about, will help us. Otherwise, I have no idea."
They smiled sadly at each other. High in the tree tops.
Swinging. Hanging. Hurting. Hoping.
A plan and some courage
6th September 1939
A different frescreet had come for the last three days, just as promised. Each time the food and a solemn nod were given, nothing else. The knots in the ropes had made bruises all over Florence and Ben's backs and legs. They were numb all over and had never been more desperate to
stand up. But, despite everything, they were busy. They had been too busy thinking. Thinking of their families, thinking of the war, thinking of how to get out. No matter what time it was, these thoughts couldn't escape them. Just like how the country fists couldn't. The earth beneath them shook, the trees shook, the branches shook, their prison shook. The war could find them everywhere. Anywhere.
*
"Florence!? Ben!?" Since the first night they didn't return, the first day of war, they had been looking. Lisette, Gabriel, Oliver, Édith, Gaël, Solomon, Claire, Vinzent, Emil, Ben's little sister, his parents, Willi and all his children, their school friends, their neighbours. The list went on. Those few days proved just how loved they both were.
The entire town united to search for their missing loved ones. They were fighting their own little war.
The people against the forest.
For three days they had stopped for nothing. The sun rose and set with rest for only five minutes. They would share around a lot of hot soup before someone would feel guilty and keep searching.
The frescreets knew full well that they would be looking. That's why they didn't hesitate in guiding the search party from their village, indirectly of course.
The people would keep searching all over their home in Switzerland, never to find them. But they never had to search for hope, it was still strong.
*
Ben huddled beside Florence, the wind blowing coldly onto their backs. The night was dark and they were into the last hours before morning, but sleep hadn't come to either of them.
"What do you think they're doing now, Flory?"
"Sleeping, I suppose. Maybe resting after a day of searching for us. I wish I knew if they really are looking for us, it'd be nice to know they care."
"Of course they do."
An icy gust of wind swept past them, the leaves of the forest shaking all around them. They held on tight to the sides of their cage, swinging threateningly. The early autumn sky was cloudless above their heads, the beautiful display of twinkling stars on show. They shone so bright, so free, so independently.
The stars were sour. They teased Florence and Ben, tied up together, captives. Captives of the creatures. The stars stared down at them, watching them struggle. Leaving them alone. Enjoying it. They stared down with their bitter free hearts and watched the children struggle all alone.