The sound came first. Gunfire. It sounded like a shirt’s buttons being torn off. Pop. Pop. Pop. Poland had heard the sound of gunfire before. All nations knew the sound of war, but this time... it was different. Germany had been pounding on his door for the last few months. Now he couldn’t get away. He felt the German troops enter his borders. England and France had convinced him not to mobilize his army. How he wished he could take back that decision. It was September 2, 1939.
Poland had wandered away from Warsaw to his western border. The right side of his torso was all itchy and inflamed. It had only just begun and he wanted it to stop already. He had followed England. He’d have to just keep believing him. He didn’t have the manpower to fight off the Nazis. He sat down on the roots of a oak. He could see Germans running through the hills, his hills… their hills? He wasn’t sure… he thought they were still his. They felt like his.
He hoped Germany wouldn’t find him. The air was sweet, heavy with the smell of crocuses. The sound of popping was slowly getting closer. He had stopped before several of his western most villages. He loved this time of year. It was like his land was dressing up for him. He didn’t know why he’d been driven here. And he didn’t know why he couldn’t keep going. Poland ran his hand through his hair and leaned back against the rough bark of the tree.
Darkness slipped in between the branches of the trees and the moon bleached out the colors of the flowers. Slowly the smell of crocuses was overpowered with a metallic scent. It was so heavy he could taste it. It was like someone had shoved a fistful of pennies in his mouth. Poland sat listening. England had told him to wait to mobilize his military. He could do nothing. Nothing to protect his people, his land. Poland hoped England would get here soon. He was regretting not marshalling any of his forces. He was practically letting Germany in.
The night passed quickly. Poland never got to sleep. He could hear his people crying out. The Germans were advancing at a dizzying rate. His right side had erupted into a long cut. Poland moved back as they moved foreword. The sun went down again. It was the end of September 3, 1939. That night Poland went back to Warsaw, his western boarder no longer held him captive.
As he walked into the capitol building, he heard a radio broadcast. A solemn Neville Chamberlain was announcing that Great Britain was now at war with Germany. The people in the building were quiet and still. Poland sighed and rubbed his hand over his eyes. A heavy hand came down on his shoulder. He opened his eyes to see green eyes partially hidden beneath furrowed, thick eyebrows.
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Re: England/Poland - during WWII
(Anonymous) 2012-01-29 06:44 am (UTC)(link)The sound came first. Gunfire. It sounded like a shirt’s buttons being torn off. Pop. Pop. Pop. Poland had heard the sound of gunfire before. All nations knew the sound of war, but this time... it was different. Germany had been pounding on his door for the last few months. Now he couldn’t get away. He felt the German troops enter his borders. England and France had convinced him not to mobilize his army. How he wished he could take back that decision. It was September 2, 1939.
Poland had wandered away from Warsaw to his western border. The right side of his torso was all itchy and inflamed. It had only just begun and he wanted it to stop already. He had followed England. He’d have to just keep believing him. He didn’t have the manpower to fight off the Nazis. He sat down on the roots of a oak. He could see Germans running through the hills, his hills… their hills? He wasn’t sure… he thought they were still his. They felt like his.
He hoped Germany wouldn’t find him. The air was sweet, heavy with the smell of crocuses. The sound of popping was slowly getting closer. He had stopped before several of his western most villages. He loved this time of year. It was like his land was dressing up for him. He didn’t know why he’d been driven here. And he didn’t know why he couldn’t keep going. Poland ran his hand through his hair and leaned back against the rough bark of the tree.
Darkness slipped in between the branches of the trees and the moon bleached out the colors of the flowers. Slowly the smell of crocuses was overpowered with a metallic scent. It was so heavy he could taste it. It was like someone had shoved a fistful of pennies in his mouth. Poland sat listening. England had told him to wait to mobilize his military. He could do nothing. Nothing to protect his people, his land. Poland hoped England would get here soon. He was regretting not marshalling any of his forces. He was practically letting Germany in.
The night passed quickly. Poland never got to sleep. He could hear his people crying out. The Germans were advancing at a dizzying rate. His right side had erupted into a long cut. Poland moved back as they moved foreword. The sun went down again. It was the end of September 3, 1939. That night Poland went back to Warsaw, his western boarder no longer held him captive.
As he walked into the capitol building, he heard a radio broadcast. A solemn Neville Chamberlain was announcing that Great Britain was now at war with Germany. The people in the building were quiet and still. Poland sighed and rubbed his hand over his eyes. A heavy hand came down on his shoulder. He opened his eyes to see green eyes partially hidden beneath furrowed, thick eyebrows.
Thank God.