I Got Soul but I'm Not a Soldier
I got soul but I'm not a soldier, Ch.8/8
8
After we had left the safe surroundings of the church, we were on our own again. We travelled around France for years, trying to reach Great Britain just like thousands of other fugitives. But for many reasons, we never got there. For one, we didn’t have the money to pay for the boat trip. And it also would’ve been hard to leave the country and not being seen. At every border, there were soldiers checking us and if they would’ve seen us, they would’ve immediately sent us back to fight or they wouldn’t have let us cross the border. It would have been the same thing if we had wanted to cross the North Sea. So we were forced to stay in France until the war was over. Which we did.
For a long period, we had been lucky to have found an abandoned house where we lived for almost a year. If I look back at it now, it seems so incredible, almost miraculous, that we could’ve stayed there so long. In the mean time, Ryan and I were getting more and more close to each other. We knew, and still know, each other entirely; on the inside and the outside. My love for him made me forget about the hate that was going on in the outside world. Ironically enough, it was the hate we had fled from that had created our love.
Eventually we were forced to leave the safe surroundings of the house, though. The Axis had been getting closer and we didn’t want to risk being caught. That would’ve led to the death of the both of us. We left, moving south. By then, we were no longer following the coast line like we had been in the beginning. The coast and its many harbours would have been too dangerous. The risk of a hostile airplane dropping bombs near us would’ve been too big. Ryan and I had the will to survive this so we could start a new and better life together, without the constant chance of getting killed. There was no way we would have given up that hope.
We had left the house only a short while before the war ended. September 2nd, a Sunday, was the day that the war was completely over for every one. The world was a safe place again, or at least it should’ve been. The world is still a dangerous place to live in. There’s pain, destruction and hate everywhere you go. When the war had ended, I thought that all of those things would have disappeared, along with the constant battle for power by the different nations. Now I realise that it was a very naïve thing to think.
Ryan and I had only picked up the good news a week later. We were both out of our minds from happiness. We were finally free. Free to be who we truly were without being scared of getting shot in the head for it. We knew that it wouldn’t be easy, though. We were sure that our lives wouldn’t be a fairytale where everything goes well and everyone loves everyone. That’s not how the real world works.
But first things first. We were still in France and we didn’t know what to do or where to go. The only things we knew were that we were going to leave France and we would leave it together. Eventually, we decided to go to Great Britain, like we had wanted to do in the past few years. We also thought it would be better not to contact our parents ever again. They probably would’ve hated us for how we were, so it was better to let them think we were dead. Like that, they’d still have respect and love for us. This decision might have caused a lot of pain and grief to both our families, but trust me, it was the best to let them have the illusion that their sons had died for their countries instead of them knowing the truth.
It took us a few weeks until we had finally reached Great Britain. But once we did, we knew that everything would have been fine with us, and we were right. Just like almost everyone around us, we hadn’t had a thing but the clothes on our back and each other. We had to start our lives from scratch. Not that we minded, though. Not at all. With the help of many others and the authorities, we and a lot of other people managed to build new houses. The house Ryan and I built for ourselves was small and simple, but we knew that every brick of it was put there with love. We built it in a small town that had been completely destroyed by the war. We tried to recycle most of the debris from the bombed houses to build a new one because that was basically all we had.
When the town was cleaned up and rebuilt about a year later, things were starting to get harder for us. At the beginning, our house was the only one in a radius of 500 yards. But as time passed by, more houses were being built, closer to ours and the people living in those houses were rarely acceptant when it came to Ryan and mine’s relationship. We tried to ignore their insults towards us, them calling us sinners and servants of the devil, but sometimes it was hard to do so. A few times, we considered moving to someplace else, but in the end, we always came to the same conclusion: If they had a problem with us, then it was their problem and not ours. We didn’t have to sacrifice our life their just because they didn’t like us. We loved each other, and still do, which was the most important, so their hate didn’t matter.
Today, we still live in that house and even though it’s a bit outdated, it still stands there which is all we could wish for. We still often talk about the things that happened during the years of war. And I’m not just talking about the fights and the injuries we got. Whenever we talk about that time, we try to recall the good memories about passionate and love filled nights in haylofts or that night when we kissed for the first time. Those were the glorious days.
Right now, Ryan and I are not in Great Britain. We have made it a tradition to visit the place where we had buried Spencer’s body every year, so he wouldn’t be forgotten. The farm we stayed in decades ago still stands there and it’s now owned by the daughter of the man who owned it during the war. Every year, she welcomes us with open arms and treats us like we’re her family. She lets us sleep in the room where Ryan and I shared our first kiss. The room has been re-decorated, though. It’s no longer a boring, dark room with grey walls and a creaking bed as it used to be. Now it’s a modern and cosy room with a soft bed with warm covers. If it had only been like that when we had been here more than sixty years ago.
Ryan and I make our way to the tombstone that stands behind the barn of the farm. The stone had been placed there on our request. That was the least we could’ve done for Spencer. “Hey there, Spence,” Ryan starts, resting his large hand on top of the stone. “It’s already been a year. Time flies by so fast. It only seemed yesterday that Bren and I were here last time, don’t you think,” he says and I slip my arm around his waist, letting my head rest against his. Small tears are pricking in my eyes and I blink a few times, trying to make them go away, but it doesn’t help. I can still hear the gunshot that killed Spencer. The gunshot that had created that miniscule hole in his skull, the gunshot that had been the end of Spencer Smith.
“We still love you, Spencer,” Ryan speaks and I can hear a sob escaping from his lips a few seconds later. I put both my arms around him and hug him tightly, the same way as I had done after we had found Spencer’s dead body. We stayed outside for a few more minutes, occasionally speaking a few words to Spencer and then we went back inside.
“Hey, Bren,” Ryan smiles after a long silence. We’re both sitting on the bed and I’m a hundred percent sure of what is going to come now. “I’m hungry,” he says, little lights twinkling in his still beautiful brown eyes. The eyes I fell in love with in the first place. “Do you think I can get another bite of those lips of yours,” he grins. Every year again, he says this and, I swear, it never gets old. We might have been together for more than sixty years, but our love still stands strong and that is something that will never change. Ryan and I were born for each other; it’s a simply a fact.
I smile and nod, shifting a little bit on the bed, bringing our faces closer. “Of course you can,” I reply and a split second later, I feel his lips pressed against mine in a soft kiss; another thing that has never grown old. “I love you,” I mutter after pulling back again. “Love you too,” he breathes, resting his forehead against mine. I can feel his breathing against my lips and I inhale it as if I need him to breathe so I can breathe as well. “And I’ll never stop loving you.”
+++
That was the last chapter, folks, thanks for reading. =)
After we had left the safe surroundings of the church, we were on our own again. We travelled around France for years, trying to reach Great Britain just like thousands of other fugitives. But for many reasons, we never got there. For one, we didn’t have the money to pay for the boat trip. And it also would’ve been hard to leave the country and not being seen. At every border, there were soldiers checking us and if they would’ve seen us, they would’ve immediately sent us back to fight or they wouldn’t have let us cross the border. It would have been the same thing if we had wanted to cross the North Sea. So we were forced to stay in France until the war was over. Which we did.
For a long period, we had been lucky to have found an abandoned house where we lived for almost a year. If I look back at it now, it seems so incredible, almost miraculous, that we could’ve stayed there so long. In the mean time, Ryan and I were getting more and more close to each other. We knew, and still know, each other entirely; on the inside and the outside. My love for him made me forget about the hate that was going on in the outside world. Ironically enough, it was the hate we had fled from that had created our love.
Eventually we were forced to leave the safe surroundings of the house, though. The Axis had been getting closer and we didn’t want to risk being caught. That would’ve led to the death of the both of us. We left, moving south. By then, we were no longer following the coast line like we had been in the beginning. The coast and its many harbours would have been too dangerous. The risk of a hostile airplane dropping bombs near us would’ve been too big. Ryan and I had the will to survive this so we could start a new and better life together, without the constant chance of getting killed. There was no way we would have given up that hope.
We had left the house only a short while before the war ended. September 2nd, a Sunday, was the day that the war was completely over for every one. The world was a safe place again, or at least it should’ve been. The world is still a dangerous place to live in. There’s pain, destruction and hate everywhere you go. When the war had ended, I thought that all of those things would have disappeared, along with the constant battle for power by the different nations. Now I realise that it was a very naïve thing to think.
Ryan and I had only picked up the good news a week later. We were both out of our minds from happiness. We were finally free. Free to be who we truly were without being scared of getting shot in the head for it. We knew that it wouldn’t be easy, though. We were sure that our lives wouldn’t be a fairytale where everything goes well and everyone loves everyone. That’s not how the real world works.
But first things first. We were still in France and we didn’t know what to do or where to go. The only things we knew were that we were going to leave France and we would leave it together. Eventually, we decided to go to Great Britain, like we had wanted to do in the past few years. We also thought it would be better not to contact our parents ever again. They probably would’ve hated us for how we were, so it was better to let them think we were dead. Like that, they’d still have respect and love for us. This decision might have caused a lot of pain and grief to both our families, but trust me, it was the best to let them have the illusion that their sons had died for their countries instead of them knowing the truth.
It took us a few weeks until we had finally reached Great Britain. But once we did, we knew that everything would have been fine with us, and we were right. Just like almost everyone around us, we hadn’t had a thing but the clothes on our back and each other. We had to start our lives from scratch. Not that we minded, though. Not at all. With the help of many others and the authorities, we and a lot of other people managed to build new houses. The house Ryan and I built for ourselves was small and simple, but we knew that every brick of it was put there with love. We built it in a small town that had been completely destroyed by the war. We tried to recycle most of the debris from the bombed houses to build a new one because that was basically all we had.
When the town was cleaned up and rebuilt about a year later, things were starting to get harder for us. At the beginning, our house was the only one in a radius of 500 yards. But as time passed by, more houses were being built, closer to ours and the people living in those houses were rarely acceptant when it came to Ryan and mine’s relationship. We tried to ignore their insults towards us, them calling us sinners and servants of the devil, but sometimes it was hard to do so. A few times, we considered moving to someplace else, but in the end, we always came to the same conclusion: If they had a problem with us, then it was their problem and not ours. We didn’t have to sacrifice our life their just because they didn’t like us. We loved each other, and still do, which was the most important, so their hate didn’t matter.
Today, we still live in that house and even though it’s a bit outdated, it still stands there which is all we could wish for. We still often talk about the things that happened during the years of war. And I’m not just talking about the fights and the injuries we got. Whenever we talk about that time, we try to recall the good memories about passionate and love filled nights in haylofts or that night when we kissed for the first time. Those were the glorious days.
Right now, Ryan and I are not in Great Britain. We have made it a tradition to visit the place where we had buried Spencer’s body every year, so he wouldn’t be forgotten. The farm we stayed in decades ago still stands there and it’s now owned by the daughter of the man who owned it during the war. Every year, she welcomes us with open arms and treats us like we’re her family. She lets us sleep in the room where Ryan and I shared our first kiss. The room has been re-decorated, though. It’s no longer a boring, dark room with grey walls and a creaking bed as it used to be. Now it’s a modern and cosy room with a soft bed with warm covers. If it had only been like that when we had been here more than sixty years ago.
Ryan and I make our way to the tombstone that stands behind the barn of the farm. The stone had been placed there on our request. That was the least we could’ve done for Spencer. “Hey there, Spence,” Ryan starts, resting his large hand on top of the stone. “It’s already been a year. Time flies by so fast. It only seemed yesterday that Bren and I were here last time, don’t you think,” he says and I slip my arm around his waist, letting my head rest against his. Small tears are pricking in my eyes and I blink a few times, trying to make them go away, but it doesn’t help. I can still hear the gunshot that killed Spencer. The gunshot that had created that miniscule hole in his skull, the gunshot that had been the end of Spencer Smith.
“We still love you, Spencer,” Ryan speaks and I can hear a sob escaping from his lips a few seconds later. I put both my arms around him and hug him tightly, the same way as I had done after we had found Spencer’s dead body. We stayed outside for a few more minutes, occasionally speaking a few words to Spencer and then we went back inside.
“Hey, Bren,” Ryan smiles after a long silence. We’re both sitting on the bed and I’m a hundred percent sure of what is going to come now. “I’m hungry,” he says, little lights twinkling in his still beautiful brown eyes. The eyes I fell in love with in the first place. “Do you think I can get another bite of those lips of yours,” he grins. Every year again, he says this and, I swear, it never gets old. We might have been together for more than sixty years, but our love still stands strong and that is something that will never change. Ryan and I were born for each other; it’s a simply a fact.
I smile and nod, shifting a little bit on the bed, bringing our faces closer. “Of course you can,” I reply and a split second later, I feel his lips pressed against mine in a soft kiss; another thing that has never grown old. “I love you,” I mutter after pulling back again. “Love you too,” he breathes, resting his forehead against mine. I can feel his breathing against my lips and I inhale it as if I need him to breathe so I can breathe as well. “And I’ll never stop loving you.”
+++
That was the last chapter, folks, thanks for reading. =)