Dulce Et Decorum Est.

I read the letter once more. At first I had been excited, fighting for my own country and all that. I would be a hero, I'd have girls falling at my feet. That's what my family had said, trying to assure me that this would be the best thing that would ever happen to me. I wasn't so sure about that. There was a very high possibility of death, whether people wanted to say it or not. Is it wrong to be afraid of the prospect of dying for your country? I thought back to my days in America; would they let an 18 year old fight in a war? I don't think so.
It was my last hour with my family before I was to be shipped out. I'd been training with other local boys for two weeks. I checked my face in the small mirror. I didn't really fit in here, even after a year of being here. My hair was black, choppy and messy (I had let my sister hack at it with a fabric scissors, to be fair.) I was skinnier and taller than most of the people my age. I didn't enjoy sport, or hunting down girls. I didn't really know how I felt about girls at all... Nothing really.

The hall was big and overheated. There were rows of pew like benches. It was homely and filled with boys my age, excited or nervous like me. One of them caught my eye. He didn't really fit in with these dapper guys either. His hair was light brown and he had a large part of it across his forehead, like the way mine fell although not exactly the same. He was standing by the edge of the pewbench with the ghost of a smile on his face. His head was hung slightly and he was slouched, his slim figure forming a crescent shape. He was wearing brown pants and suspenders and a crisp shirt. I just wanted to get a bit closer to him, to see his face, but I didn't want to make that obvious. I forced my way through the crowd. I stood close enough so that I could look at his face, but so that he couldn't see me looking at it. Wow, he was handsome. Should I think that about a man? My sister always goes on about her pretty her friends are. It's fine. He had eyes the colour of dark chocolate, they showed nothing but the fact he was in a world of his own, daydreaming. I saw him smile a bit, his face lit up like the sun. his eyes moved from the floor to my face. 'Having fun there?' He said. Damn, my spot mustn't have worked as well as I thought. I blushed but laughed it off. 'Hey, my name's Jack. Jack Barakat.' I offered my hand and he shook it.
'Alexander William Gaskarth, but you can call me Alex.'
I smiled. His strong accent didn't suit his regal name. 'Alright Alex, how did you get here? Sign up or conscription?'
He went silent for a minute and looked at the floor. I regretted saying anything. 'I actually signed up.'
'Oh.. do you regret it or... something?'
'Nope!' His expression changed in a millisecond. 'So what's with the accent, Barakat?' He smiled one of his solar smiles.
'I am originally from Baltimore, Maryland. My dad came to Essex for work and there was more money over here, so the whole family was carted over. What?' He was grinning now, an excited look on his face. 'My grandparents are from Baltimore! We could be related!' The prospect didn't appeal to me, I don't know why.

A man called for our attention. He was balding, strong but small with a large moustache. He asked us to line up in rows of ten. I stood beside Alex and two boys joined our line. One had barely any hair, and a round face. He was grinning with spectacularly white teeth at the other boy, extremely broad with a mass of curly browny blonde hair. 'Hi, I'm Rian Dawson.' 'Jack.' I answered and we engaged in small talk. He was a really nice guy. I learned the other boys name was Zachary but preferred to go by Zack.
Maybe I shouldn't have been as worried about this as I was.