With One Touch [DISCONTINUED]

Chapter 2

As Gregory locked the front door, he felt a sudden urge to curl into a ball and cry - cry for his wife and for his pain to end. However, he held it back, taking a long and deep sigh instead and strolling down the long path to the empty streets.

The worn out streets were still crumbling from the bombs, but there were people around him clearing the rubble and filling the leftover holes with cement. The air was still musty and people coughed all around him - homeless people; young children who came back from the country but lost their parents; and workers.

Gregory tried to ignore the crying citizens; he looked to the floor and avoided eye contact, he bowed his Stetson so no one could see his face, and thought about a building he wanted to see before he arrived at his destination. "Please sir, please help me. My home is gone and I have no money left," a woman in rags begged on her knees, holding her hands out in a cup shape to Gregory. "You look like you have money, please can you help me." Out of desperation, the woman grabbed Gregory's trouser leg and pulled, making him stumbled backwards. "Please" she pleaded, shuffling in front of his path and pushing her hands up to his face.

"I'm sorry, I'm in a hurry." He explained, trying to get past her.

"Sir, I'm poor, I have no money, please help." The woman insisted, trying to get up on her bare feet.

"Look, miss, I don't have any money on me right now."

She scanned Gregory with a sceptical expression, "well what about that nice watch? Nice and gold - it's sure to sell for at least ten pounds."

Gregory pushed past her and groaned, "No, ok, I need to go."

"Cheapskate!" She exclaimed. He ignored her and went on his way, turning a left at the end of the street.

He looked onwards and focused on the building he had been thinking of - what was left of it; piles of rubble, scorched and broken wood and shattered glass was scattered around a plot of land behind a rope. Gregory stared into the building that once served as his family's source of income - he recalled the moment he came back to this place nearly nine years before.

Gregory sat in the back of a truck surrounded by other soldiers - silence, sorrow and pain filled the air, and the only thing that settled his thoughts was the anticipation of seeing his wife and son again. He stepped out of the truck and turned around, "Godspeed" he saluted to the other soldiers before taking a right turn.

The street was not that long, but once he saw the fiery blaze of debris, surrounded by people calling out and carrying buckets of water to and fro, it seemed to take an eternity for him to get to what was left of his home.

As the fire died down and he reached the scorched gate of his home, a man turned to him, "M-Mr Tailor..." his grave expression made Gregory's heart burn in fear. The man hung his head down, "I'm sorry - your home was bombed, everything has been destroyed."

"My wife...?" He asked with a little glimmer of hope in his voice.

He looked up at Gregory and shook his head, "she was already dead when we found her. I'm sorry." He patted Gregory's arm and walked away.

Gregory dragged his aching feet towards the charred plot of land, heat was still roaring from inside and smoke stung his eyes. It all looked so small compared to the large structure it looked like before, "it's all gone." He muttered to himself, standing with his shoulders slumped and his head looking down. "Something so big has crumbled to nothing - how did we win?" his attention was then drawn to a shining light underneath burnt wood. He knelt onto one knee and reached for the light, lifting a lid to a container that stored the glittering object. He smiled.

Gregory snapped out of the memory and turned away, heading for his real destination. He could not tell Joseph where he went every week; he did not have the courage. You are pathetic. He thought to himself. You can fight a war but you can't fight your own emotions. He continued forward.

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