Panic

~9~

The situation was oddly familiar. Sat in a small space with a scalding cup of tea clasped around my fingers to warm them. Only this time I was more broken.

Every time I blinked images flitted in front of my eyes of death, murder and unbearable pain. Despite the exhaustion eating away at me I couldn't bare to close my eyes.

Sat around me, every soldier wore a replicated gaunt expression that revealed they had the same thoughts as me.

The little room was so strange to the new me. The varnished wooden walls, benches topped by squishy blue cushions and warm blankets laid in a pile on the floor.

Hoping and praying that wherever we were going, it was away from the beaches, I coughed a hoarse sentence from my painful throat.
"Where are we going?"

The boy I had aimed it at was a few years younger than me, wearing a zigzagged pattern vest jumper over a pale shirt. Most of his brown hair was obscured by a large white bandage wrapped over his head.

"Back to England miss. I'm going back to Dorset. Where are you from?"

I hesitated for a second, deciding whether to reveal my nationality or not, wondering whether it would trigger the same drastic reaction from this boy that it had with Alex.

"Dunkirk." I replied flatly, the word now tasting poisonous in my mouth.

Tommy wasn't far away, his hands too clasped around a mug, but he had already drained his tea. He looked over at the boy. I don't know whether he meant his words sincerely, or to protect me, but either way he still spoke.

"Everyone here's from Dunkirk. By nationality or tourist or war, we all ended up on that forsaken beach, and all got this chance to escape." The boy's expression looked slightly shocked, and he replied with the stuttered words of someone who didn't wish to offend.

"Sorry sir, I didn't mean it like that. Just wanted to make some conversation." He looked down and started twisting his left foot like he was trying to screw it into the ground and bury himself away from the encounter.

I felt a warm smile creep across my face, reaching my eyes and making them crinkle at the edges. This sweet boy was only trying to be friendly. Probably didn't understand what shell shock is. Heck even the government didn't understand.

"I'm Rosa by the way. What's your name, and the other crew on the boat?" The boys head raised and his posture visibly relaxed when he saw the smile on my face.

"I'm George. Mr Dawson's the owner of the boat, and Peter's his son. I don't know anyone else because Peter made me sit down because of my head, but it's alright now."

***

We kept chatting for a while, just your average small talk to create an idle distraction, and I could almost forget where we had just left. But soon enough, Mr Dawson called George up to the helm, and I was left in silence again.

Alex was asleep, and not worrying about the incriminating stares of the other soldiers, I slipped my hand in to Tommy's and laid my head against his shoulder. He nudged me slightly.

"Let's go see the cliffs."

We stood, our hands no longer linked, and climbed up some pine varnished stairs. I shielded my eyes from the rays of sunlight that blinded them, and clasped my hand around a ledge to keep myself steady from the rock of the boat.