A little thing I’ve been meaning to write since ‘Dunkirk’ came out. This is based on something that happened to a family friend’s grandparents. It’s the first thing I’ve posted which doesn’t have any smut for years, so please be gentle!
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She woke with a sudden start. Heart racing, skin clammy with sweat, and a deep feeling that made her want to leave her bed to go searching for something. As she sat up and glanced around the room, she found everything was dark and still. There was no cause for alarm, no need for the hammering in her chest, but still it raced.
To try settle the swirling anxiety in her stomach, she climbed out of bed and tread the careful route she had memorised so she could walk it in the dark. When she reached the window, she moved the blackout blind just enough to let some light into the room. The moon was unusually bright, a silver-white light flooded the room and she knelt down to check on her child, fast asleep in the bottom drawer of her dresser. Her little boy was growing so fast, he was already so close to taking his first steps, and he had said his first word, but as she watched him sleep, she understood what her mother meant when she said her children would always be her babies. His long, dark lashes resting on his sweet, chubby cheeks, and the sound of his quiet but steady breaths helped calm her a little, but she still couldn't let go of the feeling of restlessness.
Alex. She'd dreamt of Alex. But it wasn't the kind of dream she normally had about him. Normally she dreamt of times they'd shared before the war began, when they were happy, and life was free and simple, when he was home and he was safe. This dream; she felt the darkness around him, felt how tired he was as his bones ached and the cold seeped into his bones. She felt how much he wanted to give up, the uncertainty that he even had the strength to keep walking. That had been what woke her, the fear that he wouldn't get to where she was going.
He'd been away for so long that he hadn't even seen his son apart from the photograph she had sent him. But she hadn't had a reply in months, and she had no idea if he was okay. She tried to take comfort in the words of her family and his that had anything happened to him then they would have received a telegram, but in moments like this -when all she had was the dark and her thoughts- it was hard to find anything that eased her worries.
The dream, and the gnawing feeling which sat at the pit of her stomach, all seemed to be telling her that something wasn't right. Or rather, that she had to do something.
Treading quietly, she made her way to the bedroom door. Careful not to make any noise and wake her parents sleeping in the other room, she crept downstairs.
The only sound in the living room came from the ticking clock on the mantle, and the faint dripping of the tap in the kitchen. Just as it was upstairs, everything was quiet, and there was no need for the sudden desire she felt to run out of the cottage into the night. But still, she found herself putting her stockingless feet into her shoes and pulling on her coat over her nightdress. As she placed a hat on her head and wrapped a scarf around her neck, she debated over whether to take her son or leave him. Her parents were home, so he would be safe, but the same feeling telling her to go was also telling her to take the baby with her, too.
