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Lucille
A soft, golden sun fell upon the green landscape in the early morning. La ferme de lavande gave way to the buzz of bees and melody of the song birds that floated through the gentle air. Smooth hills of purple rolled from the horizon to the courtyard, swaying in the cool wind.
Lucille took a deep breath in, her eyes closed in bliss. "It isn't right." She breathed out.
She could sense someone behind her. Glancing over, she spotted her father, his greying hair and wrinkled face.
"It's too peaceful."
Her father nodded in agreement, jaw clenched and tense. Maron sighed, thinking of where he should have been, out in the trenches.
"Not for long." He finally said, watching for her reaction.
Lucille stared on, upon the acres of farmland that had been left untouched and pristine, despite the war that ripped her homeland in two. How was it fair that it remained flawless when bombs destroyed the landscape mere miles up the road.
She looked down, biting her lip, before sighing and glancing back up, shaking her head. "You're going through with it?"
Maron nodded.
"I want to come with you." She said, finally turning to face him.
In that moment, he looked warn down- more than usual. His eyes were squinted, skin darkened with dirt and sweat. The bags under his eyes were heavy and well built. For the first time ever, he looked fragile.
"No." He said shortly, leaving no room for arguments. "And I won't hear anymore of it."
She gazed after him as he left toward the farm house, leaving his walking stick by the door. Sighing, she turned back. Lucille knew he wouldn't be able to do it alone, not with him being the way he is. His leg had been getting worse. Before the war, when doctors had been available, an operation was almost a possibility. And with the extra workload that he had to take on, she couldn't imagine how much pain he had been in. But of course, he would never admit it.
Lucille hurried after him into their house, skipping around him as she made her way up the stairs and into her bedroom. She allowed her eyes to flutter across the floor, spotting her luggage case that laid empty beneath her bed. It was old, barely used and had a sticky clasp. Lucille pulled the doors to her wardrobe open and rifled through the bottom of it, pulling out old rags and cloths, before stuffing it into her bag.
She sat on the bed, looking around, her hands tucked nervously together. Her room was a small one, but it had a large window, that looked over the fields- it was her favourite thing about the house, along with the piano room that her father had made, that was tucked away in the loft.
She could see a trickle of brown and green dots, moving closer down the dust road that twisted around the farm. She was surprised, as she realised the amount of people that streamed down the street grew uncountable. Her father hadn't noticed their arrival yet, she could hear his loud sniffles and snores.
Lucille made her way slowly down the stairs with her case in hand. She placed her feet at odd angles, cringing as she stepped on a loose floorboard, causing an echo to bounce against the thin walls.
"Lucille." The suitcase in her hand clattered to the floor as she turned quickly to see her father emerging from the kitchen door way. She had only made it half way down the stairs.
"Where are you going?"
"Father, I.."
"When will you learn? I know you Lucille." Maron said, he had picked up his gun on the way to the door.
"I want you to be safe." He said, before turning swiftly out of the door, locking it behind him.
"No! Father!" Lucille screamed, running to the footing and pulling, willing it to open. She pounded her fist against the wood, gradually slowing to a stop as she heard the sound of retreating footfall.
Lucille rushed the back door, tugging on the old lock. Upon realising that it wouldn't open, she turned to the window instead, watching as the crowds of men disappeared into the dark tree line to the back of the road.
"Forgive me father." She whispered to herself, as she brought her covered arm to swing at the small glass pane, letting it shatter around her.
She turned and scrambled through the shallow draw that pulled out from the bench next to the door. Her hand fell onto a cold metal, which she pulled out. It was only a small hand gun, but it would do. Lucille left her suitcase behind and climbed onto the bench, slipping across the broken glass and out of the window. She fell hard to the ground, landing on her already cut knees.
Heading toward the tree line, Lucille could see no person in sight. The gun that she had slipped into her coat pocket weighed heavy. She sucked in a breath and pulled her chin high, before setting off in the direction the group had went: toward the camp where prisoners were held.
