#valcntia

Some days he still wakes up with the sound of bullets in his ears, or his sisters’ names on his tongue. Just like sometimes he catches that empty, mournful look in Bell’s eyes and knows nothing he can do or say will really help; and there are some days where his leg is so painful it’s all he can do to to shuffle around the house with his walking stick. In all fairness it’s not like he’s ever expected anything different, he never expected finding Bell to suddenly fix everything. How could he? But things are getting better, slowly but surely. 

Because for all of those days, there are days like this. Days where the sun is out and they are able to go out for a walk without having to sit down all that often. Sometimes there is a pastry, or an ice cream, other times not. Either way these are the days that Rudy lives for. Not only because when he is hand in hand with Bell anything seems possible, but because these are the days where he really learns about her. Oh of course they know each other, war years and hiding in churches will do that, but there are little things, favourite colours and embarrassing childhood stories, that were made a mystery by language barriers. So it’s on a sunny afternoon like this that they learn. 

“Hey, are you alright love?” 

A stupid question, really, because the kid clearly isn’t alright at all. Alright kids don’t sit crouched in alleyways crying. Something that Ally knows for a fact (she’s not alright either). Cautiously she takes a step towards the girl, well aware that she walks a fine line between comfort and scaring. Slowly she crouches until she too is sat on the dirty ground, but leaving a gap between her and the kid; she doesn’t want to scare her further. Silence sits between them, heavy, awkward and Ally plays with it for a moment while she tries to find some words that might be useful.  

                     “Are you lost? Are your parents round her or-”

Or don’t you have any? A month ago the idea of a kid living here on the streets would have been unimaginable, that in its self is now laughable. And judging by the girls appearance there hasn’t been looking after her for a while. A runaway? Maybe, but now isn’t the time to ask. Instead she rummages around in her pockets until she finds the half full packet of chewits. When in doubt: sweets. She unwraps one for herself before offering the packet over to the girl. 

 War-torn streets had never been anything suited for children,   but yet they had always been there, like fleeting ghosts in the   ruins of what had once been homes, and with their eyes sad   and hollow as they had watched the soldiers march by. 

 It had not been until she had seen the children that she had   realised what a horrifying thing the war was, and that the   suffering the soldiers experienced wasn’t limited to them.   Europe was being torn to pieces, killing people who was   not even there to fight, and in a way she was feeling guilty   for being a part of the whole thing. Her country was one   of those ruining Europe, and she knew they would always   carry guilt, no matter the outcome. 

 Stopping her tracks at a movement in a ruined house along   what had once been a street like any other, she took a   moment to dry her hands on her uniform before she took a   step in the direction of the house.