That day, Mother woke me up. She caressed my pale forehead fondly, almost instantly making the shivers that flooded my body fade away.

“It’s about time, get up now” She wishpered, her voice sounded raspy, strained, as if she had been drained of all motivation. Her toneles voice gave me no intentions of fighting back. I got up, and made my way towards the kitchen, where I saw a bowl filled with a thick layer of porridge, topped with dry berries which were also wrapped by a thin layer of snow.

My tranquility was suddenly disturbed by a loud slump, a wave of dust filled my eyes, making them reddened and brittle.
“Here” said Mother, her lips chapped “Have this” I was rather surprised by the simplicity of her words, as she used to join together her words to create metaphors of her own kind. I looked up at her, only to see her wiping the dust away from an old-looking book. It’s shy, brown title whispered:
Warrior’s Gold

I wondered why she had given me this, but I didn’t question it, for Mother had always had a hint of suspicion in her eyes.

For a second, I had forgotten what was about to happen, as if war didn’t exist, as if our house was still in one piece, as if I wouldn’t have to leave Mother, as if she didn’t have to leave me.

I put on my dirty shoes. They fit me just right, good enough for the train station anyway. I could see grey clouds through the moth-eaten ceiling, I could feel wind gusting against our thin windows which barely held themselves together, I could sense a storm, which would destroy our house, as if it wasn’t fragile enough.

We suddenly heard a knock on the door. Mother crept towards it and peeked through the peephole.
“They’re here” she said briefly, knowing that if she took longer tears would start rolling down her face. I gulped for air while counting down from ten in my mind, preparing myself. The old door stood tall towering over me, it let out a loud creek as I reached for the rusty handle, revealing a middle-aged man’s figure. Standing at just above 6 feet tall, a slim, pale man who we later found out was called Private McArthy greeted us.
“Kids?” He asked. Mother shakily pushed me towards him, and we left, accompanied only by my book: Warrior’s Gold , by my thoughts, and that was about it.

During the train ride, my fingers slipped though the pages, my mind unravelling as I read each and every page. I could feel my mind growing. Experiencing different emotions, feelings, getting to know various cultures, characters, customs and traditions. The gas that surrounded us as if it was fog didn’t stop me from reading, it made the whole experience pure.

As we got closer to our destination, private McArthy, followed by other privates and corporals, took attendance.

“Tommy, there you are… Otto, Charlotte, Arthur, Chloe, Mathilda, Mary, Luke, Wendy, and…there y’a are…Sean” He shouted “I’ve got some great news for y’all, ten kind souls have signed up directly through our program to foster y’all, now, y’all are eleven, we’re still waiting for someone to save the day!” He purposely tried to make us think someone would actually sign up for fostering in the fifteen minutes of the train ride that remained.

I left my thoughts aside, and kept on reading, expanding my knowledge.

I arrived feeling weak, faint, unsteady, I had never sat for so long. I used to help around home all the time, as I had come to realise my house always had something to fix, wether it was the ceiling, hole in the wall, my broken bedside table…

Just as we were about to meet the candidates who would allegedly be our foster parents, disaster struck. A line of soldiers filled the room, each one firmer and steadier than the one before. It wasn’t long before rifles started shooting, the whole place erupted into dust. I could hear soldiers reciting formations and positions, which everyone else was forced to follow. We were told to leave all our possessions behind, but I wouldn’t let go of my book.

I took out a blank piece of parchment paper, and some ink, my cursive wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough for someone to read. I let out a last sigh and started writing. As bombs started dropping on the roof, I moved from side to side, still writing, soldiers shouted, children cried and shriecked. For some reason, I could feel mother protecting me.
“Gas, gas, everyone put on your gas masks, do it now” I finished up the last sentence and crumpled the note, it was a letter for Mother, inspired by the last page of the book she had given me.

Dear Mother,
It’s been a while since we’ve had a proper conversation, I still remember your soft laugh, that complemented my bad jokes perfectly. I still remember how we used to watch movies together. I guess I’ve always thought of you as something that doesn’t exist: experienced, you had to have experienced everything I had gone through and more, to be able to give me all the advice needed, but you also have to be inexperienced , so that I could surprise you with all my accomplishments. On top of that, you had to have a hint of happiness all the time, to complement my sadness. We’ve always stuck together, supporting each other in the lowest of times, when we had nothing, cuddling together when the holes in our rooftop would freeze us. Now, it’s my turn to thank you for everything you’ve taught me, from the start to the end, it’s always you and I. And I promise to become a better person with you, for you. If you can ever see me again, just know, I love you eternally,
After all, it’s your first time living life too.

Love