The front line

Emma is spending the summer at her grandparents. What was supposed to be a boring day turns out to be the journey to her past. She travels in time through a series of notebooks belonging to A. Parke and C. Rexach whom lived during World War 1. What will she encounter in her journey back in time?

That's up to you to find out...



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3. Diary of C. Rexach

April 1st, 1917

 

  I awoke an hour earlier than usual, because was barely out of the horizon. Josette is still unconscious in another world. I envy her at the current moment. I am looking at my mother's ring, which I plan on illustrating later on. The day will be long, but shorter than the last.  I hope for the day that this war will end. I await for the sun to come out of hiding, because if it does, it will mean hope is not lost yet. I can no longer contain myself, I must get ready for the day. I carefully wash my face to wake my spirit, I comb trough my hair, I don't even feel like making myself look pretty. Josette wakes moments later and washes her face and combs her hair in a delicate braid. She dresses and helps me with the bodice. I am so thin I need to wear the bodices once worn by children. When I am fitted in the worn green dress, I look at the mirror, well the remains of a mirror. I just twist my hair and tie it down with some pins. This is the best I can do for a long time.

    The day was very quick , and unusually quiet. No Germans have crossed side since March 18. I expect an attack any day now. Around a quarter after noon, the door of the lodge is opened by  François Valjean, lieutenant to our side. He is followed by a much younger looking face. He is a tang handsome, but most of his face is covered by a hat and a scarf, all I could decipher were his eyes, those beautiful blue-green eyes. I step myself away from the trance emitted by that mysterious man with blue-green eyes. I feel him gazing at me. I look at François and show him the table he usually goes for in the back. Andrious asks for more liquor, and I go get it. Once I return to François, he has taken the table and is in uniform. The man that came with him wears a British uniform, the Royal Armed Forces, with the air wings on his chest. His face reminds me of someone I know. But it couldn't possibly be him. I snap a few words at François, and I do not wish to share them. I got  their Vodka and was about to return to the table. I reached the first glass when my skirt was hicked up. I spilled the drinks and turned around and slapped JeanLuc. I know it was stupid, but he knows not to. He pulls me close, calls me a slut and unbuckles his belt. He is capable of it, of raping me. 

   François tries to reason with me, but I'm so scared I don't listen. Then I hear a different voice. It is soft,  but masculine, a tenor. I turn to look, it's the Brit. He speaks French fluently! He is so charismatic that JeanLuc hands me over, slaps me and earns a bit of saliva from me. I'm carried out of the room before he can touch me. The Brit is surprisingly strong. I am over his broad, square shoulders. I began to scream and kick. I slapped him once in the room. I questioned why he hadn't told me he spoke French. It was quite amusing to see him clench his jaw.   I rather not explain his sexist reponses, but deep inside, I knew he was partially right, men are almost always right.  

  It seems as if he doesn't like being right. After I gave Josette specific instructions to come back moments later, I give him a quick inspection. He has dark hair in thick waves, an oval face, with his blue-green eyes marking his face. He has decent sized lips, but he looks so young. I cannot help feel something for him. He is tall, and well built, he so handsome. I envy Josette, she is beautiful, with her golden hair and peach skin. I am but a Français-Espagnol, a French-Spanish. 

  He looks at me intently. When his eyes grace mine, his lips part in a smile. His face transforms, he has dimples, and he becomes even more handsome. I feel myself drowning over him. "Miss, I do not wish to be rude, but, I must get going. The trench needs commanding." He spoke. I wouldn't be surprised if he were a Senior Officer. He commands respect. "You cannot leave yet, I'm afraid. If you leave know, you won't be trusted. I am afraid Josette has to go through you before anything." His eyebrows creased. 

  I would get him trough myself, if I didn't value my virtue enough. Josette entered and began to undo his uniform. He shook his head a d slipped away from her. "What is wrong? Doesn't she please you?" I asked. Josette was the best around. He was a Brit, he deserved the best that could be offered. He didn't answer. I bid her out and walked to him. His height intimidates me, but he cannot know that. I made him walk backwards and fall on a chair. He sat. Looking at me carefully. 

"Sir, you don't seem to understand. You must go forth with this." He shook his head. "I can't. Some things must remain the way they are. I can't let you." He said. His buttons were still undone. "You don't wish to be satisfied then?" I asked stepping closer to him. He shook his head again. "Very well, but they must still hear you moan from downstairs. But don't worry, I won't undress you or me. I will use another method." 

  He eyed me from top to bottom. His eyes let out a curious flick. Once I was at arms reach, I caressed his face, it had some stubble. I smiled, at him and his shoulders tensed. I sat on his lap, and kept caressing him. His heart sped, and I could feel myself blush. He is so handsome, and I am yet so close to his lips. I hook my arms around his neck and begin to kiss him. He becomes rock solid and pushes me away. "Mademoiselle, please don't." I laugh. "Don't worry, I won't go to far, I just want to make sure they hear you whimper. I'm very careful, and we'd both be grateful afterwards if they know it's me and not Josette." He seems to call down a bit. I continue to kiss him, his neck, his face his lips. His lips are so soft. Il gémit, it se sent vulnérable! 

   He reaches for me. He kisses me. He pulls me close, Sainte Marie, je tveux le sentir entre mes jambes!  I can no longer take it. I want him. He kisses me so tenderly. I feel complete. I pull away, I'm scared. He finishes the kiss and looks at my lips, his hair is wild. I kiss him, his neck, his hands slip, pulling me closer. I let out a moan. He feels exquisite. I feel out of breath. 

  When our bodies seem to fade out I feel him kiss my neck. "How in earth did a beautiful woman end up on my lap, kissing me?" His voice, once a soft tenor, was raspy. I smile at him. He thinks I'm beautiful. I get up from his lap and help him up. He looks at me with lust. Luxure, such danger it brings. I look at his chest, the uniform all a mess, the white shirt underneath with the top buttons open. There is a crucifix hanging on his neck. 

  Sainte Marie, Mère de Dieu, priez pour nous pauvres pécheurs, maintenant et à l'heure de notre mort, cet homme, se soucie que dansce la grâce de votre fils, m'a sauve, Amen. 

  I prayed. He was a good man. I kissed him, and he lingered. "Why do you pray for me? I am but a man." He said. "Not all me are bad. You are one of them." He turned to the door. I turned around and began to undo the front of the dress. I saw him look at me with the corner of my eye. He left. 

  That man is impossible, but I believe I will help him. 

  "Cathryn! He's gone, and God did he moan! He is gorgeous!" Josette exclaimed late at night. 

"Yes, he did moan." I said aloud.And my did I moan with him...

 

 

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