From upon a poppy field...

One teenage girl. One teenage boy. They first set eyes on each other in 1914, July 28th, and begin to fall in love. But will an event, which changes history forever, tear them apart?


23. 29th July - Tristan

I hear the deep rumble of the pickup truck, but I knew it was there before I heard it. I look outside the grimy window, raising a hand to smear off the disgusting dirt that patterned the glass.

"Well, If they're calling the cavalry, they might as well pick us up in something that doesn't look like something that was centuries old, kicked around in the mud then left to rot for 5 years" I mutter under my breathe. Outside was what barely passed for a truck, when really, it was a lump of rusty metal wielded together using a heavy blowtorch and a couple of bolts. It spluttered like a choking man, and an ancient one at that.


I shake my head and I look at the mirror, knowing this would be last time. I take in my appearance. I wasn't much, too weak, too soft. I had almond shaped eyes that I wasn't sure were bright green, or really sea-like blue. Maybe it was a bit of both, I never knew. I had coarse, sandy blond hair that stuck up in a permanent state everywhere. I attempt to flatten it under my shaking and sweaty palms of my hands, which as usual, never went down. I was often thought of a troublemaker, due to the crazy and untamed hair. I chuckle softly under my breath. I guess I was a troublemaker, but I did it mostly to cover the loneliness.


Laughter was a good way to cover the pain.


Freckles splayed out across my nose, which stuck up a little at the end. I wrinkle my nose a little, and I smile sadly, but only a little. My tan skin turns taut as my muscles try to form a weak smile. I had an okay smile, I guess. A lot of people said I had an amazing smile, and a lot of girls called me attractive. I never thought of myself as attractive, I guess. I wasn't exactly horrific, but I preferred books over people. Except, maybe that really sweet and beautiful girl who I see every day, the one who carries the milk pails a good mile. I wish I had the guts to talk to her, but it didn't matter now. But I thought of her as I stepped down the stairs, the wood creaking beneath my weight. She looked different than the other girls in the village, she was unique. I remember the one time, when I watched her carry the milk pails, and she was reading a book at the same time. I try to stop her, but she fell smack bang into a tree, spilling the milk everywhere. I remembered helping her up, and she was blushing furiously. I grinned and walked off, leaving her there with the new bottles of milk I had bought from the stores a couple of minutes earlier.


I drift out of the memory as I step outside, the daylight blinding me. I walk up to the tin can that was called a truck, with a burlap sack in my hand that contained Sherlock Holmes, a spare change of clothes and a picture that was several years old. It was of Edward and I, by the river with our parents. We all looked so happy, and our parents were giggling at a joke I had cracked. Edward and I had an arm around each other, falling on the ground we were laughing so hard. This was when everything had made sense, before Ed's parents had been killed and my Mother and Father....disappeared. I was told that my Father had died several years ago, of Typhoid Fever. I smile as I remember him singing to me a song. I still knew it off by heart now. I step on the bus, noticing Edward wasn't on here. I sang it softly to myself as I sat down at the back of the truck, so no one would notice I was underage.


"Stand side by side,

hand in hand.

Let the troubles slide off you,

let the sun shine on your face.

Time slips away.

Upon the Poppy Field"



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