The weather was rain pouring down while Fern and her family was planning for a life without fear, but who could truly promise they would be safe?
“I hope we will have grass!” Fern’s little sister exclaimed, the pink eyes gleaming with hope. She ruffled up in the child’s feather-like hair but said nothing. Outside the sounds of war, rain, and thunder … maybe bombs … shook the inner core of the many children.
Great Britain. In ruins.
It was not too long ago the war broke out, Fern still carried the memories of a happy childhood. A happy country, but she knew that England destroyed themselves and now during the Third World War, there was no hope. She watched as her mum pulled her sister close to cover her eyes and ears, but the child was born into war and knew nothing else.
These three were the only left of a large family.
Her brothers, killed in combat. Their father, killed by American soldiers.
Fern was not certain they would survive. Not sure they would be able to survive the trip over the pond, but it was their only hope. To get safe.
Quiet. Scary, scary, calmness in the midst of fear. The three of them hold their breath.
“there will be grass where we are going,” Fern whispers into her sister’s ear.