The faded brown bag has scratches and holes, but it’s big and secure. The zipper has almost fallen off and the handle is worn. The print on the front of the bag is no longer there, and the corners are chipped and falling off. The insides are tattered and gross, the bottom scattered with crumbs and dust.
I open it up, and to my content the bread is still in there. It’s not a big chunk of bread but it’s enough to keep me happy. There’s a slight tint of mold coating the outside, but other than that it seems to be in perfect eating condition. I also collected a newspaper about… war? It was worth being chased after. Breaking the corner of the bread, I eat it, being careful to ration my food. It tastes better than any of the meals I’ve had in the last month, but it’s still not the best.
I place the remaining bread back in the bag, and watch as a paper boy goes past, a very familiar paper boy, a lifelong friend in fact.
“Hey Pete!”
Pete looked over,
“Oh hi Lara!”
He turns his bike in my direction, as quickly as an automobile.
“Just dropping off the paper, would you like one?”
Without me even telling him that I’ve already got one, he hands it to me. I take a quick glance at it.
“Very interesting newspaper today. Something about war, I hear it’s high paying and the adventure of a lifetime,”
he grins,
“They say it’s a man’s job, no ladies allowed. I’m thinking about joining myself,”
I smile at him, and he smiles back,
“See you later!”
Walking past the iconic Big Ben, I dream about being able to tour it, but I have no idea how I’d get the money. Then the thought that had been haunting me all day is suddenly in my mind. I should join the army. I need the money, and it doesn’t sound all too bad. It sounds exciting and enjoyable, at least from what I’ve read in the newspaper. The only issue is that I'm definitely not a man, but maybe I can make it appear like I am. I hold my long blond hair and a tear wells in my eyes. I walk into the barber shop and grab all of the change from my pocket.
My hair is gone. My precious, long blond hair is gone. All that’s left is an ugly short hair cut, that was way too overpriced for how it looks. My pocket is now empty and I don’t even have a penny left.
The worst part is it’ll take me months to grow it back, no, years to grow it back. I’m starting to regret my decision to go along with this, but there’s no going back now. I’ve made up my mind. My heart is pounding, a drum beating in my chest. My name is Lara Trilling and I’m joining the army.
“Name?”
The first question the recruiter asked me I had forgotten to account for. Luke, Liam, Lincoln, Larry…. I had to think of a name quickly.
“Laro!”
I shout unexpectedly. The man gives me a concerned look, “Strange name. Laro who?”. I smile widely, and shake his hand.
“Laro Trilling, sir,”.
He gives me a cold glare,
“Age? Gender?”
I know that I’m only 15 but he won’t be able to tell the difference.
“I’m 19 years old, and a male,” He nods his head with acceptance. “Head over to the waiting room,” I let out the breath I’ve been holding.
On the way to the waiting room I immediately become distracted. There's loud chatter throughout the whole building, paired with the busy rustling of moving equipment. I can see groups of men huddling around each other and whispering in corners, they haven’t seemed to bathe in weeks, it smells vile. Some of them are carrying small bags, which likely have clothes and books. It all seems so surreal that I’m actually doing this. There’s flashes of colours everywhere I look, wives kiss their husbands, and children hug their fathers. My eyes well up with tears and I quickly rub them with my sleeves, mourning what I should have, but celebrating the bright future ahead of me.
After I’ve been examined: weighed, tested for strength, and had a health check-up, I leave the building. The cool air whips my face, a relief from being inside for several hours. The official men told me to come back tomorrow to depart for France. I’ve always wanted to go to France, it has great praise and looks lovely in photographs. Pete and I always dreamed of going there, and now our dream can come true, although I haven’t told him that I signed up yet, I wonder how he will react. Happy that I’m joining him? Angry that I didn’t consult him? That was an issue to worry about later.
All of my stuff is packed, not that I have much. I have a diary in my bag, along with a book, clothes, a dozen pens, a hat and the piece of bread I stole yesterday. Looking at it now, I have remotely nothing. Oh well, be optimistic. I can use the clothes as blankets if I need to, I can read the book when I’m bored, eat the bread when I’m hungry, use the pen and diary to write, and use the hat for when it’s raining.
That’s better.
I put it all into my bag and put a jumper on. The realisation hit me, this was the last time I’d be in London for a while. I’m ready for war.
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