Bit 1 Another Day, Another War


I groaned and rolled over in my pale blue bed sheets at the sound of my mother’s voice getting increasingly louder.

“Carrie!” My mother almost screeches at me this time, signalling that this was no funny business. It was time to get ready.

I rolled over and grunted as I saw the numbers on my bedside clock, ’7:15 am’. I hated waking up early, and even with school being a necessity, it never felt like getting up early was made any easier, never.

I slowly brought myself upright, leaning my back against the headboard of my bed. I brought my hands to rub at my eyes, before lifting my arms up higher, moving all of my hair away from my face, as the heavy weighted feeling of tiredness that seems to never leave me temporarily released itself. Mid stretch, I noticed my ma poked her head through the door at the end of my bed.

“Morning, breakfast is getting started downstairs.” She stated her words simply, but with a tone of authority. She turned her head back towards the other side of the door again for a moment, as though she is about to leave, but then promptly looks back at me one more. Her brunette hair swirled and framed around her face with the movement of her body, She tightened her night robe around herself,and she frowned at me before speaking. “The war isn’t going to end with you lying in bed you know!” She announces it naggingly, with a hint of demand in her voice, and then she’s off, trotting down the stairs, with her feet leaving a pitter-patter as she went. That tended to be her excuse to make me do anything she asked, as though I would be contributing somehow in war and the whole of the United Kingdom was relying on me. Hah, fourteen year old me! I laughed out loud to myself at my mother’s somewhat humorous mind.

I lifted my legs up and swung them around, dropping them over the side of my be. With considerable effort, I gradually managed to will myself to stand straight, and moved hurriedly to the tiny family bathroom we shared.

I found myself daydreaming once again as I turned the shower’s hot water tap anti-clockwise. I pondered what it would be like to live in another place, or another time. Just anywhere but plain old Worthing during in the middle of this conflict. I thought of London, and how exciting it must be, even in a place like this. I imagined the constant music that must be heard throughout the streets. I imagined America, and the street parties. The drinking, and the cigarette smoke that would be smelt throughout the air. Anything sounded better than Worthing.

I could think of nothing worse than to end up like my mother. ‘ Bio: lived in Worthing; spent a few years working in a shop in Worthing; retired in Worthing; died in Worthing. ’ Summary: ‘Never left Worthing.’ I hated the idea of being one of those elderly women that wakes up one morning and realising that they could sum up their whole life with a handful of words.

The water runs cold and I’m startled. I rushed to turn off the tap quickly, shivering, as I reached for the towel on the other side of the door to wrap it around myself, instantly relieved at the comforting warmth that began envelop me. I huffed thankfully at the feeling before, moving towards the cabinet, next to my small single bed. I sighed as I opened the large wooden doors and reached for the brown, checked dress with puffy sleeves that hung at the top right. I chucked it on, watching it drop to my knees and swish about in circular motion.

The sunlight shone through window behind my headboard, and I looked up as it grabbed my attention.

I rested my head in my arms on the windowsill, for a few short moments, and casted my eyes downwards. I took in mothers with their prams, and the older children holding their hands, as they hurried through the morning rush hour. I liked to imagine their lives, and what they would be doing throughout their days. It was like putting the pieces of a puzzle together.

Turning my head back over my right shoulder, I glanced at the desk and mirror set by my cabinet that I had owned since I was a mere five years old. It had been passed down to me from my mother, and before my mother it was my grandmother who had owned it. She died relatively young, so it had become mine at a small age. I sat down at the white wooden stall, and picked up my silver hair brush, running my hands along. Unlike most girls at the age I was then fussed about their hair, yet the only thing I could ever bring myself to do with it was to quickly brush, and then tie it up into a pony tail.

I looked back down at my clock quickly, with my hair in a fresh ponytail swaying at either side of my neck. I exhaled, gasping as I noticed that it had already been thirty minutes since I had awoken. The time now read ‘7:30am,’ and I hadn’t yet eaten breakfast. I examined my room once more, as I looked around for my satchel. The hue of my pink painted walls, and the posters of bands that stuck to them began to blur in my peripheral vision. My eyes lost their focus for a few short moments, as I spun around, before landing on my brown leather shoulder bag that had always rested at the foot of my bed when not being used. I reached out for it, almost tumbling in the process, and grabbed it by the long strap that hung from the shiny brass buckled, and skipped towards the brown wooden door, that my mother’s head had poked through from behind not long before. I felt the smoothness of the filed down wooden doorknob, as I pulled the door backwards, and not long after the subtle thud of it clicking shut could be heard in the distance.

I smiled as I reached the bottom of the stairs, and leaned forward with an extended arm. Our dog Bailey had been waiting for my arrival. The three year old brown and white coloured Border Collie was always bouncing and lively. We had found at the local pet shop. I had been Asking continuously in the months before. Bailey was the last puppy that I had gotten to look at, but the one that would be at the top of my list to take home with us. Her ears flapped around wildly ,and her tail wagged in unison, but it was her eyes that had made me beg my mother and father to make the decision to bring her her with us. They seemed like an endless supply of happiness, as she barked up at us with glossy pupils.

I hear my mother’s voice once more. “Carrie, hastily now. You have half an hour!”

“Ellie stop shouting, will you!” My father’s cold voice could be heard throughout the house as he had addressed her.

I sighed, giving Bailey one more rub by the ears. She follows with her padding paws as I enter the kitchen and my father looks up at me. There are no words spoken between us however, just a short nod, and then his dark eyes looked back towards his paper again, showing me his greying hair. He was a gruff man, and I had always been glad that I had received my mum’s blue eyes. I was grateful to not be given a trait that would’ve reminded of him everyday just by looking at myself in the mirror.

I briefly peeked at the front page, reading the bold Times New Roman font that had been printed top and centre. Date: September, 4, 1939. Second World War Breaks Out. I had found it slightly ironic that not far down from that heading the words ‘President Hates War,’ had been printed.

The smell of bacon and eggs grew stronger, as my mammy had laid the plate of hot piping food down in front of me. I could feel the steam from the heat as it rose up and settled on my face, in an almost soothing way.


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