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Rickety stone bricks lined the walls, and the floor was composed of poorly carpentered oak. A mere hole in the westernmost wall acted as a window, allowing small streams of natural light to hit the floor. Dust particles floated gently just above the ground, illuminated by the glow.
Lucille wore a lengthy ivory gown with faded leather shoes, and her hair had been secured neatly in a ponytail. The house seemed empty, as nothing could be heard beside the creaking floorboards. A small cot sat in the corner of the room, adorned with cotton sheets and a singular pillow. She paced through the room, trying to avoid making any sudden movements. Just then, a loud, resounding knock on the door made her flinch.
“Lucille, darling, are you just about ready?” her mother’s voice called from the opposite side of the door.
She debated whether to answer or not, but before she could make the conscious decision, her mother called for her again.
“Lucille are you alright?” she said, her voice now laced with worry. “Do you need any help?”
After contemplating for a moment, she finally replied.
“No, no, I am alright,” Lucille answered quickly, fiddling with her empty hands.
“Oh good, dear you had me worried,” she replied, chuckling at the end of her sentence. “Well, I wanted to let you know that your morning meal is ready, and your father is waiting.”
Temporarily ignoring her mother’s wishes, she glanced around the room again, noticing a rotting table standing opposite the window. A small clay pot rested atop it, filled with various rings and necklaces. She rummaged through it, examining the silver jewelry. A flash of light caught her eye, and she pulled out a shiny silver bracelet. Her father’s incendiary attitude towards jewelry crossed her mind, but against her better judgement, she snapped it around her left wrist.
Lucille pushed the heavy door open, revealing the rest of the brick house. The smell of warm bread and apple cider filled the air with a delectable scent. An older woman with deep brown hair sat quietly at the table, crocheting something with thick, brown yarn. Across from her, Lucille’s father with the same raven hair as her cut through his food hastily. He was the first to notice her.
“Ah, you’re finally here,” he said, feigning enthusiasm. “You know, you’ve been waking up later and later dear,” he concluded. He took note of the bracelet dangling from her wrist, and a scowl crept across his face. Before he could complain about it, her mother diffused the situation.
“Your father is right, honey,” her mother added, now looking at Lucille. “I know these times are stressful, but you cannot allow it to get in the way of your education”.
She simply nodded, knowing arguing with her parents was futile. Making her way across the dining room, she took a seat in between her parents.
The food tasted even better than it smelled. The toasted bread had been drenched in garlic butter and topped with lemon zest. A hearty glass of apple cider stood to the left of her plate, the carbonation enticing her to drink it. Lucille’s mother had no plate, and she assumed she must have eaten in the time it took her to get ready. Her mother’s crochet hooks moved about each other with immense speed, fabricating what now appeared to be a blanket. Returning her focus to her plate, the three of them sat in silence.
After clearing her plate, her father stood abruptly, fixing the collar of his beige shirt and running a hand through his hair. Her mother stood as well, walking over to her husband and placing a kiss on his cheek.
“You better get going now, hon,” she said, a smile gracing the edge of her mouth. Her father returned the gesture before turning on his heel and walking out the door. Her mother picked up both his and Lucille’s plates, taking them through a doorway out of sight. Lucille was about to question her mother about any news regarding the war, but before she had the chance, her mother’s voice rang from the other room.
“You need to get going now too, dear,” she said matter-of-factly. “Your father works very hard to pay for your schooling. We wouldn’t want to let that go to waste.”
Lucille nodded even though her mother couldn’t see her. Standing up from the table, she smoothed the newly formed wrinkles in her dress. Her mother appeared around the corner, holding a leather bag.
“Wouldn’t want to forget this,” she held the bag out to her. She took it hesitantly, and she disappeared from her sight again. “Well, go and get a move on, dear,” she tells Lucille, annoyance now creeping into her voice. Feeling defeated about leaving for school, she slung the leather bag over her shoulder and headed for the door her father had just left out of.
Even though the day had just begun, the sky was still unbearably gloomy. A soft breeze traveled through the air, causing the surrounding shrubbery to shudder. The road wasn’t empty, in fact it was quite the opposite. Other girls with the same ivory uniform Lucille wore advanced down the road in waves. Instinctively, she followed them. They all had their hair pinned back behind their heads. Lucille made eye contact with a girl with light brown hair and eyes to match. A smile immediately appeared on her face as she began skipping towards her.
“Lucille!” she exclaimed. “I’ve been looking for you since a quarter till,” she finished her statement.
“Oh, yes, I was running a little late,” she replied timidly, almost wary of her constant blithe personality.
“Have you heard,” she began, ignoring her timid response. “Everyone is talking about how the headmaster might cancel the spring season project,” Margot told her, watching her expressions to gage her reaction. She feigned surprise and a little sadness.
“Why would he?” Lucille asks, an edge of a frown materializing on her face. Margot nods along, agreeing with her sentiment.
“All the parents are concerned about the war,” she goes on, less enthusiastic about the topic. “They want the headmaster to end this school year early, which would cancel the spring project”.
Margot’s parents had spoken more freely about the ongoing conflict than Lucille’s parents did. Just as she was about to question the details of the war, another girl with short, blonde hair emerged from the crowd. She paid no mind to Lucille, instead focusing on Margot.
“Margot! You must see this!” she called out to her. Margot glanced towards her direction, locating who called her name. She turned back to Lucille.
“I’ve got to go, I’ll see you in literature,” she says, flashing one more smile before disappearing into the crowd.
Lucille continued following the rest of the people down the dirt road until they all arrived at a stout building. Though it was short, it boasted two stories with a balcony on the second, supported by arching stone beams. All the girls began filing into the main entrance with limestone statues of baby angels guarding either side. The heels of her shoes pattered on the smooth birch floorboards. Girls began splitting from the horde in search of their respective classes. The narrow hallways were barren with low ceilings.
A posse of three girls frayed out of the line, walking into a small classroom. Above the doorframe, the words ‘Bible Literacy’ were etched into the stone. Lucille followed the girls into the class. Cushions were laid in the center of the room in a U formation. A large oak desk sat tucked in the corner across from the door. The girls took their seats next to each other, and Lucille took a seat a few cushions away. A woman wearing a long, black dress entered the room. The sleeves were loosely fitted and flared around her wrists. She took a seat at the desk and started shuffling papers. She tapped the stack and each sheet fell into order. Almost as if on cue, Margot scurried into the room. Her breathing was slightly uneven, but Lucille assumed it was from trying to get here in a hurry.
Class started, and Margot had made no attempts to talk to Lucille. She twiddled her thumbs nervously and glanced around the room every so often. Another woman dressed the same as the lady at the desk walked into the room. A worrisome expression creased her face, and she whispered something in her ear. The woman at the desk turned to Margot. Without saying anything, Margot stood and hurriedly left. Trying to shake the anxious feeling that was now brewing in her stomach, Lucille returned her attention to the teacher.
No other students seemed to notice or mind Margot’s leaving. The teacher began lecturing about the deeper understanding of Matthew 24:6, and Lucille almost found it amusing. The wind outside had stopped, fostering an eerie quiet. In the middle of her sentence, the teacher stopped talking. In her silence, Lucille noticed the entire class now all appeared worried. Hushed chatter began amongst the scholars when Lucille noticed the teacher was now crying. She followed her pained gaze to look out of the window, and that’s when she saw the cause of her tears.
Soldiers. Hundreds of them in royal blue uniforms holding rifles. Everyone was now looking out the window, frozen with fear. The soldiers marched closer out of the forest, only thirty meters from the classroom. The teacher’s voice cut through the silence.
“Everything is going to be alright,” she said, her voice wavering heavily.
“Madam Durand, are they coming to take us?” a girl with straight brown hair asked.
“No, no, they won’t,” she replied uncertainly.
The soldiers were only 20 meters away now. Their stoic faces were unwavering. Then, they all stopped. One of them, wearing a white sash across his uniform raised his weapon. Time seemed to slow.
He raised the firearm.
He aimed.
He steadied.
He fired.
A mind numbingly loud gunshot shattered the window of the classroom. Screams erupted from the students as they fought their way out of the door. Another shot zoomed through the now open window, planting itself firmly in Madam Durand’s chest. She crumpled to the floor, dying before she hit the ground. Bullets were flying now. As Lucille got up to follow the others out, another shot pierced the girl behind her. She let out a hysterical scream before tripping on the hem of her uniform.
Lucille managed to make it out the door and into the crowded hallway. By now, the entire school was panicking. Hordes of students ran around aimlessly while teachers attempted to calm them. An array of bullets fractured the window at the rear of the building. One by one, armed soldiers invaded the schoolgrounds, firing at anything that moved. The teacher’s efforts had gone to waste. All the students, including Lucille, broke into a full sprint out of the main entrance. She ran through the forest to the right of the school breaking through trees and shrubbery to evade strays.
Rain from the night before had turned the dry dirt into liquid mud. It caked around the edge of her skirt, staining the ivory fabric a putrid shade of brown. The soldiers were still hot behind every student that fled into the forest. A girl running beside her fell as a bullet pierced the back of her leg.
She ducked and dived between low-hanging branches, trying desperately to avoid falling behind. A willow branch snagged her hair, pulling it out of a ponytail. With one final claw at the branches in her way, she burst into the open field behind the forest.
Just as she thought she had made it; a bullet grazed her right shoulder. A scream ripped from her throat as she clutched her arms together in pain as bright red blood squirted from the abrasion. She kept running. The open green hills gave her nothing to hide behind and the hazy, grey sky provided no distraction. She held her wound, hoping to stop the bleeding, or at least minimize it. Her legs were aching, and she began slowing down against her will. The screams around her faded and her vision became hazy. She willed herself to keep running, unaware of the massacre behind her and the destination that lies ahead.