New Beginings

• Ethan Fox, Grade 7
• Short Story
• 2013

The letter was only the start. It contained the neat cursive writing of my Dad’s Commanding Officer. Wait, let me explain from the beginning.
Hi, I'm Rose Watson, and I am twelve. My father is fighting in World War II. He is a Spitfire pilot. We got Dad’s last letter about two months ago, and we’re all extremely worried about him, especially my little brother, John, but we’re all managing to stay positive. It is a rainy day and I am looking out the window thinking about how much the rain drops look like tears streaming down the glass. After a few minutes I see a man coming up the drive way.
“Mum,” I call, “The post man is here.”
She and John come to the door and I open it for them.
The post man hands my mother an envelope, mutters something to her, and walks away. We all sit down at the table.
“It’s a letter from your father’s Commanding Officer,” she says, her voice stony.
“I am sorry to inform you that, Flight Lieutenant Douglas Watson,” she starts to read, “is missing in action.”
That is all that she can manage before we all burst into tears. At that very moment, John collapses on the table beside me. Mum rings for the ambulance, in a panic, and they come, put my unconscious brother on a stretcher, and drive him to the hospital.
John is diagnosed as having had a bleed into his brain, called an aneurysm, and the right side of his body is paralysed.
The next day, and for many more, we drive to the hospital to see how John is doing. Every day he is weak, but improving. He keeps asking about Dad, but we have no news.
It is Tuesday afternoon, and we are at the hospital. Mum is beside the bed holding John’s hand, and telling him everything will be okay, and I am sitting in a chair thinking about the terrible things that have happened to John and the rest of my family over the last few weeks. Suddenly, John’s head jerks up.
“Daddy!” he shouts.
“Yes, John, I know that you want your father, but he is missing, remember?” Mum replies softly.
But John is not listening. He is pointing behind my Mum. We turn to look where he is pointing. Entering the room, in a wheelchair, with one leg missing, is my father.
“Hey mate, it looks like we’ll have to learn to walk again, together,” smiles Dad.