War Angels

• Eleanor Rowland, Grade 4
• Short Story
• 2014

Lila and I have lived in the cliffs for three years.
We have no real food or drink except dirty water from the waterfall and weeds and fruit from the abandoned garden. Our rickety, old cottage has only one room with one table, two mattresses and two chairs all squashed in.
Lila is my six-year-old sister who loves fairies and has a big imagination. Here is one of the fairy tales she wrote:
Once upon a time, a little girl called Millie woke up with wings on her back. She flew around the village to the dog store and bought a dog-called Elizabeth and fed her until she grew wings and they both flew to a place where there was nothing but peace. The end.
My name is Gemmy. I’m thirteen. We are hiding from soldiers and the war. The war is so useless and … well… dumb. I don’t get why people want to kill each other. We live in such misery that we spend much of our time crying for our parents, who left us in this thing of a cottage and vanished. They are not here but at least they aren’t scary like the soldiers.
We are playing a game of hide and seek when we see an army truck coming up the cliff. We flee to our cottage and hide under the mattresses. To try and keep her calm, I tell Lila a story about a monkey, a fairy and a prince who make a yummy banana cake with chocolate sprinkles and strawberries.
It doesn’t work.
We hear footsteps. It looks like they’ve got us. We rise and put our sweaty, cold hands over our heads. I’m so scared. Lila starts weeping straight away. Now I’m even more scared because the bearded man is staring at her, rifle in hand. This could end badly. Very badly.
I start to tell the man the monkey and the fairy story. He’s staring at me now. I’d rather me than Lila. Suddenly, roughly, he drops his rifle and hugs us. What? I’m confused now.
“After all these long, hard years!” he cries. “Gemmy, Lila it’s me! You’re FATHER!”
I’m completely gobsmacked! My father. Back. Now!
We’re reunited! Just one small question. “Where’s…”
Lila cut me off, wailing, “DADDY!” and hugging him.
“Where’s mum?” I ask in a small voice. “Your mother…” he says, more quiet than a whisper, “didn’t make it. She was captured on the bus and…”
He doesn’t finish. I won’t force him. We’re together. It’s supposed to be happy, not tragic.
“Don’t worry,” says Dad. “We’ll move into town when the war is over. War is stupid, isn’t it? Innocent people dying for no good reason.”
In the distance, I hear the tinkling chime of faint church bells. I haven’t heard those since the war started. Wait, does that mean…
“The war is over,” father sighs. And smiles.
We’re in the land of peace and Lila and I are his War Angels.