A Woman in a War

Rating: PG

Warning: Bad grammar, since English is not my first language.

Summary: A British girl stayed at home while her fiancé fought for their country during WWI. This is from the point of view of the girl, named Margaret.

Author's notes: I have no ideas where this plot comes from, but I guess it is from the revision I did in April for the History public exam. I hope I manage to get the facts correctly, for my textbook covers too little on this topic. As usual, reviews are most welcome!

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When men are fighting a war, women at home should stay strong.

"Be strong for me," this is what my Frank told me before heading to France, "Promise me this, Margaret. I am fighting for our country, our future. I will write to you, and when I come home, we will marry."

His eyes were twinkling, like an excited child anticipating for a longed-for treat. I was beaming. My heart swelled with pride for him. He was my hero, is, and forever will be. We had confidence that this war would end with victory for Britain. Frank, my dearest fiancé, would come home with glory.

The whole country was optimistic, every woman in the neighbourhood waved goodbyes to their fathers, brothers, husbands and fiancés. As for my Frank, he went away in a sunny day, the grin on his face was brighter than the sun. I waved at him at the window, mirroring the grin.

Our heroes went to France, to fight evil Germans, to protect innocence from their claws, to bring back glory, prestige, peace and justice. Our country, the Empire would triumph over the Germans within the year at the least, everyone told me, and I told everyone.

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The war became a stalemate. The anticipations and excitements died down as more and more deaths and bad news returned. We were stuck in a war. No one was that optimistic at the moment. But I stay true to my promise. Be strong for Frank, be strong at home.

This was the reason why I did not weep and sigh all day when Frank's letters became less and less frequent. This was the reason why I still had the heart to comfort everyone, including Frank's parents, that we would win, soon.

I genuinely believed that. Villains never win, good people always get to live forever. Isn't that the universal truth?

Even when Frank's letters became more and more unhappy, as though he had gradually lost his passions and spirits, I try to persuade myself to stay strong, for his sake.

But then I questioned for the first time: Was this war necessary? Was that just as simple as we thought? Or, was this war just an excuse to endless and greedy quest for power?

Honestly, I did not know, but I was beginning to have bad feelings about this war. I missed him, but I did not weep. I felt as if we were being separated forever. I never knew whether my letters reached him, and by the end of 1916, he stopped sending letters.

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The mourning bells rang all day long. The loud cheers and expectations were all gone. Every time I went out I heard the sound of women and children weeping. Every time a messenger came to the neighbourhood I feared and dreaded with the other women for the news, grieved with them.

At this moment, for me, no news were good news.

Nobody wanted glory or justice now. Wars cannot bring glory, they bring grieves and despair. Wars are injustice in disguise. Was that fair for young men to die merely in attempts to kill some Germans they never knew?

Everyone wanted to end the war now. We were sick of it. It was no glorified campaign the propaganda told us. Nothing of that sort.

I prayed, daily, that God would return my fiancé to me, just Frank would be enough, even with no glory, nothing.

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It was a rainy day, with the sky grey when another messenger entered the neighbourhood. We may be winning now, hopefully to end the war before the end of this year, but everyone did not have a mind for the battles, every pair of eyes were eyeing the long list held in the messenger's hand.

If Frank's name was not here, he was one step closer from home, from me.

But my entire being turned cold and still when his name was mentioned. Loud and unpleasant.

I saw his parents broke down, crying. I just stood, emotionless. I was shocked, but somehow I had already prepared for it.

"Margaret?" my friends called my name, but I did not answer. I rushed back home.

I took out the wedding gown I had been working on, for our wedding that would never take place now. Only a sleeve missing and the gown was done, but it never would be done now.

Putting it into a box, I shoved it into the deepest corner of my closet and covered it with clothes that I seldom dressed.

Then I sat on the bed, thinking, remembering.

"Be strong for me."

Frank's words were as clear as if they were only spoken yesterday. I knew I should not be vulnerable, I should someday move on.

I knew I should be strong, and I have decided that I will be.

Nevertheless, I still broke down, cried my eyes out for a few days or probably weeks. I had lost trace of the time I spent on crying. And I wept at his funeral, grieved over the fact that I shall never see his face. His body was buried amongst millions of death soldiers in the trench, covered in mud and blood. He was lost forever.

I cried, not because I was weak, but because of the cruelty of fate. Because I knew, the amount of the tears I shed cannot be more than the amount of blood he lost.

The war destroyed my passionate and simple view of the complicated world. Brightness was over for me, Frank was dead, and I, the girl he loved, was going to survive, to continue living in this cruel world.

The End