A boy at war Essay

The house remained empty. The halls collecting dust and eccentric paintings hanging still on the emerald walls. The door to my father & mother’s room sealed shut. Everything in the house was silent. Nothing broke it. It was the silence that woke me. That day the absence of sound swept around our manor like a wandering spirit. The pale light of morning made me feel as if I had not really woken at all. Though only a child I had never got lost in our manor, but that morning it was not our house. It was a desolate place of darkness and uncertainty. I felt lost and confused. Darkness was in the air.

Then, I heard the sound of voices. My mother and her servants. I followed the sound to a room I had never seen before. It had a tall and prestigious door and a grandfather clock standing next to it. I coiled my fingers around the brass door knob and turned it to enter. To my surprise the room was rather small and a bed was in the centre of the room. My mother was stood in the side of the room with the oil lamp clutched in her hand over a newspaper. She had a tear in the corner of her eye that glinted in the flame like a crystal. I walked over to her and saw what was in the paper. There, printed in the ink, was my father’s name. Next to it were the words ‘Missing in Action’. I couldn’t bear to even look at my mother’s face. I wanted my father to come back the second he left for the war. Now, it was too late for me to see his face again.

For many weeks, the house was silent. We were all mourning the loss of my father. We built a memorial for him out of marble. It stood in our flower garden like a constant reminder that my father was not coming back. His name, engraved on that marble pedestal, haunted me. It called to me and something about it made my mind uneasy. It didn’t make me feel my father was dead nor that he was alive. My mind raced. A boy, that was all I was. What difference could I make to my father’s return? I was an insignificant drop of water in an ocean of doubt.

Since my father had gone missing, things got worse than ever. I walked solemnly through the hallways. My feet would drag against oak flooring. No one was ever in them or even in the doorways at the side of them. Sometimes I felt as if I was the only one in the mansion. I couldn’t walk three steps without feeling alone. The seasons changed but the sky remained as grey as a wolf’s coat. My eyes wept countless pearls of sadness. I never knew anyone could be so changed after one part of life took its course. I was wrong. Life became like an ocean, a never ending sea of pain and loneliness. I felt like the war was tearing me apart from the inside. Like the battles happened inside me.

The years flew past as if they were seconds. I grew into a teenager. The war had just ended but still went on inside me. For our house, the war would never end. Though the guns of conflict were silenced, they raged on louder than ever in my mind. This would not end until my father returned and put a stop to this raging battle. To me it didn’t matter if the Brits or the Germans won. All I cared about was my father.

One day, my prayers were answered. It was a cold autumn evening. The streets were silent and dead. Not even the wind dare make a sound. What started with silence, would end with silence. Poetic, is it not. I was with my mother, in a small room, in a lonely house huddled around the intricate fireplace. Life was completely different. I no longer felt like the richest man in London but the emptiest in the world. Then, I heard a sound that changed my life for ever. Footsteps on the cobbled street outside. However, these came in threes, like a discarded hound left on the side of the road with only three legs to get by. The pounding on the door followed them. It seemed the door may have come off its hinges if there was more than one knock at the great oak door. I didn’t put two and two together that day. My mother got up out of her seat and strolled over to the front door of our manor. What happened then would change my entire existence and shake my life forever.

There, standing taller than anything my mother had seen in a long time, was my father with a crutch in his left hand. My mother’s face lit up with joy and tears streamed down her cheeks. I couldn’t see who was at the door, only my mother’s reaction. I rushed over to the door. It was then that I saw him. The joy and relief I felt was too much for me to bare. My entire body felt as if it was going to shut down. My face was wet with tears and my eyes were hazy with ecstasy. I felt as if my heart was about to burst out of my chest. My father was home.

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