AN: This is the beginning snippet of a new novella that I've started. It's rough. This isn't the entire first chapter, but I wouldn't call it a prologue as what it does is somewhat set the stage. Please review as thoroughly as you can! Thank you!
“Alison, we need to talk.”
Jim's voice is drained of emotion, his eyes, narrow and seemingly colorless in the lamplight in the living room. Outside, the sky is opal-black, and snow swirls violently in the direction of the wind. The fog is thick, obscuring nearly all else on the outside from sight. In the kitchen, the radio plays faintly, reporting these very conditions. I begin to feel lightheaded. The last time Jim was like this, it was two years ago, to tell me that his mother had died.
“Okay.”
Jim gestured toward the couch, and I, without question, take a seat.
“What is it?”
“Just a minute.” When he leaves, I can not help the chills that run down my spine. I feel alone, and afraid, and I don't know why. Nothing has happened yet, and I don't even know whether or not what Jim wants to tell me is bad.
When he returns, he's carrying a slip of paper. His hands are shaking, and there is no color in his face.
“What is that?”
He does not respond with words, but instead he comes to me and shoves the paper into my hands. Then, he takes a seat next to me, clasps his hands tightly and gazes down blankly at his feet.
Before I even begin to read, I feel my hands shake and nearly drop the paper.
“James Rudolph Hastings, you are hear by notified that you have been selected for training and service in the army. You will, therefore, report to the 1507 E. Barrald Place, Cumbin, Illinois, at 7:00 am on December 11th, 1943.”
There was more to the letter, but what I had read was enough. “Are you sure?” was all I could think to say.
“I'm sure.”
“There's nothing we can do, either?”
“I don't think so.”
“What do we tell the kids? How...”
“I don't know.”
I bite my lip, trying to make sense of it all. Just an hour ago, we were a happy family, and our troubles were average. They seemed miniscule compared to now.
I don't know what to say. Different scenarios begin flashing through my head as I see my husband die a hundred different ways. I learn forward to hug him.
“I suppose we'll be doing our part to help the war effort,” he says, trying to reassure me. “If I die there, at least I'll know that it's for my country.”
“Don't talk like that, Jim,” I say. “You aren't going to die there.”
Jim does don't respond this, but instead, we stay locked in embrace. It feels nice. I don't want to think about much else right now. All I can think of right now are Rosalie and Sean, asleep in their beds, peaceful. Tomorrow nothing is going to be the same for them.
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