Everyone’s prayers had been with the soldiers that morning. Polly thought of her Brian, who had to celebrate the holiday in a far away land, seperated from his family and friends. She had not heard from him for months and she just hoped that the mail was delayed. She refused to think of the other options. Brian would take good care of himself. He might be cold and hungry in these dreadful trenches, but he would certainly be safe and healthy.

Every day there were reports of casualties, slain by the horrible technology of the enemy. Their bodies came back in closed coffins and the relations weren’t allowed to see their faces. It was said that most corpses were not even brought back though, as it was impossible to tell whether they were Englishmen, South-Africans, Canadians or Irish. These men were burried in the cold soil of France in anonymous graves, to be forgotten by everyone.
Polly knew that Brian was not one of them. With his knowledge of languages and mathematics, they wouldn’t use him as cannon fodder, would they?
She shook her head at the rumours that they sent people from the colonies ahead to be mowed down by the machine guns. They wouldn’t do that to her Brian. He was far too valuable for them. How many other soldiers knew German?

She greeted the priest and stepped outside. A dense fog was hanging over the city, making it hard to look much further than a few yards ahead. The streets were quiet, as many people were still at church. Today at least it’d be a quiet day, both here and on the front. Even the Germans would repect this week, wouldn’t they?

She walked on, along the river, until she heard a rumour behind her. She turned around and from the mist she saw a group of men appear. Most of them were young, around Brian’s age, but some where in their thirties, and others hardly more than teenagers. They were carrying all kinds of weapons: clubs, guns, rifles… At first she had thought a miracle had happened, that the war was over and that the soldiers were returning home, but then she realized how ridiculous that idea was. These men weren’t soldiers, they were… She had no idea who they were. She stept aside to let them past.
Not a word was said, not a gaze exchanged. They simply marched on towards the city centre.

Polly didn’t know what to do. Should she go and look what was going on? Something was clearly going to happen. On the other hand, there had been rumours and tensions. There might well be trouble ahead.

Curiosity won from caution. She followed the troop on a safe distance. They seemed to be marching towards the castle. Along their route, people were watching from the windows and the doorways. Polly asked a shopkeeper what was going on, but he just shook his head.

She followed the men to the castle, only to realize what was going on too late.

A shot was fired and she saw a man drop to the ground. She did not scream or run. She just stared at the man. Soon another shot was fired. Some of the armed men took cover behind carts and streetcorners, but most of them stormed the main gate.

From the windows, soldiers fired at the crowd and several other men went down. Polly was startled by the violence. She couldn’t move. She stared at the men lying on the ground. She had never seen a corpse before, and was surprised that the sight of them did so little to her. They were just bodies, lying in puddles of blood. Around her there were screams and shouts, people were running around, soldiers and rebels were firing shots. No one seemed to notice her and it was all like in a dream. The sounds seemed far away and time seemed to slow down. Yet she still couldn’t move. Had war broken out in her hometown?

Suddenly, there was a burning pain in her chest and instincively she grabbed the place where she was hurt. Warm blood flowed over her fingers and she felt how her legs could no longer support her. Slowly she sank down on her knees and fell over.

She looked at the grey sky. The same sky Brian must be looking at.
"Isn’t that ironic, Brian?", she thought "You go to war and I get shot dead."