We were happy...

At the times like this.

When we were kids.

When mom cut our favourite Alsace cervelas salad.

When we could roam around the roaring fields, in the midst of the hills.

Freely, running along the winds.

When we would dance to 'Marinella'..

The floor on which our feet pattered as mom played the song while cooking, an ardent fan of Tino Rossi.

The way your fluffy hair would set on your forehead as a gust of wind passed by...

The way your eyes crinkled every time you laughed..

So beautiful, so lively.

The memories of wind make their way through my head and I keep getting lost in them. Those Bambi eyes of yours, that blond smooth hair, full cheeks.

Will those moments ever be there thereafter?

Looking at your now hollow, pale face, sunken cheeks, chapped lips , hair no longer smooth but rather sticking to your forehead, the face unrecognisable.

Once lively and childlike, now deadly.

The infamous Marinella now sounded like a death symphony to me..

I dread listening to it..

Why? What did change now?

I am still here, mother too, the radio still intact and the same old Marinella plays daily at the same old house.

Then what's the matter? Why can't I hear you talking like an idiot once again?

Why can't I no longer see you smile?

Just...you are not the same...

You are not here like you promised to be..

Liar!

.

.

'' I am not a liar Aimee ! I will come back!"

The image of a grown up you yelling comes to my head as you peeked your head out of the window and shouted at a young crying me, who called you liar, jumped down your throat for being so selfish.

So selfish to have left us.

So selfish to have given yourself to the nation than us!

The image was still fresh in my mind.

How could I forget?

How could I forget the last, happy, smiling image of you?

How could I forget the image of you, leaving in that train?

How could I forget the selfish yet selfless you leaving us in that train?

You waved at us so happily, like a child.

As if you were just going to a field trip to the neighbouring village..but not a deadly war.

You smiled, your eyes crinkled, your lips curved upwards, your pearl white teeth shone, your eyes had a glint of satisfaction.

You were happy..

But we were not..

You promised me that you would come back.

You said you would be here with a present as soon as my birthday approaches.

You did come!

But...there was no you smiling stupidly while holding it.

Oh! The gift was there indeed.

You, the gift I got.Covered with the nation's flag, just like you wanted.

The nation you loved so much.

The nation that killed you at the end.

You knew it didn't you?

That it was the last?

Last time you seeing us and we seeing you alive..

You knew that it was the last train Antoine!

.......

.......

.......

Oh! My selfish brother!

I ask the dead you!

Will you still choose to go?

If you knew the aftermath

Would you have still gone?

Oh my selfish brother!

If in another life, there happens something similar to this.

Will you still choose the same?

No matter what you choose.

No matter how selfish you choose to be.

We still love you!

I call you selfish!

But...because of you a kid is still able to smile in his mother's embrace.

A mother still has her child.

A father somewhere is thankful.

A sister still has her brother. A brother is still smiling as he pats his sister's head.

Death is inevitable my brother...I know..

You chose to give lives to several families by losing yours.

My dear brother.

I deem you selfish, to have left us..

But you are selfless to have left yourself for those whom you didn't even know.

I cannot help but be angry!

But I can not help being proud to be a sister of a martyr.

No matter where you are..

I still love you.

And I know...

That you love me too my brother.

.

.

.

.

I still go to those fields...

And watch..as the wind blows..

The same old image of you..

Smiling at me from far away...

"nous étions heureux avant que tu ne montes dans ce dernier train Antoine.." I mumble to myself.

Oh! The winds are cold...

I tighten my grip on your old ashen cardigan.. So warm...

I still see you there...

At that faraway place, from where you are still smiling like a child and waving at me..

As you used to do...

when we were happy...

nous étions heureux avant que tu ne montes dans ce dernier train..

{ We were happy before you got on that last train...}

~ France, 1940s

Dedicated to all those martyr soldiers who chose nation over their families, who were happy just by dying for the nation, whose eyes had that inexplicable glint as the countless bullets, bombs and whatnot made their way towards them.

We Salute!