It started in 1916, the war was close to its peak and every night my mother and sisters, like me, prayed, in small appeals for my father's life. I was the eldest of three sisters, below me were Hyejoo and Yerim, descended from Asian immigrants - who settled in one of the rural areas of France. She had come to the middle of a clash between two sisters, a heated argument that would later result in tears of suffering from the pain.

 

The morning came lazily, with the sun slowly rising through the once black sky. I had woken up even before the Kim family rooster made its first morning sounds, amid the tangle of my hair and drool strands. I had gotten ready even before my mother knocked on my door, my worn leather boots hung on the edge of the bed, as well as my feet, while I focused on a worn copy of a book so old that its name had already faded - lost for the dirt and bad care of its former owner.

 

My fingers tapped the cover, my eyes went up to the white ceiling of my room, flooded with thoughts from which I still sought answers. My hands reached out towards the small box on my writing table, tensing it as quickly as I held it out. I took a deep breath, still standing with my eyes fixed on the small box, which was made of wood and very well decorated - it had taken a little work to make it. I picked up my father's old overcoat, which was barely warm due to the fragility of the fabric, and the purse I had received from Mrs. Kim in my fourteen years - which I dragged everywhere I went.

 

The boots creaked on my bedroom floor until I stopped at the door, the folds of the door indicated movement, with a long echo that echoed down the empty hall, and the small noise that settled downstairs was stopped. I couldn't help but sigh. My steps weighed down my walk, no matter how calm it was, the bag hit my leg due to the movements, creating a clear discomfort due to the movement of the pants I wore, unfortunately I didn't have others. As I approached the kitchen, I bowed before the image of the saint hanging on the wall, my hands signaled and ended up touching my left shoulder, silence was prevalent at that moment, reminding me of the times when my own father woke up, it was, in minimal, discomfort.

 

My sisters were already eating, unlike my mother who seemed to finish the last parts of her prayer. His mouth moved in an incredibly silent way, which made me think that, previously, it was being audibly made. Hyejoo, like Yerim, did not have a very happy look, and it was enough for me to appear in his field of vision for a bitter laugh to escape his lips. I was getting ready to put the coffee in my cup when the words ran from his mouth, like a poisonous glide dragged over his tongue.

 

- What are you doing here at this hour? - The question came tied with a mixture of irony and anger - I thought you would prefer to be alone with your feelings instead of your family.

 

My eyes lowered when I heard the phrase, my mug rested loosely in my hands - maintaining a certain balance to prevent the liquid from falling. For a fraction of a second, I considered it a valid answer, but, looking at my mother's fearful features, I dismissed it immediately, ignoring the anger that seemed to be building in Hyejoo. I sipped the liquid calmly, enjoying its aroma and the warmth that took over my mouth.

 

I heard the loud sound of something focusing against a hard surface and calmly turned my head towards the sound, watching the figure of my sister hunched over the table, her face red with anger and her teeth clenched.

 

- You ignored me? I don't believe it - Hyejoo gave a bitter laugh - You were always like that, right? She never called her family, always alone with these worn books, that's why you live alone. That's why nobody supports you.

 

- Hyejo ...

 

- Not even our father could take you anymore - Hyejoo punched the table again - HE WAS TO THAT HELL FOR HIS CAUSE!

 

My cup ended when it hit the floor, ending in millions of micro-pieces, a burning feeling grew in me like the warmth of water on the highest fire, my hands guided towards my sister's shirt, while my teeth cracked.

 

- Never repeat that again, Kim Hyejoo - I tightened my shirt even more - Our father is gone to serve France, he is there for our nation, do not blame his choices on me. You more than anyone knows that I would go to his place, if I had been called.

 

Hyejoo laughed, his hands clutching my shoulders, ready to push me out of my grip.

 

- You are a disappointment - His sharp eyes fixed on mine - It is no wonder that Choerry is the favorite of our parents, and even me, but you ... YOU N IT'S NOTHING HYUJ-

 

My fist was raised when the noise of an engine entered my ears. Something about me was burning intensely, a bad ardor - which was eating at me darkly, wanting to leave, I closed my eyes, relaxing my muscles, but not letting go of Hyejoo. Mom looked scared, even Yerim didn't hide the amazement in her eyes. The noise became even stronger, causing all of us to leave our moment of amazement.

 

My mother was the first to move, quickly leaving the kitchen with tears in her eyes, towards the door of the house. I let Hyejoo out of my hands, letting him stagger and fall over the remnants of my cup, his eyes stinging with anger as he walked towards the backyard.

 

Our house was big for a country town, and it had a small farm in the back, it had been a gift from a debtor and close to death, and it was already showing signs of deterioration by the time it was built. The front yard, which was once full of flowers, at the moment had only dry grass and ankles, there was a small truck parked near the fence and some ornamentation materials from the farm, which I would only move around at dusk.

 

The car was standing in front of the gate, its loud noise attracting the attention of some neighbors who soon appeared in their yards, like vultures surrounding dead meat. My mother bit her lip nervously, possibly believing that it would be a visit from the top of the army, bad news. My heart froze for a moment, while the only thing to be heard, besides the engine noise, was Hyejoo and Yerim's quick steps.

 

- Mom? What is happening? Yerim's soft voice came to our ears as a whisper not far off.

 

An anesthetic feeling seemed to take hold of us, my hands were buried in my pockets, sweaty from the veiled nervousness that was taking over me.

 

Two men came down, well dressed in their seemingly expensive suits, their physical distinction was notable, while one was more full-bodied, the other appeared to be above normal levels of anorexia, so much so that his suit was left over at the sides - showing how disproportionate his body was. . He approached, held his left wrist with his right hand and had a straight posture, appeared to be an important agent for someone even more important.

 

- Mrs. Kim? - His accent was heavy, notorious for some French people in urban areas. He had clear blue eyes, almost heavenly, that glowed predatorily towards my mother's impotent and small figure - Pietre Lerry, Lord Jeon's private secretary. I am sorry for disturbing you when we met, but we have an important matter to discuss with you. - Pietre sighed, his hand that had been in his pockets lifted, he held an oddly arranged envelope. - We apologize immensely for that, Mrs. Kim. But, his brother-in-law, Lord Jeon, he needs your help immensely. - He turned his back briefly waving at the stocky man. - Lord Jeon was summoned to ... Well, he had to go, we don't know what ends this war will bring. However, Lord Jeon trusts only you, his only daughter.

 

Behind him, the stocky man opened the car door, extending his hand to someone inside.

 

- He begs Miss Jeon to settle in his quarters until the end of the conflict - Pietre rubbed his hands on his big linen pants - He believes he will be safer with family members. He trusts.

 

It was almost as if the world had stopped, everything around me faded when I saw the beautiful girl getting out of the vehicle. She was beautiful, with her beautiful and tight dress and her apparently delicate face. And as beautiful as it seemed to me, his disgusted face when looking around him certainly did not please me.

 

I closed my eyes with a sigh and then turned my back on them, it was not my business and possibly my work would only intensify up front. I grabbed my purse and then set off towards the fields of some far-away farms, ready for yet another effort in my day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Time went on slowly, like the wind that shook the leaves of nearby trees. The calm of the green fields soothed me, the sun shone in strong rays that sometimes warmed my almost pale skin. The thoughts flowed as the black ink wetted the yellow leaf, the rounded letters formed subtle and beautiful rhymes in my eyes. A few meters ahead, a small squad of youths paraded in their earth-colored uniforms, exhibiting extensive cheerful smiles es, they did not seem to have any idea of ​​what would await them in fields without grass.

 

The feeling was mutual, not only between them, but throughout French society. 'Nationalism' as it was called, the need to protect your country, your nation, to honor the one that welcomed you as an equal, the feeling present in all of us, around the world, in search of what belonged to you, but what belonged to you? I would not be hypocritical in criticizing my peers, young people close to losing their lives, I understood them, I would have left with my father if I had been allowed to.

 

I was so lost in thought that the approach came almost imperceptibly. When I realized his presence, my body had already shivered at the fright of the calm and soft voice so close to me.

 

- She was there,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was the beginning of a poem, which took from me the briefest and nostalgic smile. The girl, now almost a woman, with long red hair and a big smile sat next to me, her hands held an old notebook, which I recognized as a book of poetry. For a long time we had read that same book together - refusing to run through the fields, treating the words of difficult understandings and complicated rhymes as the greatest fun of our childhoods.

 

"I feel sorry for them," he said, his voice rapidly changing to the more serious tone, which showed his regret and sadness.

 

- We feel Jiwoo - I couldn't help agreeing. Watching those young people on their way to death turned my stomach.

 

Some pushed and laughed, shouting cheerfully the hymn of our homeland, they were sure of victory and return, ignoring the probability of never returning. With a brief close of my eyes I couldn't help but appeal, that would be my last prayer still in conscience.