He spoke.
And I listened.
The hypnotic cadences of his jubilant exclamations, drew me in, tangling me in a web of bravery, honour, and glory. I could only watch, my mind being disconnected from my body. I could only watch. His kindly face, young and old at the same time, bursting with an almost youthful vigour that rivaled the energy of young men. His eyes blazed with a fierce light, wordlessly promising heaven and earth for his nation. He was an unassuming old man, neither strong nor limber physically, but his mind sharp. He is a Lion, prowling, nose upturned towards the Eagle.
He is Winston Churchill.
My back was ramrod straight, eyes wide to the point where they watered from the chilly October air. The wind whipped, tossing strands of my hair into my eyes, yet left the man on the podium untouched. He looked absolutely regal, hands clasped on the edges of the mahogany, oak dais, polished to perfection, worn by the many hands that held it so reverently. The Prime Minister leaned forward, eyes skipping from each boy to the next before stopping at mine.
At that moment, there was a hint of a smile, a hint of an amused glimmer in his eyes as he gave the tiniest of nods to me. Only me. I sat up straighter, hands clasped together in a white-knuckled grip, my chest puffed out in pride.
There he was, standing in my school. So regal, and proud.
Just like the Lion of lore, claws outstretched, muscles rippling underneath its pelt, intent on grabbing the soaring Eagle.
So dangerous, and sly.
Just like the Lion of lore, claws digging into the flesh of the evil Eagle, lips pulled back in a roar while the eagle screeched in fear and anger. Step forward, brave Americans, brave Britons, brave Russians. Stamp out the Evil that is Hitler.
Still I listened.
Still he spoke.
Set during the Battle of Britain
2 days before the end of the Battle
On October 29, 1940
The same day that Prime Minister Churchill made his “Never Give In” speech
I shook my head free of thoughts, feeling the adrenaline pump through my veins. My eyes were sharp, mouth slightly open, as I took breath after breath of life. The screams of the engines deafened my ears, the acrid scent of gunpowder and smoke wafting up my nostrils. My hands held the control stick, knuckles stiff with force. My sandy-blond hair clung to my forehead, rivulets of sweat flowing down my face.
“Alright boys! Let’s make Ol’ Blimey proud!” My lips pulled back, smirking at the whoops of his men. “Bring down the damn krauts, and their Luftwaffe!” I yanked my stick to the side, my fighter plane rolling to the side to avoid a barrage of slugs from a luftwaffe, ecstatic to find the machinery follow my commands so fluidly. I gave a harsh curse, jerking the plane upwards, and settling behind the enemy, shooting at him.
There was no honour.
There was no glory.
There was only death.
Kill or be killed.
I gave a manic laugh, reveling in the explosion of the luftwaffe. One less enemy to deal with. My mind was chaotic. Where were my values? Where were my morals? Should I spare the lives of these Krauts? No, people will die. I shook my head again, lips peeled back in a snarl.
We are the Lion of Lore.
My thoughts cleared, my body tensed, eyes wide.
We are the Lion of Lore.
Believe in honour, and glory.
I took a deep breath, and shot.
Credits:
All images found on: http://f***yeahhistoricalhetalia.tumblr.com
Bryna,
I truly believed that you were there, listening to Winston Churchill speak at your school – that’s how powerful your storytelling is! It had the simplicity of a child’s narration, yet also the sophistication of an inspired admirer. Wait, I changed my mind. You WERE there listening to Winston Churchill!!! In a past life!!!
I love that you compared him to a Lion, yet you also used describing words that further connected that comparison. You used “regal” and “proud” – both words very often used to describe lions, and you used them to describe Churchill. I found that this simple choice of words furthered your description, narration, and most importantly, the picture we see of Churchill. I also enjoyed that you wrote from two different viewpoints, one of the child and one of a fighter jet pilot. It created for two very different perspectives on patriotism and the actions we take to defend the things we believe in. Well done!
I don’t believe I can find any fault to critique, it was all so beautifully crafted! Even your pictures were exquisite. I love how they all had a similar style to them. Love, love, love this piece!
-Ali
Dear Brynana,
Can I sit here for a minute and just say WOW! This piece was truly amazing; you interweave the descriptions of your character’s surroundings and internal emotions so seemingly effortlessly. It holds belonging and therefore is prominent; every sentence is important within this piece. I truly mean it when I say your writing holds a different and almost stronger note when you delve into the realms of history; your passion and excitement are incredibly noticeable to me. Bravo!
Your use of the Lion of the Lore was used as symbol to describe Winston Churchill, but what made this symbol so prominent was your repetition of these words. You intertwined them within your piece in such specificity that it would not make sense or seem almost too repetitive if we saw them anywhere else, your articulation is truly incredible.
So about the meaning of Lion of the Lore, I did not know what lore was and realized it was comparatively similar to a fable. When near the end you mention “we are the Lion of Lore,” you capitalized lore. You only capitalized the word lore when mentioning Churchill and then afterwards when this phrase was mentioned, the word lore was not capitalized. Does that signify the man’s actual belief in the story that Winston Churchill compelled him to believe? As now people look to the man as a soldier for hope. Because before, when you were mentioning your character, lore was not capitalized, does that signify his distance from Winston Churchill? How he did not yet fully accept what was being said?
When you mention the words, “still I listened,” it was as if you were presenting the fact that the man had a choice to listen, when in reality he did not, he had to listen and he had to be obey as his duty suggested anything but.
The part that really gets to me in this piece is when you mention the phrases “he gave the tiniest of nods to me. Only me. I sat up straighter, hands clasped together in a white-knuckled grip, my chest puffed out in pride.” These sentences showcase an almost vulnerability present within the character, no matter his beliefs in relation to Churchill, he will always want to please his “father”. It’s as if he wants to seem special, he becomes the same as any other citizen, and he seeks Winston’s validation. I feel this concept is also proven when you mention how “Winston was standing in my school” instead of using the words “the school.”
Bryna, your use of word choice within this piece was beyond masterful! I loved this piece and the dedication and intensity you placed within this piece! This blog post is truly something to be proud of.
Sincerely,
Sadia