𝟏𝟗𝟒𝟎 | 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓

george mills felt the salty wind wash over him, as he stood on the shore. he picked up another stack of life jackets, piled up into chin, and hefted them towards the boat. it didn’t feel like the most helpful job in the army, but if mr dawson said it was good, it was better than nothing. better than staying at home. better than school.

and to make matters worse, you weren’t coming to school much either. you had to help out at home, now that your father had been sent to dunkirk. he wanted to be a hero. like your father. like mr dawson. and if stacking life jackets onto a small boat made him a hero, consider it done.

he was lost in his thoughts now, his arms falling limp by his side as he watched the tide swish in, out and in again. not too lost, mind you, to notice the familiar presence in the corner of his eye.