Evacuation - First Person

They made us wait – never ending waiting. They hadn’t even told us what we were waiting for. Abandoned, we waited as told, waiting together for comfort against the chaos, and the fear and the unsaid truths. Some had parents to smile and wave them off. Some had parents to cry and lose sleep over them. I had no one. The younger children had toys, soft teddies to wipe away the confusion and scare off the panic. But I was the eldest; I was the protector. I looked over like the General does his troops, like the King does his subjects. But even I didn’t know why we were being told to wait. I didn’t understand the tears in the sister’s eyes as she sent us on our way. I didn’t understand the sympathy in the train conductor’s eyes as he saw us pass. I didn’t understand the millions of children on the train station with us, the young bawling into the false faced elders than tried to bring reassurance. We know our place: we didn’t show panic; we didn’t show confusion; we didn’t let our tears fall. Instead, we waited. We watched on with false omniscience as the adults walked on by and left us. We obeyed as they loaded us onto the trains like cattle to the slaughter, or starlight into the abyss. And we sat tearfully as the train stared to move, moving off into nothingness and infinity.