《Hell to the Liars》 That Morning It started as a low humming. Lights crisscrossing over London''s night sky. Then, it came. The whistle of a projectile plummeted at high speed. Sirens became wailing warnings far too late. Bursts of amber gloomily lit the skyline. The crackle of fire and roaring of engines drowned by the desperate panicked screams of people fleeing for cover overtook it all. Fanned by the wind whipping across the Thames, Camden was ablaze within seconds. The old brick buildings tried to stand firm even when their ceilings were concave, and flames burst like beasts from their opening. The wooden window frames turned black, glass appearing impregnated seconds before exploding and raining down on those trying to seek shelter. The policeman blew whistles and used flashlights to try and direct people to safety. Volunteer firefighters, assisted by brave civilians, filled water buckets and tossed them at the spreading fires. The water sizzled and hissed to condensation. Defeated by the heat and its purpose obsolete almost, they continued. The people of Camden were divided into those desperate to live and those refusing to give up in the face of their enemies. Children cried and screamed beside their mothers. They were buried beneath brick and stone, unable to escape the impact of a falling bomb but blessed with enough time to push their child out of harm''s way, leaving them alone in the horrors of war-torn London. Carmen watched it all. Stunned into inaction. Unable to process everything but harrowingly aware of every second as it unfolded. Life flickered, and death thrived. Homes were torn apart, families destroyed, hearts broken, and courage tested; Carmen had never seen the true spectrum of humanity until that night. A night of turning tricks for a few extra ration cards was all Carmen left the house for, and now, as her black and sooty hands clutched two ration cards, sweating from the unnatural heat of the evening, Carmen had nothing. No house. No mother. No brothers or sisters. Not even Lacy, the border terrier, came yapping to the door to greet Carmen. A torn door was hanging by a single hinge within a charred frame. The rest was rubble and smoke: cinder and dust. And, within a heartbeat, before Carmen could surpass her shock and shed a tear, she was packed on a train with a cardboard label branding her an orphan to Wales to live with a family she didn''t know and who didn''t want Carmen. She was leaving behind Camden town, her home, and her childhood. Carmen was no longer a child. Exposed to the horrors of war and what it meant, Carmen was forced to be a woman. To see the world for what it was and how cruel it could be. It was how Carmen found it¡ªrunning through the valleys, splashing through the streams, crashing through the forest until she could not run anymore. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. No air was left in her lungs; she tasted the burning. It reminded Carmen of where she came from, how she came to be at the dead-end of nowhere on a mountainside in Wales. Collapsing beside a chain-link fence that looked so out of place within the greenery of Denbighshire. Eyes closed, body tingling and burning from the lack of oxygen, Carmen lay in a daze, thinking the indistinct voice was a distant memory of her last hours in Camden. Perhaps the shock of cold water was more than clue enough that Carmen was wrong, but even as it washed over her skin and she jumped to her feet, Carmen remained convinced it was but a memory. That was until they spoke again, in that horrendous attempt of English marred by W''s pronounced like V''s and V''s like F''s. They tried communicating with Carmen, asking if she was alright; their sparsely given water ration was wasted being used on Carmen, and all she did was spit in the man''s face as a show of gratitude. It was the uniform¡ªthe ugly, vile grey. The horrid black cross rimmed in white¡ªthe sharp S''s on his shoulder and collar. A Nazi soldier. A cretin. An abysmal sack of flesh-wasting air. Carmen couldn''t be sure what or how many vile things she spewed at the man who stood unmoved behind the chain-link fence and let her exercise all her anger, grief and mourning upon him. Carmen was sure that when the tears came, and she took off running, she would feel alive, free, and unburdened for the first time in two years. A whole month passed, and Carmen was curious about the man behind a chain-link fence in the uniform of a Nazi. There were rumours in the village of a prisoner of war camp up on the mountainside. In the dip just before the meadows opened onto the sea, but until that afternoon, no one had been up there to see it for themselves. Now, retracing her steps, Carmen thought she wouldn''t find it again. But as the trees thinned and opened up to long grass swaying in the summer breeze, Carmen found the chain-link fence and leaning with his back to Carmen, a man in the grey uniform stood out among the greenery. Carmen wasn''t even sure what she wanted to achieve. Whether to revive her unspoken hatred again or to apologise. To say anything or nothing. To stay or leave. It was, however, as Carmen tried to make up her mind that it was decided for her when a gentle and deep voice ended the symphony of wind through the trees and grass, and, with no ill will or anger or even a slither of grievances, the man behind the chain link fence said: "Guten morgen, Fraulein." Carmen couldn''t speak the language, she didn''t understand it at all, but it sounded so soft and endearing at that moment. Warm and wanted even a little bit of human kindness. Carmen had forgotten almost what it felt like to be that naive and childlike, to see and want the world and its inhabitants to be kind and gentle, and it shocked her to her deepest being. She stood overcome with a sense of understanding of the man trapped so far from home and wanting only one person, just one, to show him a little kindness. Was he deserving? Did he not have crimes to pay for, for the endless ongoing deaths caused by a war he supported? Isn''t he a monster? He is a monster! Is he a monster? Is he? Monster! Is he?! Carmen covered her ears, trying to blot out the voices in her head, arguing that the man did not deserve any kindness, only for another to question if he was so terrible as the government would have everyone believe. It went on and on and on and then stopped. There were no battling voices. There was nothing. Not a sound. Only a sense of curiosity and desire to know the truth about the man for herself. To make up her own mind. So, Carmen uncovered her ears and eyes and looked at the man. Honestly looked at him. At how he stood, almost trembling like he was in deep pain birthed from a physical affliction. But, in his hundred-mile stare, with eyes as light as the streams Carmen ran through, pain danced with hope as he met Carmen''s staring. If he was a monster in the guise of a man, Carmen wanted to know it for herself. So, that morning, Carmen made her choice. She would find out if this man was a monster. "Good morning." Words that arent spoken give silent answers She was told to be proud of her Irish heritage. Of the red hair, green eyes and freckles, Carmen never thought she would come to hate them. Though Carmen never believed they would be why she could survive within Denbighshire. Carmen''s body kept her afloat in a town full of factories and the central hub for the production of the war efforts since its outbreak. She could pay rent on the one-bed flat she had lived in since her temporary home became a hell she could no longer endure. Cupping the cold water within the basin, Carmen splashed it across her face. No longer wanting to gaze upon the sullen face staring back from the cracked mirror. The ugly green tiles of the bathroom floor were cold underfoot; Carmen grabbed a tattered towel and dried her face. Scrubbed the skin until it was nearly sore to remove the cold slickness of a memory still stuck to her skin. The American soldiers were the highest payers but the worst clients. Rough and almost brutal in their handling of Carmen''s delicate body. They left bruises that ached for days, and still, it was what they left that could not be seen that left Carmen feeling dirty and cheap. Tossing aside the towel, Carmen left the bathroom and went into the narrow hallway. There was a small living room, kitchen and bedroom within the flat but no personality, no warmth. Kitted out with second-hand furniture and things found on the street, Carmen didn''t want to waste her money on anything. Not when she was saving up to move back to London. If not for the cost of living, even at a bare minimum, Carmen would have fled Denbighshire over a year ago. Not wanting to be left destitute again, Carmen was patient and saved every half penny and crown she made. Hiding it all in an old soap tin under the loose floorboard in the living room, further secured by the single rickety table that sat atop it. Padding into the bedroom, Carmen avoided looking at the man still asleep in her bed. He was not supposed to stay, but by the bruise on Carmen''s neck, she chose to value her life over her privacy after she asked him to leave. Grabbing a navy skirt, brown belt, white blouse, and brown heels, Carmen dressed quickly and quietly. Covering the bruises on her neck with a black scarf tied into a bow. Stockings were almost impossible to buy, so Carmen wore them sparingly. Today, she decided they would not be needed. The weather was warm, and the trick of staining her legs with cold tea and using kohl to draw in the seam was sufficient for most days. Tucking in the slip to her skirt, Carmen paused when the man stirred. Heart thrumming at the possibility he would wake before Carmen could leave, she watched as his profile settled and was still. Turning onto his back, the sharp point of his nose buried in her pillow, Carmen swiftly threw on her blouse and crept from the room to the front door, snatching her handbag. Sure, that he would need to be back upon base by the time Carmen returned, she closed the door quietly and fled down the staircase with a gentle run. The old building smelt damp, and the stairs creaked alarmingly even under Carmen. It was downtrodden. Wallpaper peeling and the occasional scurry of rats were heard but not seen; it was quite the eyesore except for the stained-glass windows on the double doors that hid the decaying inside. Escaping into the narrow winding street of cobbled stone, Carmen swung her bag on a shoulder and searched for an open shop with a quick tousle of her hair. It was early morning, and the women working the streets were trudging back home. Some with paper bags of fresh bread, others clutched bottles of gin. The war forced many women out of their homes and into the factories. For some, like Carmen, it forced them to the streets. They avoided eye contact. Their shame was too heavy to lift their eyes from the pavement. Eyes smudged with mascara either through tears or long hours, Carmen saw herself in every woman she passed. The only difference was that Carmen had no children at home to feed. No woman willingly chose the streets, but in the absence of their men, there were few other choices when the payment from the factories a week could be made in a night when the soldiers were home and on leave. Finding the local newsagents on the corner open, Carmen paused to read the latest headline on an advertisement board. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Allied forces were defeated. Germany invaded another country. It was always the same. Pushing open the shop door and setting off the small bell above, Carmen noticed how the shopkeep stared at her like she wasn''t a human but a vermin. The irony was that those who looked down upon Carmen often were once clients. "A pack of cigarettes and two current buns, please," Carmen spoke to the man like she was a regular customer, a flattering smile offered even when behind his thick salt and pepper moustache was a sneer. Carmen refused to let their looks get to her; they were no better. "That will be two sixpences." His voice was gruff and demanding, exactly how his manner was within the bedroom. Hand diving into her bag, Carmen placed the two coins in his open, grabbing palm whilst slipping the paper bag with the current buns off the counter. The cigarettes clutched in hand, and Carmen smiled again before turning around. The shop was small¡ªone set of two-sided shelves in the middle and a wall filled with empty slots. With rationing only genuinely affecting Wales a few months back, its presence was beginning to be felt. Many shop shelves were empty, and some even closed due to the lack of sales to be made. Regardless, Churchill told them all to keep calm and carry on. That all would be well again soon. Leaving the shop, breaking off a little of one current bun, Carmen popped it in her mouth, chewing slowly as she crossed the road and headed for the bus stop in the square. The war was ongoing and showing no end in sight, no matter how hard the papers pressed the agenda that it would be over soon. Carmen experienced the cost of war three years ago when all she ever knew was destroyed in a single night. Ever since, Carmen''s life was only ever temporary. Nothing was certain except Carmen''s dream to leave Wales and return home. London was the only certainty in Carmen''s life and her determination to reach it. Without further thought, Carmen left the paper bag with the other current bun beside the crumpled heap of blankets within the bus shelter. A bird''s nest of matted grey hair poking out the top, and the blankets lifted as a shaky, gnarled hand snatched the bag. Mad Polly was what the locals of Denbighshire called her. A drunkard abandoned by everyone, no one ever stopped to offer even a smile for Polly. She has never offered a crumb for her starving lips. She slept at the bus stop, and if she was not there, she was found by the river watching the ducks. And she was screaming at them. Still, Carmen made an effort to show Polly some kindness. Something to let her know she mattered and someone was thinking about her. With that same thought, Carmen took the rocky slip road between the bus stop and old blacksmiths, the cigarettes in hand for herself and the man behind the chain-link fence. He didn''t ask for them, but Carmen noticed how he lit and put out a single roll-up when they were speaking. They spent only an hour with so few words shared, and he lit up four times and put it out three. So, she hoped offering something would make him more relaxed and willing to engage with Carmen''s questions. Carmen refused to give her name, so he denied it. At first offended, Carmen supposed it was a fair exchange. A name for a name was not much, yet all the same. It was personal. Too personal for a stranger to know, let alone an enemy soldier who was at the root of Carmen''s current woes. A part of Carmen held him responsible, while the other reminded her he was just a cog in a giant machine following orders. Unlike the first two occasions, the walk to the area fenced off to keep the prisoners within its confines was more pleasant¡ªthis time, she was not running or rushing. Upset or angry, Carmen wasn''t fuelled by any emotion beyond curiosity. No promises were made to meet again, and purely hope drove Carmen onward that he would be there again like he had been the morning before. Carmen paused, breath trapped in her throat, coming through the point where the trees thinned again. Leaning on the fence with one arm and staring almost like a wild animal spotting its prey, Carmen met the eyes that were somehow clearer than water but were neither grey nor blue, but something between. The fence chinked as he took his weight from it. Swaying and rippling, he placed his hands in the pockets of his trousers. The black boots that stopped below the knees polished; he looked more put together. He tried to appear better presented than the first two times they met. Hesitation giving way to curiosity, Carmen stepped in time with throwing the cigarette packet. The fence was at least ten feet, and she needed to be sure her throw would clear it, so she put effort into it. The packet glided over, and he followed its flight; hands held open, they landed with a slight bounce in his palms. Instead of staring at the packet, he didn''t look at Carmen. Caught between surprise and uncertainty, he eventually closed his fingers around the package when Carmen spoke. "Carmen." She offered her name with a faint smile, settling on the grass and adjusting the bow around her neck. It felt tight as her breathing became short. The sense of curiosity gave way again to doubt as he crouched behind the fence, staring at Carmen through the gaps. A tiny smile lifted one side of his mouth "Falk." He responded with a soft nod and shake of the cigarettes. "Danke." Spoken sincerely as he took one out and lit it, eyes closing as he savoured the taste. Smiling back, almost involuntarily, Carmen was thankful that Falk missed it due to his eyes closing. Shaking off the odd sense of ease that came over her when he spoke, Carmen stroked back her hair, tucking it behind an ear as she readied herself to ask the first of many awkward questions. Ascertaining that Falk understood English and could speak it reasonably well on their second meeting, Carmen took a deep breath and asked: "Do you enjoy being a soldier?" Falk''s eyes snapped open, holding Carmen with such velocity that she almost got on her feet and ran. Looking away after a second, Falk''s jaw clenched, and his teeth grit audibly as he pinched the end of the cigarette tight enough that it was almost flattened. "Do you like living in veer?" Falk responded; his lips pinched. His accent was heavier. Carmen knew that he meant to say fear, but the meaning behind the question and the odd force he asked left her unable to do more than shake her head. No one enjoyed living in fear. Not one. When Falk didn''t say a word further, Carmen understood that she had answered for both of them. But also that Falk had said a little more. He did not want to be a soldier¡ªan instrument of death under someone else''s orders. Sometimes theyre kind. Sometimes they take lives Carmen expected the silence to continue. Falk didn''t allow it to last. "Vhy are you here?" Asked so simply, effortlessly, and so impossible to answer. Carmen picked at blades of grass. Letting the rough edges cut against her skin, wondering how to respond. Why was Carmen there? Believing curiosity led her back up to the mountainside; Carmen was no longer so confident that it was. Only when Carmen studied Falk, honestly, looked him in the eye and saw him. Did Carmen understand? She saw herself reflected in Falk. A human wanting a slither of human kindness. To be seen as a person and not an object to be treated without the value of worth. And when Carmen let that truth dawn upon her, it terrified her¡ªleaving her witless. Speechlessly, miserably, hollowed out. "I finally have a face for everything I have despised," Carmen uttered, mustering courage and confidence from oblivion. Only to lie. Partly at least. Falk scuffed a rock with the tip of his boot. It hit the fence with a sharp clanging, his narrow face painted in amusement but not surprise. "For how long?" His eyes never left the spot where he focused all his attention; a finger stroked across his temple. "Three years." Carmen smiled, and for once, it wasn''t forced or bitter but relieved. Falk lifted his gaze, boring it into the smile Carmen wore. Brow in a scrunch and appeared openly confused until Carmen elaborated upon its presence. "My suffering is an infant in comparison with yours...," Carmen was being bold and assuming but was sure she was not wrong. "Isn''t it?" She wanted clarity. To know that her first question was not answered with a flattering lie to put her at ease, and now, holding Falk''s stare, she wondered if she had the cunning to fool him. Falk was older. Wiser. He was a little too intelligent to fall for such cheap trickery because he laughed. It was handsome and daunting. Overbearingly aware of Carmen''s intentions, yet still humoured by it all the same. It was, though, more than anything else, genuine, and authentic. Carmen could tell by how it reached Falk''s eyes, further highlighting the creases of crow''s feet, deepening the lines around his mouth. Not quite blonde, not quite brown hair lifted and dancing in the breeze that scattered it from its neat parting on his head, shone under the sun. And finally, Carmen saw a glimmer of what she wanted to see. Falk bore a mature visage and beneath it a boyish innocent charm. This man was no monster. He was human, at least on the surface. Carmen was no mind reader, and like how she intended trickery, Falk could do the same. Playing pretend to gain access to Carmen in a depth she never intended to offer. To have an ally on the other side of the chain-link fence. Yet, a tiny part of Carmen prayed that her cynical thinking was precisely that; cynical. Watching how freely Falk laughed, how a single tear slipped from his left eye, rolling over a thin white crescent scar on his cheek, Carmen guessed that he had been deprived of cause or reason to express a celebration of laughter. It was almost infectious, and Carmen smiled again, but sadly. If Carmen never returned, would Falk ever find a reason to laugh again? This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.She owed Falk nothing. Not even her compassion, but with every chest-deep laughter from Falk''s mouth, she wanted to give him a reason to believe he would feel this way again. Because Carmen wanted the same. Wanted someone to make her feel alive again. Leave her breathless and not from physical exertion but out of joyous celebration. To laugh unhindered, unburdened, and without being devoured by sadness, regret, and guilt. And whilst Carmen became lost, enraptured by Falk''s laughing, she realised she was envious. Envious of a man who was a prisoner in a foreign land. "Oi!" Jumping at the shout, Carmen was not alone in the shock. Falk jumped almost to attention, though it was wary and cautious, eyes scoping and scanning their surroundings. Carmen twisted about, trying to source the person who interrupted a rare moment of peace. "You''re not supposed to be up here." This time not disembodied and with apparent authority, the one who wrecked the peaceful moment appeared behind a grassy bank with an Enfield on his shoulder. At once, Falk retreated a step from the fence, and Carmen, in turn, scrambled to her feet, blurting: "I was on a walk and tripped." Cheeks flushing at the terrible attempt at a lie, Carmen watched how the soldier almost tripped to a halt, angling back a little to study her like she was the local village idiot. Even Falk, who closed his eyes like he was in physical pain from Carmen''s horrendous on-the-spot lie, opened them again to peer at her like she was an idiot. "Well, that explains why the kraut was laughing then." The soldier used a thumb to push up the overhang of his beret, a venomous dose of disgust at referencing Falk, not just vocally but visually. More than aware not to jump to Falk''s defence but worried that it would hinder future communications, the knot forming in Carmen''s stomach came undone when Falk gave her a gentle nod. Almost like he was giving approval or permission for Carmen to react in a way that would not draw suspicion. "How else is a brute expected to act?" Carmen posed the question whilst slapping grass from her skirt, avoiding the eye of both men, overcome by a terrible dread that the soldier who was likely on patrol may have been a previous client. Carmen didn''t want her image to be tarnished in Falk''s eyes. Or for him to get even a whiff of how Carmen made a living. The man chuckled at Carmen, a slow shake of his head added to the gesture, "Which is why we keep it caged," he approached, striking the chain-link fence like he wanted Falk to flinch and cower from him. "Aye, you piece of shit." He close to growled at Falk, spitting at his feet. It was like watching herself on her first meeting with Falk the month before, spitting at him and hurling foul language. Carmen almost shouted at the soldier to stop, but a rapid warning glance from Falk tempered her. And left her confused. Why would Falk show Carmen any consideration? They were strangers. Enemies. The soldier scoffed and turned his back to Falk to address Carmen. The prior worry that he was once a client was unnecessary when Carmen looked at him thoroughly and attentively. He was a stranger to her, and she was a stranger to him. "Come on, Bambi," He turned a cheeky smile upon Carmen, "You can''t be up here. It''s not safe for something as delicate as you," he chuckled again, and it wasn''t mocking, not quite. Startled by being compared to the deer in Disney''s most recent feature-length film, Carmen forgot to take offence, though he took it for her by Falk''s grimace. "I''ll escort you," the man offered, extending a hand for Carmen to lead the way. Carmen wanted to decline. However, doing so seemed unwise and likely to draw unwanted attention. "Thank you." She smiled, though it was tense, far from relaxed. Taking care when the soldier came alongside, not to be evident that she was looking beyond him rather than at him, a tiny ache started in her chest when Falk turned and walked away. "Freddie," "Pardon?" "My name," the soldier cocked an eyebrow, peering at Carmen like she was a complete dunce. Truthfully, Carmen was not always the smartest. If being caught speaking with an enemy soldier was not evidence enough. Forgetting that patrols would be ongoing to ensure no breach within the chain-link fence, Carmen realised she would have to take greater care and caution the next time she visited Falk. "Are you alright?" Freddie clicked his fingers in Carmen''s face. Drawing her out of her thoughts. Shaking herself out, Carmen quickly smiled. "Yes. Sorry." She assured, carefully placing a hand over Freddie''s to remove it from her space, "I may still be in a slight daze from my fall," again she lied. Or instead continued with it. Freddie smiled. It was genuine. Lighting up his dark green eyes. "Don''t worry. I will be here to spare you from any further falls," he joked light-heartedly whilst also giving Carmen''s shoes a little look, "Those probably don''t help. Next time, wear something a little flatter," he suggested, stuffing a hand in a pocket of his khaki trousers. "Next time?" Carmen almost shouted, fearful that she had been caught out. Freddie didn''t even notice the fear and chuckled again as he gave Carmen a cheeky smile and said: "Well, I hope this won''t be the only time I run into you on my patrols. Would rather like a breath-taking view to stumble upon once in a while." Carmen might have been a little dumber than she first thought because it took Freddie to sigh softly and gently, prompting her to understand. Freddie was honestly flirting and not with his coin. In the Depth of Lonely They danced. Freely. Weightless. Without care, with no shoes. Splashing through puddles. Twisting and twirling, fingers interlocked, lips brushing in soft, flirtatious smiles, a second shy of becoming kisses. Swigging from bottles of gin and wine, they giggled and laughed, even when they had no idea why. Bruised and beaten, with fistfuls of coins, they escaped, barely. Working the strip was always a dangerous gamble, and as the soft summer drizzle washed their bloodied lips and noses, it was never more apparent. Still, they were alive. Breathing. Dancing. Unashamed of those who cussed and tutted when they pulled each other close. Close enough to feel the hurried beating of their hearts. Carmen held Janet''s brilliance within her eyes, forehead to forehead, palm to palm. And Janet stared back. For a spellbound moment, Carmen could have sworn she was in love by how Janet''s mere closeness set her heart soaring and her stomach sinking in sudden fear of Janet leaving. And that everything would be okay if Janet were there. Then, without a word spoken, hint or gesture, it happened. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Carmen wasn''t sure who moved first, but their mouths met softly, sweetly, setting her heart off with a ferocious spark. A humming in Carmen''s ears drowned out everything but the soft, elated sigh from Janet''s lips as they parted. She tasted like gin and wine. It wasn''t unwelcome or off-putting. And as their intentions intertwined, Carmen''s body responded to Janet''s. And when it did, Carmen understood it was nothing more than the sense of safety and comfort they gave one another, drunkenly mistaken for lust and love. After being treated so coldly and cruelly, the desire to feel safe and loved was overwhelming and decisive. A magnetic pull formed between their bodies as fingers danced through rain-soaked hair and fluttered over goose-bitten skin. It was exciting and thrilling, too, for once, to be safe and cared for with tenderness. "Stay with me," Janet whispered, "Tonight." Carmen drew closer, encouraged by the look in Janet''s eyes. They glittered like amber under the lamplight, both intoxicating and exotic in one glimpse, wild and dangerous in another. "Okay." Carmen agreed. It was only one night. Come morning, Carmen would be gone, and their need and craving for a gentle touch would be sated. Janet giggled, gripping Carmen''s hand and leading the way again. Splashing through puddles, dancing and closely whispered promises that it wouldn''t change anything between them. Laughing spiritedly, secure in the grip of Janet''s fingers, Carmen believed every single word that left Janet''s mouth. She believed it all, even if only for one naive, drunken night.