Lost in the Battle Field

The town of Verdun in France had been taken over. There were German troops pouring in on all sides. The French and the British troops were trying to push the Germans out. They were having little luck. There were not enough of them. The Germans were powering through. The troops the Germans didn't kill, they took as hostages. It was chaos in the streets of Verdun.

There was something very unusual about the scene. There was one French girl wandering around. She looked lost and confused. She walked up the main street; her brown hair hanging loosely, the end of her glossy hair came to her lower back. She wore a tan skirt that stopped just below the knee where it flowed slightly. She had a meadow green blouse on that made her green eyes look sparkling. She wore a pair of dark green shoes with a one inch heel. She had mascara, eye shadow and blusher on, but there was something missing. Lipstick.

The girl saw something on the floor; it looked like it was lipstick. She bent down to examine it. Just as she did, bullets soared across her head, they buried themselves in the brick wall behind her.

"Zis is not my leep-stick," she said to herself with a broad, but beautiful French accent. She learnt how to speak English the a couple of years before. However, she found it impossible to lose her accent. What she actually found on the floor was the case of a bullet.

She stood up to her full height and continued looking for her lipstick, or at least someone who had a similar shade to what she wanted. She went down an alleyway. This was where the make-up shop was. This is where she used to buy all her make-up. She walked up to the door and started knocking. She waited a minute and knocked again.

"Monsieur Toulouse?" she enquired to the door. A man was running up the alley. He saw the girl at the make-up shop door. He came up towards her.

"Lillian! What are you doing? This is no time for make-up," he said to her in a fluent French accent. He looked worried and a little shocked; blood was trickling down his left sleeve.

"Monsieur Toulouse, why is your shop not open? I am in desperate need of lipstick," She answered in French. She had a vacant look on her flawless face.

Monsieur Toulouse grabbed Lillian's arms and started shaking her. "What is wrong with you? The town is being ransacked by German troops. The people of the town have fled. Some remain. Some are dead. Some have been captured. And all you care about is lipstick! You must flee Lillian. There is no need to stay in Verdun anymore," he said in a terrified whisper, although his strong facial features remained strong and showed urgency and anger.

"But you see Monsieur -" Lillian began, but she was cut off by a thick German accent. The two French people couldn't quite hear what was shouted, but Monsieur Toulouse saw something bounce into the alley. It was a German pineapple grenade. Monsieur Toulouse reacted instantly. He knew the stubborn girl wouldn't move voluntarily, so he grabbed her round the waist, picked her up and ran out the alley. They hit the main street again. The explosion from the grenade took the French man off his feet and he smashed into the ground, Lillian hit the road next to him.

"Do you see... what the risk... is?" the French man said, out of breath.

"But I need my lipstick!" Lillian said angrily. She was getting annoyed. She had no lipstick and the little stunt from Monsieur Toulouse cost her the sleeve on her blouse sleeve, which had a large rip down the seem. "Now if you don't mind Monsieur, I would like you to leave me be!" Lillian exclaimed in a stern and angry tone.

Monsieur Toulouse got to his feet and just began walking away from the French girl that was still elegantly splayed on the cobbled street, her eyes burrowing into the back of his head. He left her to die. She was too stubborn to take direction from him and it would be her own fault when she was captured by the Germans and abused in more ways than one. There was nothing he could do to save her.

A German soldier came out and alley in front of the Monsieur Toulouse. He used his gun and clobbered the man over the head. The French man crumpled into a heap on the floor. The German man dragged him away to be used later on. He might be very useful. He caught a glimpse of the girl on the floor. She must be dead. One shoe had fallen off. Her blouse was ripped and she was bleeding. There was no need for her. The German man went back into the alley he came from.

Lillian had seen what had happened to Monsieur Toulouse. It was probably just some sort of trick to frighten her. She got up and walked towards the south of her town, towards her house.

She came to a man standing on a corner. He didn’t look French. Lillian walked up to him and asked in English “’av you got any leep-stick?” she fluttered her eyelashes as she said this, hoping that she would get some off the handsome stranger.

“I’m sorry darling, but I don’t. You need to get out of the town anyway. We’re waging war here. If you want I can take you to a convoy that will be leaving soon with people from the town,” the stranger said in a cockney accent. He was glad this one spoke English. He was fed up of having to say convoy in French. The French people laughed at him every time and he didn’t know why.

“No, itz al’ight, I just need som’ leep-stick,” she said a bit disappointed but smiled sweetly at the man and continued to walk to her house. The soldier watched her go. He thought to himself ‘that’s one of the weirdest gals I’ve seen. I wonder what her problem is.’

She was about five minutes away from her house when a man grabbed her from behind. He turned her round and said something to her in German. Lillian was not sure what he said. She couldn’t speak German. The man’s grip was getting stronger on Lillian’s arm.

This man was hurting Lillian, so she said in the politest English she knew, “Get off me zis een-stant, you bay-stard,” she was taught that this was apparently polite by her English teacher. It didn’t seem that polite because the abusive man became infuriated. He began to dig his nails into her arm. Lillian was angry now; “zis is ‘urting me!” she shouted at the man. She reached into her pocket with her free arm, pulled out some perfume and squirted it into his face. The man let go instantly and started screaming in pain. Lillian kicked the man in the crotch. He collapsed in pain, one hand on his crotch, the other grappling at his eyes. Lillian turned on her heel and stalked the remaining distance to her house.

When she got there, the door had been blown off its hinges. She walked in, went up the stairs, walked across the landing avoiding the hole in the floor and went into her bedroom. There, on the dressing table was her lipstick. She picked it up and looked in the mirror. She saw the ripped top and decided to change; she put the lipstick down and walked to her wardrobe. She changed into a black skirt with matching one inch heels and she put on a dark purple top. She picked up the purple lipstick that was by the original lipstick she was going to wear and applied that one instead.

She made her way out of the house; there was a loud explosion in the distance and screaming. Lillian just shrugged it off. She was in an extremely good mood. She had found her lipstick and was ready for anything, although she was unsure what to do now.

“Lillian!?” came a woman’s voice. Lillian recognised the soft voice and turned to were it came from. Lillian’s mother came running over and hugged her. “You must follow me. We have to get out of here!” her mother said in French. She grabbed Lillian’s hand and they ran into the woods behind the house. There was a low humming sound coming from the woods, it got louder and louder the further they went in. The two French women burst onto a road which had a large truck on it. It had many more frightened people in the back. Some were crying and some were relieved to be free.

Lillian helped her mother into the back of the truck and got in herself. She sat down between her mother and another woman who was in floods of tears; she was looking at a small photograph, presumably of her family.

Lillian heard a man speaking to the woman next to him; “Is that Lillian Badeau? I can’t believe the Germans targeted the mental hospital. Do they have no hearts?”