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FRUK.
Arthur watched the fiery explosions flourish along the cliffs of Omaha Beach, they were directed by Alfred.
His stomach twisted and churned from the large-scale plan that him and the allies were going to execute tomorrow. It was obvious that many men were deemed to fall, but losing too many decreased morale. It built up the huge mountain of guilt Arthur had to endure during this war. This war that may carry on for many, many more years. Many more years that cause guilt and pain, everyone trudging through a desolate plane of loss. The waves began to crash harshly into the shore, some splashes fell onto Arthur’s pants.
“Bloody hell..” he sighed, gazing elsewhere from the booming explosions.
It’s been too long since he’d last seen Francis. A wave of longing washed over him, but he brushed it off quickly, this was no time to think about unimportant matters. He turned around bitterly when suddenly Francis appeared in his vision. Arthur’s eyes went wide, “Francis.” He whispered, the name rolled off his tongue so smoothly.
The waves began to ease upon the shore softer, less violent, more solemn. Francis stood there, clothes as bland as ever, it made Arthur chuckle a little through slightly teary eyes. Francis reciprocated the smile a little, his gorgeous, blonde hair flowing serenely within the cool wind. The hair that Arthur always adored.
“You are coming for me, aren’t you?” Francis asked, his voice echoed across the vacant beach, washing out the chaotic explosions that proceeded along the cliffs.
Arthur nodded, “I never stopped trying.” And Francis dissipated into nothing.
Arthur felt the patch sewed onto his sleeve with his fingertips. This time, he was determined this time to save Francis and his jailed people.
The shells halted their bombing for the night, and Arthur’s gaze lingered once more on the inky cliff before turning around to return back.
He’s never given up, not once. Tomorrow will just be another day.