Cold War: A Narrative Fiction

The year is 1922, four years after the war has ended. My brother is home, but barely talks, especially about the war. He is suffering from post traumatic stress disorder. Momma doesn't push for him to talk, and she tell’s all of us not to talk about it. Papa just goes to work, comes home, eats and sleeps. Barely talks to us, except for days that he doesn't work ,which isn't very often. It’s a cold winter's night in December. Papa’s home from work and Walter is talking more than usual. Momma's cooking smoked salmon and deviled eggs for dinner, one of Walter’s favorites. Whilst she is cooking I’m sitting in my room, at my vanity. I pull out my old wooden box that has roses engraved on it. My great grandma gave it to me. It originally came
I look around. “Some old creepy back alley? This is where you decide to bring your 16 year old sister?” I ask, watching my surroundings carefully. “Oh, ab-so-lute-ly! You’ll love it. Little did you know, I snuck out almost every night to come to one of these when I first got home…” He finishes his sentence before saying the war. Walter knocks on the door. A scary man opens a little opening and asks for Walter's name. “Walt Jones, sir” is all he says. “How about the bearcat” he says motioning at me. “She doesn't look a day over 19” “Oh trust me fella, she is.” Walt then winks at the scary man. He lets us in, and all of a sudden it's like we’re in a completely different universe. Flappers and big timers everywhere. Nothing like i’ve ever experienced before, but even better. “Is this all bootlegged stuff, Walt?” I ask looking around at all the excitement. “Helen, of course it is, this is a very illegal operation.” “Just don't leave me alone,
There's a woman in a gown kissing Walt. What is this? A wedding probably, the flower petals and beads, it all makes sense now. “Walt, can we go home now, please?” He looks at me like I'm crazy. “Helen, baby, go home without me. I'll be there later to tell mom and pops the news” he says patting my shoulder. “No Walt! That's not what's going to happen… you need to come home with me. Mama wouldn't be happy if I walked home alone.” He takes my hand and guides me outside. “Helen! Quit, I’m leaving. I’m not coming home, I’m married and we’re moving in together” Walt says. I’m officially broken hearted. He wouldn't really leave us, would