He clambered to the top of the hill, breathing heavily with sweat dripping down his face and his shirt clinging to him. At the top of the hill, he looked down at the never-ending fields that had been his childhood playground for the last nineteen years. The sun shone down across the fields, hitting the trees and casting large shadows on the green grass below. In the distance, birds tweeted and broke through the early morning silence.

Daniel Morris surveyed the landscape one last time, his hands rested on his hips and his shirt sleeves were pushed up to his elbows. He took a breath and turned around where he looked back towards the small farmhouse he lived with his parents before making the trek back down to join them for breakfast.

Every morning, Daniel would climb the hill and look out across the British countryside, brace himself for the day ahead and escape from the house before the morning newspaper was delivered. His father poured over the thing, making comments on how the government was wrong and that the England football team weren't playing to their strengths. Oftentimes, Daniel thought it better to enter these discussions with a clear head rather than one fogged up by sleep.

With the sun on his back and a soft breeze dancing across the open field, Daniel made his way back down the hill at a slight jog in order to keep his balance. He passed the neighbours fields where the cows were already grazing, and a pen full of freshly shorn sheep. After walking past the fields, he came to a small gravel path and a low wall protected by a gate that squeaked far too loudly.

He walked through the gate, the loud squeak most likely alerting his mother of his approach, before following the twisting path down towards the cottage. The front door has been propped open with a large rock to allow some of the early morning breeze to creep into the otherwise stuffy rooms. Daniel pushed through the door and walked through the living room and to the small family kitchen.

Mrs Morris stood at the stove in the kitchen toasting some bread, sausages frying nearby and filling the entire room with a strong smell that made Daniel's stomach rumble. His younger sister, Ruth, sat at the table bouncing up and down while his father sat beside her and occasionally turned the paper.

"Looks like we're on the verge of declaring war," Mr Morris said, his eyes scanning the paper.

"What for?" Daniel slid into his seat beside his sister.

"The deadline for the Germans to pull out of Belgium passes later today."

"What's that got to do with us?"

"We're looking out for our friends, my boy. Were we in the same sort of situation, we'd like to think they'd do the same thing for us."

"War's a little extreme, though."

Mr Morris glared at his son over the top of the paper and Daniel said no more on the matter. He knew better than to push his father when it came to matters concerning the government or anything political. Instead, he thanked his mother when she placed his plate in front of him and began to eat his breakfast in silence.

Daniel had heard talks of war for several weeks, it had been on the lips of his friends at their local pub. He hadn't been following the news because he thought the entire thing would simply blow over and there would be no need for all-out warfare. His friends had talked of their plans to sign up the moment war was declared. They wanted their chance to defend their country and be seen as heroes to their neighbours, to their family, and to the girls who had turned them down.

Although he could see the appeal of fighting for his country and the respect it would bring, Daniel did not want to go to war. He knew he would have the choice - go to war or stay and work the farm with his father - but Daniel had always wanted to stay on the farm, to stay with his family. He didn't think he had it in him to kill another human being. Still, with the possibility of war growing ever closer, he knew he had to make a decision. He just didn't know what that decision would be.

After breakfast, Daniel took his sister and the two of them headed out to do their morning chores. Daniel set about drawing water from the well by attaching a pail to a rope and slowly lowering it down into the depths whilst Ruth collected the eggs from the chickens. She stuffed them into a woven basket that hung from her small wrist and leaned precariously to the side whenever she bent down to pick up an egg.

"Daniel?" she asked, emerging from the chicken hut with straw clinging to her dress and her hair looking more dishevelled than it had been just half an hour before.

"Yes, Ruthie?"

"Will you have to leave?"

"No, I won't. Father needs me here. I'm not going anywhere."

"Promise?"

"Promise. Whatever happens, I'm staying here. Whether you like it or not, you're stuck with me little one."

Ruth nodded her head, her dark curls bouncing in the light. She turned and headed back towards the cottage with the basket swinging from her arm and the eggs rolling around inside. Daniel looked back to the pails of water he had gathered that covered the ground around the well and sighed. Despite the promise he had made, he knew he would have trouble keeping it in the long run. He knew his father would expect him to sign up regardless of whether he needed his help on the farm - going to war would be a matter of honour.

Daniel stared back over the hills that surrounded the farm, watching the trees shake in the slight breeze and the way the grass danced. He looked back at the cottage; the cracked stone, the ivy that climbed and twisted its way up the building.

He couldn't leave it all behind.

Regardless of what may happen, he couldn't leave his home and his family behind to fight for a war he didn't believe in. For a war, he didn't want to be a part of.

~~~

First Published - February 10th, 2021