John walked into the class late.

'You're late Finnie,' Mrs Anderson said.

'Yeah, soz miss. Got kept back by the Head again.'

Mrs Anderson tutted and shook her head. Marty was sitting near the back of the class with an amused look in his eyes, and John strolled over to him. As soon as he'd sat he leaned over, whispering, 'Got two months' report. Utter dog shit man.'

'Better than being expelled,' Marty whispered back. 'Acko has it in for you.'

John smirked. 'I hear you there bro.' They fist bumped. 'What we on, Miss?'

'Page thirty-two Finnie, "A Day in the Trenches".' Mrs Anderson pushed her glasses up.

John opened his book, flipping through the pages. Good, lots of photos. Books were tricky. It had taken John over a year to figure out how to Blink photos in books. Going into the picture was easy, but finding it was sometimes a pain, especially if the photo was old. What worked best was if the book was flat. Once he'd tried to Blink the book when it was bowed in his hands. The whole experience of the distorted world knocked him sick. When he Blinked out, he was disorientated and puked almost non-stop for the rest of the day. It'd been a horrid experience.

John had once used a stopwatch to time the Blinks.

(10y) MARCH 1998, 17.27

Click! The stopwatch's milliseconds rolled and ticked. For ten seconds John waited, then he Blinked into a photo. Gauging time was near impossible when in the Blink, he'd found. After a good long time had passed, he Blinked out and clicked the stop button. Eleven seconds was on the display. At least twenty minutes had passed in the Blink, he felt sure. Click, tack-a-tack, click, his fingers sounded on the keyboard as he entered this latest data into the research on his laptop.

'Time stops when I am in the Blink.'

This was one of the many tests he did on the Blink, trying to understand how it worked. He had tried to video the experience, but the camera came back blank. John's body also did not leave reality when he entered a Blink. John had hoped that somehow his whole body entered the Blink but was disappointed and disgusted when one of his tests proved this wasn't the case. This didn't take away from his belief in its realness that was for sure. That had been another test--the stories behind each picture always matched up with what he saw.

Once when Mam was feeling down, John had come down on the morning for his breakfast and found her on the sofa. A few bottles of wine had lain on their sides on the floor next to their photo album. The album had been open at his parents' wedding day photos. John had crept over and looked down--Mam had been crying.

He'd decided to leave her where she was. Before he'd left, he'd kicked the bottle.

'Is that you John?' Mam had croaked, dehydrated by the wine.

'Yeah ma, it's me. You okay?'

'I miss him John. I still miss him so much.' The ache in her voice had been almost too much for John to bear. John had looked around nervously; he hated it when Mam was like this. Nothing he'd done up to that point had helped, and he felt useless. An idea had come to him then. He called it the 'do you remember when' game. He would Blink each photo for her. It eased Mam's grief a little, but he really wished he could bring her with him. He had sat down beside her, picked up the album, and Blinked a photo. He'd pointed at a photo and began.

'Hey Mam, do you remember when...'

By the time he'd finished Mam had been asleep, and he'd stroked her hair, hoping she dreamed of Dad--her own personal little Blink.

(17y) JANUARY 2005, 13.38

Marty whispered, 'I'm copying off you on this one bro, so you had better write some bare good shit.'

John smiled and winked, flattened the book, and relaxed his body. Choosing the right photo was the key. John looked at them all. There were a few of soldiers laughing and leaning on each other. One was of a lone soldier looking out over dead man's land. The sadness emanating from the photo hit John like a sledgehammer. This was the one he had to go for. He Blinked and shot down towards the picture. Ever present behind him was the star, its presence comforting. He couldn't be sure, but he thought the star was his mind, because when he wanted to Blink out that's what he concentrated on. The photo ahead loomed in sepia tone, sharply contrasting the black surrounding it. John came to a sudden stop within touching distance.

Old pictures were the hardest to enter, so John was careful when he reached towards it. All too often, the whole thing would disintegrate as he entered. He guessed it was like anything old; it needed treating with respect and delicacy. Modern photos had a translucent film around them. When he entered it, the film healed behind him. Old ones were different; the film around them tore like tissue paper. If left open, the rip got bigger until it destroyed the thing completely. It saddened John when he found out that once it disintegrated he could never go back.

He pushed forward, the rip grew, and he passed into the scene. Turning about, he faced the rip and pushed its frazzled edges together, holding it for a while and waiting for the film to heal itself. A smile crossed his face as the torn edges started glowing and pulling together. A slight electric buzz caressed his arms until finally it was fully sealed. Next came the photo itself--a much more exciting thing.

The soldier faced out into no man's land, his face obscured by his large tin helmet. John was curious to see what he looked like. The soldier's face looked young but tired. Almost, he could imagine this soldier walking through the streets of London with a dashing young woman wearing old style clothing on his arm, except that the dirt and sullen expression he wore would never fit the picture. The bags under his eyes aged him; he looked like he hadn't been asleep in years.

Clink, clink, clink, the soldier tapped the top of the big machine gun to his side. John moved closer, hovering a foot away. Dusty streaks where tears had run stained the soldier's cheeks, and his eyes were red at the corners. The soldier had been crying. Being in this intimate sort of moment felt uncomfortable, intrusive. John stepped back. The soldier couldn't see him, but he wanted to give the man some privacy. Besides, tears had always made John feel uncomfortable.

The soldier stared out at the open expanse, and John angled his head in the same direction the soldier was facing, trying to figure out if he was looking at anything specific. But it seemed he wasn't staring at anything really. The landscape was barren. Footsteps squelched in the muck behind the soldier. Another soldier walked through the mud towards them.

A metal mug in his hand wafted steam into the crisp morning air. For a few seconds, the second soldier stood looking up at the Sanger--the lookout on their temporary fortified position with a breastwork built of sandbags and similar materials. He took a deep breath and walked forward.

'Hey Tom, wan 'a brew?' His cockney accent made John smile.

Tom looked down from the lookout Sanger. 'Yeah mate, thanks. Bring her up.'

John raised his eyebrows. For some reason, he expected Tom's accent to be cockney too. Tom was from Yorkshire. John made a mental note of this. Little details like these made his stories better.

The second soldier climbed a few feet of ladder to the top of the Sanger.

Tom pulled him into the Sanger and he sat down.

'Here you go mate.'

Tom took the mug. Steam wafted up around his face and he sniffed at the hot fluid inside. 'Real tea, Jack?'

Jack smiled. 'Yeah, pilfered from the Captain. Keep schtum eh.'

Tom punched him on the shoulder. 'Never change Jack.' He sipped at the tea.

'Don't think I can,' Jack replied with a cheeky grin.

Tom elbowed him and laughed. He passed the mug over, and Jack drank some down.

'Warms the old cockles, does that. Especially on a bone chillin' morning like this. Do you wonder much about what's going on at home?'

Tom shook his head.

John watched them just sitting together side by side, crossed his arms, and rubbed at them as if he could actually feel the cold in the photo. When he realised what he was doing he laughed. Couldn't feel a thing really.

As far as he could see, there was just barbed wire and mud. Up into the sky he floated to get a better view. Craters littered the floor, reminding him of a brown moon. Down to the two soldiers in the Sanger he glided, noting down their names. Jack and Tom. Names were important too.

No conversation flowed between them--no banter to write about--but this fascinated him more than anything else. Their silent camaraderie was something he had never experienced before. Sure, him and his buddies were close and stood up for each other, but this was so much deeper. The bond was almost tangible, and John could feel it just by watching them sit together. This would be a good thing to mention in his writing.

'Why didn't you go back, Tom?' Jack asked.

Tom looked out over no man's land, his fingers rapping on the top of the machine gun, clink, clink, clinking.

'Come on mate, you could have gone back home. Alfred is dead. Your brother is dead, but here you are in this godforsaken rat infested shit hole.' Shit, John hadn't expected that. So that was why the soldier--Tom--had been crying. Jack shook his head. 'I just don't understand you mate.' Suddenly their camaraderie felt more like a strained conversation with an ex-girlfriend, something tense in the air, some unresolved argument or difference of opinion.

Tom turned and smiled a sad, flat smile, and some of the tension melted away. 'Alf knew,' he said.

John expected Tom to start crying again, but Tom just smiled with a hollow look in his eyes. 'He knew what all this meant. Yeah, Alf is dead, but if I went back, I would be abandoning my new brothers.' Tom shoved Jack's knee, and Jack returned an empty smile.

I can't go back,' Tom said. 'Mum and Dad will see to him back in England.'

Jack nodded. 'Your decision mate.' They sat for a few more minutes in a dead silence.

'Well' --Jack slapped Tom on the shoulder-- 'I have to get back to my post. Jerry everywhere and all that.'

Tom smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes. 'Yeah.'

Bang! Suddenly soil erupted from the expanse before the Sanger: a grenade! Tom hit the Sanger's deck and a moment later John ducked, covering his head even though it was unnecessary. Then all hell broke loose. The sound of German machine guns hammered through John's soul and pierced his covered ears.

'Fuuuck!' Tom yelled, setting the bullets and starting up the machine gun. Screams, shouts, bangs, and yells rang out, sounding sinister and horrifying. There were soldiers everywhere, all of a sudden, bullets flying, and men dying.

Jack was on the floor of the trench, a round shot straight through his neck. John floated over and looked down. In the mud Jack lay, fighting to keep his blood from mingling with the nasty grey of the trench mud.

This was horrible. John wanted out of this Blink.

Jack's eyes bulged and he reached up in John's direction, gurgled once, spat blood from his mouth, and stopped moving. Oh god, this was too real. Too intense.

Where was the star? John floated up higher, looking desperately for it. Shit had hit the fan and he just wanted to get out. Upon a glance back, John saw that Tom was braying into the advancing soldiers with the machine gun, jolting them back with every shot. The smoke rose up to where John floated, making him gag. Blink out, you idiot.

Whistle blasts took his attention. The German Infantry were mounting a massive assault. As he watched from above, soldiers shot and soldiers dropped. Artillery shells hit the ground and exploded, taking limbs and lives. The copper smell of blood drenched the battle scene. The stink wafted up to him, perverting the clean air where he hung. He wanted out, panic clawed at the edges of his mind.

The soldiers went hand to hand, fighting on pure survival instinct. John watched it all and for the first time in any Blink ever, he cried.

The German army overran the British trenches. John swooped down amidst the bombs and bullets, tears pouring freely down his face. He had to find Tom. The smoke cleared as John searched on. Screams from wounded soldiers assaulted his ears from every direction. Pleas for help, for God, for their mams. John hit the ground running, hands over his ears. He didn't want to hear any more.

Finally he found Tom lying on the cold ground, pushing down hard at his stomach.

'Oh god! No!' John shouted as he settled by Tom's side. The screech in his voice sounded full of terror, and that was how he felt. The soldier looked directly at him and grabbed his hand. 'Are you an angel?' he said through blood soaked lips.

John looked down in shock as the soldier's blood soaked hand clutched his.

'No mate,' he shook his head, 'I'm just a kid.' Tom gave a blood soaked smile. 'You are an angel. You glow.' Beside Tom, John knelt in the dirt pulling Tom's head into his lap. A bomb exploded close by, and John winced as splatters of mud rained down on them.

'You can see me.' John felt shocked and numb--maybe it was the intensity of the war, the lives lost, the death and terror--and maybe it was this soldier holding his hand in the middle of it all.

Tom gritted his teeth and nodded, still pushing down on his stomach. John didn't want to look down at the wound, so he concentrated on Tom's face.

'I just wanted to do my bit. I'm not evil. I never wanted to kill anyone. Does God know that?' Tom gasped, cringing and clenching his teeth in pain.

John gripped Tom's hand tight. He wanted to give Tom something, to help him. 'Yeah man, we all know that. Everyone knows.'

Tom coughed and blood oozed from his mouth. He looked up at the boy. 'I don't want to die alone. Stay with me' --his breath hitched and he grit his teeth-- 'til the end?'

John nodded and more tears streamed down his cheeks. 'Yeah man. Till the end. I promise.'

The soldier convulsed again. 'Oh god, the pain,' he groaned. His eyes screwed shut tight, as if by shutting them he could deny what was happening. A machine gun exploded into action not far away, and John flinch. He looked up. The star was there, calling him back. But Tom lay writhing, dying in his arms. Freedom, for John, was a thought away, but for this soldier there would never be any freedom again. He couldn't leave--he had promised.

Fighting continued all around them, but John felt as if time was going in slow motion. Then he remembered that he was in control of the Blink. He paused the scene.

The soldier looked around, startled by the quiet. 'Is this it? Am I dead?'

John shook his head. 'No, I've just stopped the noise for you.'

Tom nodded, letting go of John's hand. 'Alf? Is that you Alf?'

John looked around. He couldn't see anyone. Tom's body relaxed. He took one small breath and his eyes closed. John stroked his blood soaked hair. 'Everyone is waiting for you Tom. Just let go.'

Tom's grip loosed from John's hand, and he died with his head on John's lap, leaving John with a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. For a few minutes John stared blankly at Tom's still face, weeping. Shit, what was he even still doing here? He restarted the Blink.

A German soldier ran forward with his bayonet fixed and screamed. John looked up and Blinked out.

Marty punched him on the shoulder. 'Proper good this time mate. We don't need a "C" again. John shoved him away. He pushed the desk over and ran out of class, weeping. Once he was out, he kept running, the sounds of bullets and bombs hammering his head. All the way home he ran, and curled up in his bed, sobbing. Tom's face and flashes of the horror he'd experienced played over and over in his mind until sleep overcame him.

P.S.

This has been one of my fav chapters so far. Woohoo. Hope you liked it as much as I did. Thank you to all the commentors and voters out there! You guys make it all worth while :D

© Steve Ford and Joy Cronjé 2018