He grew up far too fast, what with the start of the war, his parents’ deaths and him being imprisoned by an oppressive government. He never believed in fairy tales and was annoyed by people who did. He rarely smiled; he deemed it an improper thing to do in a world torn by a world war.
Despite everything, he married a perfect child at heart. She was seven years his senior, a vibrant war journalist in love with life. With a smile and a few encouraging words, she never failed to lift him out of depression.
She died from radiation poisoning, which she caught from an explosion he had managed to escape. One of the things she’d left especially for him was a collection of stories by the Brothers Grimm.
He read the book countless times, plunging into the childhood he never had, discovering the worlds his wife so loved to talk about, distracting himself from the horrors of reality.
He died from radiation poisoning, which he caught from an explosion while busy making sure the children in the orphanage he was watching over all got into a bunker. He passed away with a smile on his face, his soul liberating itself and flying to the realm of eternal childhood.
Written for the Daily Post prompt — childhood.
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