Eloise Ramsay leaned against the soft back of her rocking chair, creaking back and forth against the hardwood floor. The melodious sounds of the radio nearby lulled her into a deep trance, aiding her in forgetting the memories of her past that haunted her mind daily. She reached for the glass of water perched upon the end table beside her and wetted her dried-out lips. Her eyes aimlessly wondered toward the open window, where she had the faint visual of birds fluttering happily in a ceramic birdbath. She let out a deep sigh as she heard them sing their lively song, knowing that she herself was like a caged bird every day that she sat in the home facility.

The calming music ceased when a man's voice on the radio blared loudly in her ear, "An honored war nurse will be recognized..."

In an annoyed haste, she quickly turned the shiny nob until the room succumbed to utter silence. She did not wish to hear the appalling racket any longer. Her heart did not long for the public's attention, only some kindness and happiness to accompany her through her older years. Her eyes locked on the large book lying beside her. The bold black letters stood out on the bright white cover, The World Wars, took her back to the past. The memories surrounding the years before flashed in her mind with a thousand vibrant scenes that she had longed to forget. The images of wartime horrors would be etched in her subconscious until the day she died.

She clutched the multicolored afghan that draped over her, hiding the fragile object that had become her body over the many years of age deuteriation. Her eyes focused onto her wrinkled hands—hands that had once helped hundreds of soldiers live through the glorified events called war. Her trembling fingers spun the golden ring that rested lightly upon her finger, reminding her of the man she loved—the man she longed to see again.

A loud knock at the door brought her back to the sixties, where she was no longer the youthful nurse in her twenties; instead, she was an elderly woman in her seventies. She turned her gaze upon the brown colored door frame where she saw the shape of her son, followed by several strangers. In his hand, he held a large bouquet of brightly colored poppies.

"Ulrich," She called out happily, a smile growing onto her wrinkled face. "My dear son!" He returned the smile as he entered into the room.

The heels of his shiny black dress shoes clacked against the hard floor. He straightened the well-fitted uniform coat that hugged his body. The tallness in his stature, the blondness of his hair, and the blueness in his eyes painted the image of a man lost deep within her fading dreams.

"They are beautiful." Eloise whispered into the silence as she watched Ulrich place the colorful flowers in a crystal vase nearby.

He cleared his throat as he pulled a chair beside her. "I know that they are your favorites." The smoothness of his voice was calming to her ears. "How is my dear mother today?" He asked, plopping down onto the high-backed wicker chair.

"I am very well, I suppose." She responded softly, taking her son by the hand. "I can't complain with such as handsome man sitting before me."

His chiseled lips curved into a smile. "You look very lovely yourself, mother."

She could not help the grin that came onto her face at his comment. Her hands found their way to the white braid that fell down the front of her cotton blouse and began twirling the end of what used to be a light shade of brown. She found herself staring into the blue orbs of Ulrich's eyes.

"I am so thankful that you are here today." She said happily, finding his sturdy hand. "You look so nice in your uniform, much like your father."

He nodded happily in response.

"I hope you remembered what today is." He said, glancing over at the several strangers that hoovered silently in the doorframe.

Eloise glanced at them only for a moment, then back at her son. "Ulrich, my dear," she whispered, shaking her head. "It has been so long since the wars. I don't think I can tell them of my story."

A reassuring expression came across his face. "You don't have to tell them everything, mother, just what you wish for them to know." He said comfortingly, motioning to the people to approach them.

In no time, she was surrounded by several suited people, holding bulky cameras tightly in their hands. Eloise stared at them expressionless, observing each movement they made around her. She unimpressively watched a dark-haired woman dig vigorously through a large yellow handbag, searching for something. A large, bald man pointed a square camera directly at her. Behind the black object, he motioned for her to smile. A feeling of uncertainty began to fill her heart as she studied the disheveled strangers. Ulrich stood behind her rocking chair. He rested his hand sturdily on her shoulder to reassure her of any doubts that she had began to gather.

"Mrs. Ramsay," The well-dressed, dark-haired woman sat down in front of her. A yellow notepad rested in her hand. She reeked of a strong perfume, making Eloise cough on the loud smell. "I want to begin by thanking you and your son for the service you gave in the war. I hope that we are not creating any disturbance or inconvenience to you." She paused, taking an ink pen into her hand. "Also, if there is anything we can get you before we begin, please let us know. We want only the best for an honorable woman like you."

Eloise glanced up at her son behind her and placed her wrinkled hand atop his. "I do not wish to be called Mrs. Ramsay. Please address me as Eloise Keller."

"Is that your maiden name?"

Eloise nodded proudly, folding her hands on her lap. "Yes." She answered simply. "Also, before I utter a word of my past," she paused, taking a deep breath. "You are to document it as I say. I want my story to be remembered the way I tell you. Do not change it to fit your morals or your imagination, I have lived a life in the way I have chosen and I would not change anything about it."

"Your wishes are our command." The reporter smiled with a nod. "Your story will not be changed, I promise you that, Eloise" The woman kindly replied, scratching some words onto the notepad. "Shall we begin then?"

The instant that Eloise nodded, the woman began her questions, wasting no time for silence.

"As it is known about you, you served as a combat nurse in France during the first war. Women weren't allowed to much of anything in during those years. How did you get involved in that?"

Eloise thought in silence, glancing around at the modern technology that surrounded her. A hundred thoughts flashed in her mind, but she did not know what to say in response. Words left her mind as images of the past danced vibrantly throughout her head and rested upon her tongue, unable to escape from her dried lips...