Posted in 1940s, Historical fiction, Imre, Writing

WeWriWa—Escape to the depot

Happy 74th birthday to Pete Townshend!


Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday, weekly Sunday hops where writers share 8–10 sentences from a book or WIP. I’m now sharing from Chapter 45, “Imre’s Revenge,” of my hiatused WIP The Strongest Branches of Uprooted Trees.

It’s November 1945, and Imre has stayed behind in Budapest instead of being smuggled into Italy with his girlfriend Csilla and their friends. He’s determined to perform some modern Herculean labors, starting with going to Csilla’s hometown Abony to recover important possessions she hid last year.

The gendarme who took over Csilla’s house, Mr. Mészáros, discovered Imre in the cellar, and a violent fight broke out. Imre suspects he may have killed Mr. Mészáros, and got out of that house after discovering Csilla’s old sled and tying down the oversized objects he uncovered. The rest are in a large postal sack around his neck.

On his way to the depot, he begins wondering when Mr. Mészáros’s wife and daughters will return and discover what happened.

Abony depot, Copyright Globetrotter19

Perhaps they’d get the authorities involved, and he’d be implicated and tracked down. If that happened, he had to escape Hungary as soon as possible.

The sight of the depot was a welcome blessing, after a thirty-minute walk that seemed to take thirty days. He asked for a ticket to Nyugati Station, struggling to speak in a normal tone of voice, and pushed the pengő across the counter. As soon as the train steamed into the station, Imre rushed aboard with the sled, found a seat, and almost collapsed. Once everyone was aboard and the journey had begun, a porter came around offering drinks and light refreshments. Imre asked for vodka, and chugged it down as soon as it was in his hand. The moment the miraculous natural pain-killer hit his tongue, the intense pain began ebbing away. He knew it’d come back once the alcohol was out of his system, but for now, it was nice to forget reality.


I started reading at three (my first book was Grimm's Fairy Tales, the uncensored adult version), started writing at four, started writing book-length things at eleven, and have been a writer ever since. I predominantly write historical fiction family sagas/series. I primarily write about young people, since I was a young person myself when I became a serious writer and didn't know how to write about adults as main characters. I only write in a contemporary setting if the books naturally go into the modern era over the course of the decades-long stories being told over many books. I've always been drawn to books, films, music, fashions, et al, from bygone eras, and have never really been too much into modern things. If something or someone has appeal for all time, it'll still be there to be discovered after the initial to-do has died down. For example, my second-favorite writer enjoyed a huge burst of popularity in the Sixties and Seventies, but he wrote his books from 1904-43, and his books still resonate today, even after he's no longer such a fad. Quality lasts for all time.

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