"Hello, who's that?"John grunted.

"It's James, government assistant of New England, your child, Drain is to be evacuated from London in a few hours. Make sure he is ready,"the line replies casually as if the war going on was nothing of his worries,"He is to bring all his belonging. Good Luck!!!"

"WHAT!"John yelled nearly losing his mind"you can't do anything to my child", but the line had already ended.

John slumped heavily onto the red velvet cushioned sofa, too shocked to move. His legs turned to jelly as he struggled to stand up, recalling the message just given.

"What am I going to do?" His thoughts were racing and he suddenly felt dizzy.

Deciding on a solution, he quickly grabbed his coat and jumped into his car. When he arrived at his child's school, he rushed to Drain's classroom. Time was against him as he tried to find the right classroom, but when he did, he roughly dragged the confused Drain out and droved him straight back home.

When they arrived home, John explained to Drain everything that had happened in the past hour and then ordered Drain to packed his bag before the officers came to take him away. The teary-eyed child silently packed all his belonging in a small, crumbled backpack and then stood still at the door waiting for his death sentence(in his own mind).

When the officers arrived, John sobbed quietly as he readied his child for the long journey to the north of London. As the officers lead Drain to the horse carriage, John thought of snatching the child away. As Drain disappeared into the dust, John desperately yelled that he would find his child at the end of the war, no matter what would happen.

.........................................................
Drain sat at the end of the dusty, rotten carriage. Every time, the carriage shook, it would threaten to fall apart. The dirty, foul horse didn't make the ride better. They grunts and bellows would always wake him up in the middle of his sleep and distract him in the morning. On the way to the north, the officers would pick up other kid with the same problem. Every time he saw the parents of the kids getting evacuated sobbing and sometimes even breaking down, it would remind him of John, his father. Sometimes at moonless night, Drain would cry silently to himself and remember his father's last word.

The journey seemed to last forever but when Drain and the other evacuatie finally arrived at Bingley at the West of Yorkshire in the north of England, the officers and volunteers went to every house in the town to find a kind person who would graciously accept a child into their home, but many refused to accept any, calling them spies and other rude names, while other would refrain to budge open their door.

At the thirty-second house, a swarthy, indecorous, rough-looking man approached the door. Drain shivered at the man's appearance and shrank to the back of the group, hoping not to get picked to live in the house.

"Hello, wat' di' uo wan'," the man said brusquely and gruffly.

"Sorry, we---,"the officer stopped abruptly in mid-sentence as the old man interrupted him.

"uo ain't too bi sory, young er, oni to chos' the right child