Here's my second attempt at Friday Fictioneering...thanks once again to Madison Woods for this brilliant exercise! (I forgot to mention this last time, but comments and criticism are welcome.)
Emilie settled herself on the hill, pulled out a notebook, and peered through the foliage.
There was nothing to see, but Emilie didn’t doubt the report. This spy was never wrong. As she sharpened her pencil, she could almost hear André's criticism. "You are putting all of us at risk by using pen and paper!" Emilie shrugged defiantly. Before la résistance, she was a bookkeeper. Recording details on paper was as natural to her as breathing. What was the harm? She planned to burn her notes in André's kitchen later that evening.
The soldiers entered the valley at precisely three o'clock. Emilie began to count grey uniforms.
The ninth soldier in line jerked an old man forward, forcing him to kneel. As the other soldiers raised their rifles, Emilie forgot la résistance and even forgot André. Her scream reverberated across the valley. "Grand-père!"