A/N: Okay so this was my first piece of work. Like, ever. Well, not ever but you get my point. Which is why the tense is all weird, and it kinda sucks. But sitting here, with a hell of a cough and watching Just My Luck (with ickle McFly, whom I love), it seems as if anything is almost possible.

So this is weird, and possibly set in WW2. If you like it, it's got the possibility to be a multi-chapter fic. If you want. I'll make it Tiva for you! : )

Disclaimer: Hey, Man, now you're really living! So, no, I don't own it.

She winced, tearing through her house, eyes wildly searching for the purse she had filled months ago. It was stuffed; fit to burst with any possessions she may require in the next however-long. She raised a splayed hand to one ear in a desperate yet pointless attempt to block out the noise of the wailing siren. Finding the purse- a small, rather worn out, carpet bag- she ran to the back door, stopping only momentarily in the living room as she caught sight of herself in the mirror.

She was in a thin nightdress, her normally wild hair tamed vaguely by the braid she had pulled it into the night before. Or that night, when she thought about it. It was early morning, an odd time for a raid, she thought. But she shrugged off the thought as the siren drilled through her thoughts and dragged her back to reality. Catching sight of a woolen item of clothing draped over the mantelpiece, she turned and snatched it violently.

She sighed deeply as she realised that she had forgotten something rather important. Or some things, more like. Photographs. She scooped the most important ones- about four- in her arms and wrapped them in the woolen thing. Diving out of the house, now wearing very un-fetching Wellington boots, she ran to the metal cage in her garden, dreading the mud and the puddles, but most of all, the loneliness.