Victims Of The Fuhrer

• Carys Rouw, Grade 6
• Short Story
• 2011

Another shot rings out through the darkness, chilling my blood, knowing what follows the shot makes me shiver even though I lay beneath layers of cosy, woollen blankets. I turn towards the man who is sharing the bunker with me; desperate for some company, I listen out for his even breathing. I want to talk to someone, someone who shares my beliefs, though I know I have almost no chance of that, especially in this heartless army - the place where my heritage dictates I belong, but I feel strangely out of place.

“Rudy, are you awake?” A voice destroys the cold, cruel silence that had been isolating me. “Ja” I respond, my voice is slightly croaky with the cold. Light floods the room, as my eyes adjust to the light my glance sweeps the room and in the place where Hans is supposed to be lays an empty void, I find him at the door, brandishing a gun sickeningly proud. He smiles playfully and nods eagerly at the wooden, green door. “Our shift. Come, lets’ go have fun ” he sneers, his toothless grin sending a shiver of disgust down my spine, I feel the bile burn the back of my throat as I stagger to my feet, somewhat reluctantly, and reach for my gun, my rough, calloused hands hover, unwillingly, above the black handle of a long, black instrument, the murderer they call a gun. Hans’ eyebrows shoot up swiftly at my reluctance, hiding in his black fringe, disappearing amongst black strings of murk. “Ja Ja – I am Coming.’’ I plastered a cheerful smile on my face- just a mask covering my uneasiness.

We are on the look out for Jews. Prisoners’ making fruitless attempts of escape, killed because they’re Jewish. The victims of this cruel war – human beings with a heartbeat and feelings just like me – I wonder why it is their fate that is sealed with a pull of the trigger, why is it the Fuhrer has chosen them?

A shadow creeps around a corner, and Hans’ smiles gleefully. I see the familiar outline of the shadow and terror washes over me until it has taken over my entire body, forcing horrific images into my mind. Although I am forbidden to do so – I know this house well. I shut my eyes in agony, and suddenly, a horrendous boom fills my head, shattering the dark of the night into a thousand shattered dreams, shock takes the place of terror and slowly turns to anger. Realisation brings a single word to my head. ‘‘Sausmensch.’’ I whisper, hunching my back, positioning my hands. “What did you say?” Hans is clearly outraged, shock hanging between us like stars hang in the sky. ‘‘Idiot.’’ I repeat, straightening up to reveal two clammy hands holding what would be his death sentence. A single shot rings out.

Guilt is a human invention, but racing around the corner of the house I know so well I feel no remorse. I see my wife Isabelle and my 1-year-old daughter, Yvette, lying in a pool of Isabelle’s blood. I stumble to my knees. ‘’No…’’ I moaned desperately, realisation hits me and the enormity of what I see is too much to bear “Nooooooo!!!” tears spring to my eyes. Yvette stands unsteadily, wobbles and runs as fast as her one year old legs allow into my arms, I smile sadly as she looks up into my eyes and mumbles her very first word.
‘’Papa!’’