Heartless

• Amy Roff, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2013

Yesterday,

My heavy feet dragged along the gravel, making an unpleasant scraping sound with every step I took. My gloved hands were shoved deep in my coat pockets, and a felt hat pulled tightly over my head. My eyes watched my feet, making sure my shoes didn’t touch any blood on the road, carelessly splattered like a tin of paint that had been dropped from a rooftop. I heard a sob a few paces ahead. I glanced nervously up, but it was too late. The woman was already staring, waiting for me to look up and catch her gaze. I stopped and took in the scene. A man, lying on the ground, his arm twisted awkwardly behind his back, a thin ribbon of blood ran out of his opened mouth, an odd dent in the side of his skull. The woman, her hands shaking by her side stood over him, staring intently into my eyes. I put my head down and shuffled quickly across the road to the right footpath. As I kept walking I could feel her stare upon my back. “You heartless bastard” I heard her yell behind me. It was true. I was heartless. We all were. Every person who walked past one of these horrific scenes every day on our way to and from work, even mothers with their babies in strollers, or old women carrying bags of shopping. Heartless.
I walked diagonally across the road once more to reach the left footpath. The right footpath was where the shops were, awaiting customers. I looked over, and watched as three soldiers dumped armfuls of books onto the side of the road, then marched back into the store to collect more. A gruff looking officer, smirking, was holding down a small man wearing round spectacles on his knees.

Last night,

Anna held onto me tightly. I could feel her rough sobs shake through her body, her face was buried in my chest, and her tears were soaking through my pyjamas. I stroked her hair lightly. The crashes coming from Fraulein Schulz’s apartment next door scared her. This was the third time this week. Usually the third time is the last time, after the second they find a reason to take you away. Attila, her miniature Schnauzer, was barking madly. What would happen to the dog when she was taken? Her apartment would be rented out quickly, most likely in the next week. Since the last air raid many were looking for non-permanent housing. You just never knew these days.

Last week,

I saw three people die. The first was a man beaten to death for his yellow star by four men in uniforms who hated him for no valid reason. The last punch was to his temple, he already lay in a pool of blood, his head on the concrete, but the soldier held his head down by his neck, as he threw down his fist with powering force into the side of the man’s skull, smashing his head harder into the concrete.
I watched from a café across the road. I wondered if I was the only one who watched. Everyone else seemed to be pretending they didn’t see.
A small boy. A wall fell on him, he just sat on the side of the road, and I watched him play with a small palm-sized car, then the wall shook and I ran towards the boy because I knew it would fall, and a little boy would die, but I fell and I tripped. A little boy died and I grazed my knee. A mother lost her baby boy and I have small bruise on my arm.
A young woman, who died by choice. She shot herself in the head. After she had painted ‘what is it for?’ on the brick wall opposite the china store, she killed herself. Anna and I watched her paint the wall from the safety of the little china shop with curiosity. Anna fainted when she fell. I didn’t catch her. I was to shocked from what I saw outside the window. Anna broke three plates when she fell, but the shopkeeper didn’t make us pay for them.

Last year,

The sky was bright, and all the buildings stood tall. The parade was starting at 11:00 so I was meeting with Anna for tea beforehand. I nodded to a young man in uniform as I passed him in the street, what a brave soldier, fighting for his country. I smiled as I walked on.
The parade crowd was full of proud parents, with watering eyes and puffed chests. The youth walked down the street, the older ones with guns. The younger ones with a small knife sticking out of their back pocket’s. Even the Girl’s Youth walked, in the dress version of the brown uniform, all with matching armbands. Some of the younger children not yet old enough to join a youth party, stood with the watching crowd holding large framed photographs of the Führer.
We had been told that he had a plan. We were his favorite city and we had been told about ‘The Final solution’ first, before any other German city. That’s what we were waiting for….the final stage.

TODAY,

I stare out to the last lights of Berlin. Not many are left, no one walks the streets, the sirens still blare. Most people are in shelters all over the city. Midnight raids are the worst people say, the Brits feel more confident at night. Always at night are the raids, a blanket of darkness offers no protection, yet no one expects to die. So many die…I know I will die but I don’t want to perish tonight in a shelter full of heartless people.
The sirens stop and for a few seconds all I hear is the gentle air that pushes whisps of hair in the direction of the soft wind. But a low drum in the black distance breaks the serenity.
A soft glow and a rumble causes me to squint, the first bomb. Miles away.
A year, To watch this city burn. To watch a man murder my home, To watch Germany fall to the hands of the heartless.
The bombs may not reach the street I stand far above tonight.
But if they do, I will not walk past the ruins of a home. Where a family sat and ate. Where a baby sleeps, or a husband dances with his wife. I will not walk past heartlessly.
I will not be there.