We All Bleed The Same Colour

• Fraser Muir, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2020

The wine bottle crashed, spewing its contents directly into his lap. Colonel Horst snapped, his eyes blazing like a roaring fire.

“Zounderkite!” Colonel Horst screeched. Mikolaj instinctively backed away, hunched over like a suffering fighter tensing for a blow.

“I’m so sorry, sir. It won’t happen again” Mikolaj mumbled. Colonel Horst did not seem to notice. He leapt out of his chair, standing pencil straight. His nostrils flared as his eyes charged with hatred and bellicose. As he lurched towards Mikolaj, his chair was propelled across the floor, narrowly missing the Captain. Mikolaj twisted, desperately trying to escape the soldier’s grip. His attempts were futile. Colonel Horst’s thick fingers paled as they tightened around his collar. Desperately searching the eyes of the remaining diners hoping someone – anyone – would protest this horrific occurrence, Mikolaj was dragged like a doll through the doorway. The door slammed and Mikolaj knew his fate was sealed.

Outside the room, the first blow was delivered, interrupting Mikolaj’s thoughts. He was launched across the room, coming to an abrupt stop as his head collided with the wall. He climbed dizzily to his feet slipping on the wet and sticky floor. He was losing blood; the thick, viscous, biological source of his life oozing from all over him.

“Pathetic Jew!” spat Colonel Horst as his polished boot connected with Mikolaj’s stomach. Dazed and confused, pain seeped through his brain, pleading for the torture to end. His head pounded like a beating drum. Boom. Boom. Boom. His tormentor’s voice echoed around him. He tried not to focus on the bodily fluids escaping from his body. The metallic taste of blood crawled along his tongue. The repulsive stench of sweat spiralled into his nasal cavities and, surprisingly, he still felt the tears rushing over his swollen cheeks. Mikolaj was barely capable of speech; he merely whimpered like a vulnerable kitten.

“Putrid scum!” Horst bellowed.

“Please, sir. The Captain. His family. They need me. I work for them. I won’t be any use to them,” wheezed Mikolaj between breaths of searing fire in his throat. Colonel Horst pulled Mikolaj so close he could feel the hot, moist breath on his ear.

“I’ve not seen you do anything helpful for the Captain’s family. You Jews think you’re so smart but look at you. Pathetic. Finding a replacement for peeling potatoes will be easy” Horst snarled.

The brutal soldier grabbed him roughly and dragged him outside.

“Please sir, I beg of you! appealed Mikolaj but Horst wasn’t listening, his rage countering his common sense. He violently thrust Mikolaj into the dirt.

“Lie on the ground, hands on your head” ordered Colonel Horst calmly. His composure terrified Mikolaj. He collapsed to the floor and yielded like a twig under a heavy boot. Hearing the holster unbuckling and feeling the cold, hard steel tip of a firearm nuzzle the back of his head, Mikolaj prayed for a miracle. A deafening crack resounded; the only thing louder being the silence that followed.