Disclaimer- blah blah blah don't own these characters blah blah blah making no money from them blah blah blah keep your arms and hands inside the ride at all time blah blah blah…
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Young Mischa whimpered. The Nazi soldier and her big brother Hannibal were using her in their game of Tug-Of-War. She whimpered not only from the physical pain, but also from the decision that plagued her. She wanted to go out and play, but she also wanted to stay in the barn with Hannibal. The decision was made for her as a loud crack echoed when the barn door slammed shut on Hannibal's arm, forcing him to let go. The man holding Mischa's arm was rough. His grip was tight, and his stride was much too fast for her toddling feet to keep up, so she was dragged through the snow. She cried in protest, but he only pulled harder.
She saw blood on the snow. There was an axe. Suddenly, Two-Year old Mischa's infant brain came to a conclusion: They weren't going to play. Something bad would happen. She'd seen the servants kill chickens with axes, and there was always blood.
The soldier holding Mischa dropped her arm, and Mischa fell ran as fast as her short chubby legs would go. She ran and ran, tripped over a hidden root, and fell. She banged her chin hard on the rim of one of the stool
buckets, and three of her baby teeth came out. She
spit, blood and tooth falling into the bucket, crying from the pain. She got up, and continued to run. She
was in the woods soon, and found a gnarled tree, the branches low and close
together. Hannibal had showed her how to climb trees. She
heard voices, angry voices, yelling and cursing. She scrambled up the tree, up to the top
where dead leaves still hung in a big cluster, hiding her sufficiently. She gripped the wide branch she was on, and as the voices
faded away, her eyelids drooped, and she fell asleep, utterly exausted from fear and fatigue.