1.
Kristallnacht | Night of Broken Glass
His eyes, blue with cruelty, are staring at me with such intensity that it makes my stomach twist; the blackness of his pupils is like a mirror – my desire to run is reflected on my face, which is in turn reflected on his lifeless eyes. His pale brown hair, pulled back to keep it out of his face, is stained with blood; blood is smeared across his narrow cheekbones and along the rough edges of his clenched jaw; there are specks of blood on his lips. Occasionally, if I were unlucky enough, I would glance over and see his tongue slither out and lick the blood off. His icy blue eyes, glaring from where they sit on his wretched face, are full of malice and murderous intent; simply his stature, rigid as it is, screams "I Show No Mercy", and his expression is one of absolute ignorance, oblivion and intensely gross arrogance; it is a kind of pride that does not belong to such a man; this arrogance should have been obvious to anyone who knew him well, but everyone around him sports the same uniform, gruesome personality and masochistic grin; their blank faces are stained with blood – their souls with rust and filth. I can honestly say that it is true that I am the only pure one left, save for the fact that I still wear the same uniform the others do but do not don the "responsibilities" that come with it. I seem to have more sense in my mind, more wit in my thinking and more determined with my mindset. I could look nowhere else but at the destruction that befell me; houses lay in ruins like the fallen blocks of a child, the automobiles in the same disarray; soldiers were positioned on every perimeter, deeply inspecting everything but looking completely blank with it.
His parted lips are moving quickly, much too fast for my whirring brain to comprehend at the time; a lot of it doesn't make sense, but I get the gist of exactly what it is he's trying to say; most of what can be heard is a low buzz of barked words such as "now!" and "before time is up!"; this string of violent words included the haunting phrase that I know will give me nightmares even after I die: Take the gun like a good girl, aim it at the worthless Jew, then pull the trigger. Suck it up; move on. Nothing important happened. The longer you take to do this, the worse your punishment will be! My ears, deafened by the surrounding gunshots and angst-ridden screams, only hear a simplified version of his leer: Take the gun. Shoot the Jew. Move on to the next. I feel my eyes go wide with the kind of horror that causes the body to shake uncontrollably and vomit to rise to the back of the throat. The bitter taste of salty lager and searing pain meet my tongue, and I gag with the force of the stench. My mind, already reeling from a massive headache, is nearing the brink of insanity; the feeling vibrates through my body like an electric shock. My knees give out, and I collapse upon the gory ground. Adrenalin rushes through my veins, and the rate my heart is racing doesn't help any. I keep hearing the same rapid badum, badum of a dying heart and the same dirty phrase over and over again. I can feel the eyes of the dead upon me, and it makes me sick to know that they're dying – for what purpose? Was it because a barely four-foot tall man has persuaded their murderers that they and the others that are in captivity are the cause of the loss of a war that meant almost nothing to German history? Or because they themselves knew that there was no way out of their personal hells and had no desire to even attempt escape? Perhaps the murderers believed solace could be found within genocide?
A string of thoughts began racing around in my tired mind, but the heartbeat had no patience for it. Take the gun – BADUM – Shoot the Jew – BADUM, BADUM – Move on. Gloved hands appeared from the frayed edges of my vision and obscured my sense of justice by placing a rifle into my hands. The stock, although nearly numb through my leather gloves, was freezing cold. I adjusted my hands and slowly propped it up against the crook of my neck. The eyes of the dead, now accompanied by the eyes of the Nazi scum, were burning holes through both my soul and Völkstracht jacket; it made me so uncomfortable that I suddenly dropped the rifle into the bloody dust. It recoiled with a loud BANG! Several Nazis jumped out of the way in time. I bent down, my knees shaking into each other, to scoop the damned gun up. Burning fingers reached up to grab the rifle by the cold wooden stock and merciless steel barrel. The sheer terror of everything made tears burn up into my eyes.
"Monika…stop taking so long, you wretch…shoot the Jew. Now." Much to my dismay, my hands slowly stopped shaking and grasped the rifle with such intensity that I could feel each groove in the wood; it made my throat tighten, constricting nearly to the point that I couldn't breath. Things were too surreal…too real, even…much too bizarre to be real. I swore up and down that I would never do something as stupid as this again, but things are different when eyes are upon you and your life – not to mention the victim's – is at stake. I closed my eyes tightly, not wishing to see any more of this horrible, never-ending tragedy. "Shoot the Jew already!" At the harshness in his voice, I quickly discarded the gun and cried. "Come on, Monika, what's the matter, you stupid girl? Shoot the goddamn Jew!"
"N-no!" I screamed, attempting to run. Gloved hands grabbed me again; tightening and turning me roughly back around again. Fear froze me to the ground, rendering me immobilized and vulnerable. When I looked at the woman I was supposed to be killing, I saw something strange; I must've been imagining it, but when I looked at her face, her expression was less afraid, but more goaded. The look on her face behind all the dirt and tears read, "My savior…if you have any pity in your black heart, make this fast." The grinning rifle was once again in my hands and pointed at the shaking Jewish victim poised at the edge of the trench; behind her laid her only friends. She was going to lose her life – but for what satisfaction?! It wasn't fair! She looked to be at least fifteen with wheat-coloured hair and eyes of emerald green that made the world behind her look barren and desolate; those eyes held the forgotten beauty of the world.
Savior…please save me…have mercy…savior…save me…what did I do wrong?
Shoot the Jew. Move on. Suck it up.
A/N: I own nothing. Hetalia: World Series and Axis Powers Hetalia belong to Hidekaz Himaruya and their respective titles. Chapter two is coming soon…I'm only halfway done with it. I'm sorry for the wait. I find it so horrific that Kristallnacht happened on my birthday only a couple decades ago…~Ravyn
A/N UPDATE: Season five is finally out! Go watch! ~Ravyn
A/N UPDATE: OKAY. YOU ABSOLUTELY HAVE TO WATCH EPISODE 20. NAKED GERMANY. THAT'S ALL I'M GONNA SAY. #RavynisamajorGermanyfangirl
A/N UPDATE: I realize now that, as I read over the chapter, the tension builds and builds and builds to the point of near-orgasm...but it goes nowhere near the end. Leave me a PM on whether or not you think I should "finish" the chapter or leave it as it is. Your help is greatly appreciated! ~Ravyn