Instinct de Tuer
By InuYashaBaby1
Disclaimer: I do not own Inglorious Basterds.
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Shoshanna is shocked to see the madness in his eyes. Usually placid, Zollar's features are contorted into anger. She starts thinking of all the possible ways to escape. Then she remembers the gun in her purse.
"Shut the door." She commands, and he looks at her with a look that's not surprise, but it's sickeningly close.
"Shut the fucking door." She repeats it, more harshly this time.
He shuts it.
She turns to get the gun and returns her look to him. The excitement in his eyes is almost sad. His eyes on her reminded her of Marcel's, like she was the most perfect and wonderful thing in the world.
Her hands grip the gun behind her back. She was about ready to draw the gun on this Nazi fucker.
"What now?" He asks, walking eerily closer to her, and she shoots him. She watches his blood fly in back of him, and in that instant she thought of her family, being killed by "war heroes" of this breed. She felt powerful, strong. She figured this was what Hans Lander felt like after a successful hunt.
She thinks of the people he had killed, how one less Fredrick Zollar would only benefit the world at large, but then she turns behind her and sees the screen. It was his face, scared and helpless.
A wave of something like guilt washes over her.
She stares at his body in disbelief. She just killed this man.
There was regret, there was sadness, there was oh god, could it be desperation?
She had been nothing but cruel to this poor man, and in this moment he isn't a Nazi, he's Fredrick Zollar, the nice man who liked movies and thought she was beautiful. She wonders that if she told him her real name was Shoshanna he would like just as much as Emmanuelle, just because the name belonged to her.
She thinks about the world in a strange light. If she had just let the world spin differently, maybe she just would have been happy with the man who was surely dead in front of her. Maybe she could have tolerated sitting with him, drinking coffee and talking about movies. She dives to his side and hesitantly touches his leg. Nothing.
She almost let out a cry of relief-or was it grief?-and touches his shoulder just to be sure that he was really dead. He spins around, brandishing his own weapon and shoots her three, or maybe it's four times?
She feels like laughing at herself. Of course he had shot her.
He was a Nazi, after all.
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The End!