How does one know when the end is near? Surely, there must be some sort of warning before it happens. A sign from God that maybe the bus isn't such a good idea today. The dark cloud that blooms from a fire and fills the sky, a signal that everything around you will soon be ash.
What happens when there is no warning? The rabbit that darts across the field and feels a silent woosh of air that brushes against the velvet fur of their ears. Then they are plucked from their surroundings, barely registering the feeling of the hawk's tightening talons around their neck before the light is gone.
Rachel Berry knows nothing of death or suffering. She can see it in the torn garments of those who have lost someone. She has been to funerals at her synagogue. These losses have been at a distance, close enough that she knows to bow her head and look at her shoes, far enough that she does not yet understand the utter pain of having something never again.
Rachel is ten years old. It is the summer of 1932 and she is exploring the woods outside of her city Cologne in western Germany. She has been coming to these woods ever since her father decided she was old enough to watch after herself and no longer needed the neighbor lady who always smelled like boiled cabbage. Sometimes she would lie out under the shady trees or dip her toes in the cool water of the stream.
On this day, Rachel could not have known what was waiting for her in that forest. When her father left for the day, to argue professionally as he put it, Rachel would watch him leave out their front window. He would walk down the street in his bowler hat and pressed suit, the leather briefcase swaying in time with his stride. When he would disappear around the corner, Rachel would dart out the back and take the alley to the end of their row of homes. Off the alley were dirt trails that lead across a wide field and into the towering forest.
She skipped lightly, humming a quiet tune, until she found the clearing. The roots of a few towering giants had run into a cropping of rocks that jutted upwards a couple feet and then blocked an area about the size of a classroom, where soft grass and a few flowers managed to bloom. Rachel would stand on the highest rock and face the empty clearing.
In her mind she was no longer in the woods, no longer outside. Instead of weeds and flowers tables and chairs surrounded her filled with people. Under her feet was no longer cool rock, but echoing wood that resounded dully under her stamping feet. She gazed up into the sun that acted as her spotlight. And as she opened her mouth, her voice rang out above her invisible audience.
The songs she would sing varied. Sometimes they were the solemn verses found in scripture. Other times they were the tunes that came into their home through the radio situated next to their couch. Then there were the times that that which spilled forth were the songs that poured in from America and were shone across the screen of their local cinema.
Rachel loved the way her voice travelled around the clearing, echoing back at her from a hundred different directions. The whole area seemed to hum and vibrate as she finished on a high note. She imagined applause, filling her up until it was too much and she bowed at the waist, her dark hair spilling forward. Then there was a loud ringing clapping. A real one, that snapped Rachel up and spun her around.
Behind her was a girl, about her age, with blond hair that flowed in waves around her face. Light eyes, the color of sun through the leaves, watched her curiously. The girl's hands fell to her waist now that her clapping had been acknowledged and she cocked her hips slightly. Rachel stepped back instinctually.
"How long have you been standing there?" Rachel asked, her voice no longer strong and confident.
The girl walked forward, her eyes broke from Rachel's, allowing her to breathe again. "Long enough," said the girl, smiling coyly.
Rachel continued to watch the girl as she explored the clearing. It made her uneasy, having someone in the space she had thought of as her own. She twisted her hands in the pleats of her skirt. It felt like a lifetime before the girl had circumnavigated the area and was climbing back up the rock ledge to stand next to Rachel.
"Do you want to play a game?" The girl asked.
Rachel swallowed a lump in her throat. Something about the slight arch of the girl's eyebrow worried her. Was she even allowed to say no? She could make a run for it, but that was a silly reaction to have when someone asked you to play.
She didn't speak, only nodded. This elicited a smile from the girl who grabbed Rachel's hand and squeezed slightly before letting go.
"I am the Queen of the Forest and you shall be my servant." The girl said grabbing a stick from the ground and raising it up like a staff.
Rachel curtsied before her. "At your service, my lady."
The girl scrunched her face. "You can just call me Quinn."
They continued like this for a few hours. They took turns being Queen, fetching each other crowns made of braided flowers or slaying beasts they could almost see. It was during one of these valiant attempts at defeating a fire-breathing dragon that Quinn failed and fell to the forest floor.
Rachel rushed to her side, kneeling over her. Those hazel eyes watched her and she spoke gently, "I am sorry, lady Rachel. I could not kill him."
Playing the part, Rachel grabbed the other girl's hand. "It is ok, sir knight. You will be ok. You tried your best. I will be sure you are remembered as a hero."
Quinn rolled her eyes back and gasped as if she were in pain. Her whole body then went limp, though her grip on Rachel's hand did not lessen. Rachel thought of the prayers from the few funerals she had attended. Quietly she spoke the phrases in Hebrew that were supposed to carry the soul onward into eternity, though she could not yet grasp their full meaning.
Suddenly the hand she was holding was snatched away. Quinn's eyes were now open and terror was written across her face. "You- You're a Jew?" Quinn choked out as she stood.
Rachel jumped up, not comprehending what she had done wrong. Now Quinn was right in her face. "What did you just say?" She was yelling, and now the vibrations in the clearing were no longer comforting. "Did you just curse me? I can't believe I let you touch me."
Quinn turned on her heel now and was running back towards the worn trails, and back towards the town. Rachel could not believe what had just happened. She stood still, trying to think back to what she had done wrong. She felt her feet move and realized she was walking back home. The hot tears on her cheeks barely registered until her father saw them and demanded to know what had happened.
She answered honestly that she didn't know. And for the first time ever, there was a thin line of smoke travelling upwards in her mind. She could have sworn she heard the call of a hawk nearby, but it must have just been her imagination. Maybe Quinn was just her imagination. Well, she could hope.