I am a starving student writing for fun, so don't sue. I own nothing except Miriam and Moses Benn.
12 Paintings, 5 Bodies.
Chapter 1 Dreams
Moses Benn was dreaming.
He knew he was dreaming as he could hear the noises of the camp in the background, the normal noises of people attempting to live a vaguely normal life in extraordinary circumstances.
It didn't disturb him; he had lived too long in too many places to be disturbed by background noise.
In his dream it was the last day of normality. Christmas day, falling that year with the last day of Hanukkah. His family were gathered around him as they celebrated another year of their survival.
His dream self looked at them, a sense of tremendous pride in them, and yet a sense that it was his due. His true self gazed at them pitying their innocence.
His eyes rested upon his wife. God Miriam looked so like her grandmother, right down, and it pained him to admit this, to the aged and haunted look about the blue green eyes. She was laughing at some joke as she sat on the arm of his chair, so beautiful.
His son, Abram, was proposing a toast, his arm locked around the traitorous bitch that was called his wife. The only love she had shown her husband was a quick death. Abram's eyes rested proudly upon his daughter, who lay with her dolls on the rug.
Isaac lay next to her, barely 6 years old and already showing a talent as an artist.
Jacob Mendez sat, a drink in his hand. Already suffering from advance liver disease, the only good thing that Moses could ever see from that night was that it had spared his daughter and grandson the pain of watching him die a long painful death.
Sarah's face was strained. She was evidently angry with her husband, but determined not to ruin that night. He supposed he should be grateful to her, but all he wanted to do now was to scream at her to let it out, to yell at him, so that they would leave. And then his grandson, who had lifted his head to stare at him under the scrutiny, clutching a yellow crayon in his right hand, would never know only the black.
The phone rings interrupting Abram's toast.
Claude to warn them that the unthinkable had happened. That the act had gone though and they had 10 minutes to get out.
He wishes he followed his instincts, that told him that something was wrong, or better yet followed Arthur's example. Arthur had sent his wife and two sons to Japan, where even at the height of the madness; the laws had been more relaxed. Even now with in the dream he thought to open his mouth, to yell at his son as he made his way to the hall to leave it. To get out.
Because Claude hadn't realized he'd been knocked out. And that they didn't have ten minutes. They had 10 seconds.
In his dream he hears the clock begin to strike again. One, two, three, four.
It's at the fifth stroke that the bitch pulls out her gun and shoots Abram. Two shots, both to the head. And people wonder why Miriam is slow to trust. When she witnessed her stepmother shoot her father dead.
Jacob leapt up, swearing. A single shot passed right through him.
Sarah was screaming, but he hardly heard her. He'd been here before. He knew they had to get out of there.
He hears his own voice again, screaming at Leila to grab the children.
Don't Look. Don't turn your head. Don't let that be the last memory you have of her. But he can't control it, his head is turning.
"No. no." he mutters, no longer sure whether it is in his head or out loud. "No. Not Leila." His hand is front of his face, covered in blood…
"Granddad!"
The face that gazed down at him was so like Leila, that for a moment he could believe that the last 16 years had just been a nightmare. But they weren't and he gazed up into Miriam's worried eyes. In the darkness around the edge of his vision, he could just make out Isaac, a familiar, haunted, worried look on his face.
"Granddad. It's happened!"
TBC