Disclaimer: I do not own "Schindler's List"

She was a mouse. Quiet and almost not there. She obeyed every order without a word, not even a sound. It was quite annoying. Sometimes, I find myself giving her tasks, just to see if she'll complain. She never does. The only things she has ever said was "Yes, sir," and her name. I have a feeling though, that even at home, she was quiet. A feeling that she was like that normally. I never did like the norm.

I still remember when I first met her at the labor site. She was shivering and her eyes locked onto mine. Pleading, but not begging. I'm disgusted when I find myself being to drawn to her. When I drown in those big, brown, doe eyes. There are moments when I want to draw her frail form to me and hold her. Just hold her. Do nothing else, just cradle her against my chest. I know she must hate me. I probably nauseate her. I am fat and cruel, I beat her. She has to be frightened. There was nothing else I could do. I reacted the only way I know how. Violence.

There were so many moments when I wanted to kiss her. Nothing too passionate. No, she deserves a gentle kiss. One full of tenderness and compassion. I cannot give her that. All I can give her is pain, and sorrow, and lies. That worst part is not that I know that I love her. The worst part in knowing that I will never see her again and that she will never know or care. I will die with her loathing, fearing, cursing me.

I realize now that I am only half a man. I sold her for fourteen thousand, eight hundred notes of blood money. So now I sit here, with the fire burning. I throw a few more notes into the blaze and watch them shrivel. I suppose the fact that I am only half a person makes sense. She took the other half when she left. Now she has a life, rather than that pathetic existence here with me. She only had half a life here. I threw the rest of the money into the inferno and marching over to my liquor cabinet. I slammed back a shot of whiskey and collapsed against the wall.

Turning to face the fire from my fallen position, I snarled. I flung the bottle into the fireplace, taking delight in the sudden flash of heat and wave of sparks and glass. I didn't care that they embedded themselves in me. I didn't care that my blood was beading on my arms, legs, face. With a strangled half sob, I covered my face with my hands.

I didn't deserve to feel whole.