Immolation: Chapter 1

"Raus! Raus!"

"Schnell Laufen!"

"Bewege, dich Schweines!"

"Schnell laufen! Schnell laufen!"

He scrambled out of the cot with the other prisoners, trying not to trip at the speed as he forced his body to run outside the barracks and line up with the others. His striped uniform hung off of him like drapery and would have likely fallen off of his body had he not been allowed to keep his belt. Stitched on the right side of his chest was a diamond shaped brand with a P in its center. His formerly medium length hair had been snipped off upon arrival a few days ago and was practically bald now.

"Keep your head down." He heard an inmate hiss to another. That was an unspoken rule within these fences. Never look up or make eye contact. Just do as you are told and do not stop. To ignore this rule resulted in a beating or worse.

A man in a uniform walked into their view. He had an expression of anger that no prisoner has ever seen him without. He had the look of a ravenous animal stalking a flock of helpless sheep. The prisoners referred to him as The Beast of Block 20. His name was Holst and he was a twenty five year old German communist. He was the kapo of their block.

Holst's eyes landed on him for a brief second before ordering the prisoners to run to the factory while waving his club like a madman and the guards did the same with their riding crops.

He and the prisoners ran, trying to get as far away from the weapons as possible and avoid the wrath of Holst and the guards. Any unfortunate prisoner who slowed down or was too close would receive a swift but hard strike with a riding crop or Holst's club.

"Run! Run!" Holst shrieked, striking a Jewish prisoner in the shoulder.

As they ran, they passed a pair of SS guards with German Shepherd dogs on tight leashes. The dogs were barking wildly and looked eager to sink their teeth into the prisoners as they ran past. Their teeth were bright yellow, possibly from the blood of another inmate that dared to disobey. Or possibly for the amusement of the dogs masters, which wasn't rare in the least.

Another prisoner tripped and the guards were on him instantly like a pack of wolves, beating the man mercilessly. From behind him, he heard the dogs bark more ballistically as they were let off their leashes. The man screamed and the sound of liquid spilling sealed the man's fate. That just made him run faster. They didn't stop until they reached the factory and were ordered to get to work. As they all scrambled to their stations, another inmate had finally succumbed to the conditions of the camp and collapsed. A guard stomped up to the man's body and pointed the luger at the prisoner's head.

He watched anxiously as another one of his citizens was about to meet his end. He braced himself for what was about to come.

BANG!

...

Feliks shot straight up in his bed, panting and looked frantically at his surroundings. He was in his house, his bedroom, alone. There were no SS guards, kapos, or murderous dogs. It was just a dream. At least that's what Poland tried to tell himself.

Feliks checked his alarm clock. It was 1:40 am. He laid back down but didn't close his eyes. Sleep didn't seem possible after that nightmare.

No, not a nightmare. He corrected himself. Memory.

Poland tried to spare himself the pain of remembering but couldn't do it, especially during this time of the year when it all began. Echoes from his past haunted him every September since the war.

He turned on his lamp and checked the calendar. There would be a World meeting in Warsaw today and Feliks wondered how he would be able to pull himself together in front of the other nations on today of all days. Every year on this day, he wouldn't speak for an entire week. He would only listen to the silence that had possessed him so many years ago. He didn't cry, he didn't feel rage or sorrow, just numbness.

He would hear them. The whispers of the dead, crying out to him in various languages, only a few that he understood. Then, he would start to see faces. The faces of people he had known, strangers, and foreigners.

However, one of them always stood out from the rest. It was someone he could never forget even if he tried.

The face of a girl with long black tresses, childlike features, brown eyes, and sad smile.

Poland never dared to say or even think any of their names. Especially hers.

Because if he did, then he would break down completely.

…...

Hours later, Poland found himself in a World Conference meeting within one of Warsaw's finest hotels and once again, the nations were arguing about the most ridiculous topics. Normally, Feliks would join in on the arguing but not today. He didn't even speak. He made no sound at all. He just stared off into space with a blank expression. For the past hour, nobody had noticed him.

"Poland!" Germany shouted, causing the Eastern European to flinch and he noticed everyone staring at him.

"Like, yeah?" He tried to look carefree but inwardly cursed at how emotionless his tone was and his eyes didn't match his expression. This made many nations bewildered at the Pole's uncharacteristically jaded attitude.

Germany looked confused but kept his expression stern. "Pay attention. Zhis is important."

Poland only nodded and tried to pay attention to the other nations as they gave their presentations but throughout the entire time, he didn't see them. Various shapes crossed his eyes in blurry images every time someone stood up on the podium.

When Germany announced that the meeting was over, Poland was the first to rush out the door, leaving the nations in a stunned silence. Most of them shrugged it off and started to leave but one of them had been watching Poland long before the meeting had even started.

That nation was Elizabeta Héderváry, personification of the Republic of Hungary. She had greeted Poland in the hallway before the meeting but he didn't seem to notice her. Throughout the meeting, Feliks had been in a daze with a blank expression and his catlike green eyes had lost their mischievous gleam. This had frightened Elizabeta for she had never seen her best friend like this.

"Hungary!" Austria called to her. "Aren't you coming?"

Elizabeta looked to where Feliks had disappeared then back to Austria. "Igen, I am coming."

She would confront him later.

…...

"Excuse me, could you tell which room Feliks Lukasiewicz is in?" Hungary asked the receptionist.

"One moment please." The woman typed the name into her computer before turning to the Hungarian. "Mr. Lukasiewicz is in room 121 on the fourth floor."

"Thank you." Elizabeta thanked the receptionist and walked to an elevator. Once she was at the fourth floor she counted the rooms until she found her destination.

118...119...120...121

Hungary knocked on the door. No response.

"Feliks?" She called while knocking a second time.

"Odejdz!" A voice slurred from behind the door. "Chce zostac sam!"

"Feliks, it's Elizabeta." Hungary said. "Please, open the door."

There was a long pause and as Elizabeta was about to knock for a third time, she heard a shuffling noise from behind the door followed by stumbling footsteps. She didn't have time to catch herself when the door opened and her fist landed on Poland's nose.

"Au!" He growled, holding his injured nose.

"Oh Feliks, I'm so sorry!" Hungary gasped. "Are you...alright?"

Poland's hair was disheveled, his eyes were bloodshot, and his cheeks were red. The smell of alcohol attacked Hungary's nose when he opened the door. He had obviously been drinking.

"Ela!" Feliks suddenly became cheerful and embraced Hungary before kissing both her cheeks. "It's good to-Hic- see you! Come in!"

"...you're drunk." Was all Hungary said, her voice soft.

"No..." Feliks slurred. "Just tipsy."

But as Elizabeta entered the apartment she saw at least a dozen vodka bottles on the table. Poland was not just tipsy. After inspecting a bottle, Hungary wondered how Poland wasn't passed out right now. Just as he was about to take another swig, Elizabeta snatched the bottle from him.

"I think you've had enough." She stated.

"Hic...no, I need it." Poland whimpered, trying to reach for the bottle but ended up collapsing onto the floor. "I can still-Hic- hear them. I don't want to hear them anymore."

"Hear what?" Hungary asked, confused. When he didn't answer, Elizabeta noticed that Feliks had passed out.

Sighing, Hungary slid Poland's arm over her shoulder and lifted him up by his waist. Not without great difficulty. Feliks was heavier than he looked.

She helped him get to his bed and removed his shoes before pulling the covers over his body. Feliks mumbled something incoherently but remained unconscious. Elizabeta brushed his golden hair out of his face and made sure he slept on his side before going to find a trash bin or bucket to put beside the bed. The housekeepers were likely not going to be happy about cleaning up any vomit in the morning.

Hungary then began collecting the empty bottles when something else on the table caught her eye. It looked like a photograph. Curious, Elizabeta picked it up to further examine it.

It was an old black and white photo of a family of four. A middle aged woman stood beside her husband, who looked to be nearing his fifties, and behind her two children. In front of the woman was a small boy. Possibly not yet ten years old. And next to the boy was a girl who appeared to be his older sister. The girl had a beautiful face with doe-like eyes, dark hair, and a charming smile. Very much like her mother.

Hungary turned the photo to look at the back for a date or clue about who these people are and how they were connected to Feliks.

8 Lipca, 1939

Beneath the date was in different handwriting and Hungary recognized it as Poland's.

Rodzina Konick

Aviv, Eidel, Liora, Eshcol

More questions filled Elizabeta's mind. Who were these people? From their physical appearances and names, they were obviously Jewish. Did Feliks know them? Is that why he has a picture of them?

An unsettling feeling began to well up in the pit of her stomach. Were they-

A knocking on the door snapped Elizabeta out of her train of thought. She placed the photo back on the table and hurried to the door. She opened it to see a concerned looking Lithuania on the other side.

"Miss Hungary?" He questioned, surprised to see her in his friend's room.

"You're here to see Poland?" It was more of a statement than a question. Hungary gave Lithuania an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, Mr. Lithuania but Poland is asleep right now. Perhaps you could come back tomorrow?"

Toris looked even more confused but accepted nevertheless. "Alright. I-I'll come back tomorrow after the meeting. Is Poland okay?"

Elizabeta paused before answering. Should she tell him that Feliks was passed out drunk? But she immediately rejected the idea. Poland could get into trouble for this and from what she had observed earlier today, Germany's yelling and lectures wouldn't help him.

"He's not feeling very well." She replied. Not technically a lie.

At Lithuania's worried look she immediately reassured him. "But I'm sure he'll be better by tomorrow. I'm going to look after him for the night. If something happens, I'll let you be the first to know."

Toris looked slightly relieved. "Thank you, Miss Hungary. I'll be seeing you tomorrow. Goodnight."

"Goodnight." With that, she closed the door and sighed in relief. Hungary was not sure how the Baltic would take the news of Poland's sudden binge drinking and she especially did not want Germany knowing about this if word got out that Feliks got drunk when another meeting was going to take place in the morning.

Now, this was not the first time Elizabeta had seen Feliks drink. In fact, the two would occasionally go drinking together, especially on their holiday. But this was different. Feliks was obviously not celebrating anything nor was he the type of person to drink away his problems.

In all the centuries Hungary had known him, she had never seen Poland act the way he did today. Unaware of his surroundings, jaded behavior, and drinking. Something was obviously wrong.

But what disturbed Hungary the most was how silent he was at the meeting. Dead silent.

Not to mention the deep, eerie sadness that was radiating off of him throughout the day.

Elizabeta resumed picking up the bottles and tossing them in the garbage before going back to where Feliks was still passed out in his bed. She sat in an armchair that was near the bed and tried to stay awake for most of the night, watching over her friend. Until she eventually succumbed to sleep.

AN: I'm sorry if Poland or any of the characters seem OOC. But Feliks is carrying the burden of witnessing one of the worst crimes against humanity. A severe trauma is bound to change someone. There's no avoiding that. Not to mention people can act different when they are intoxicated enough, and the mood swings. Anyway, let me know how you like the story so far! Reviews are much appreciated.

Translations:

German:

Raus: Out

Schnell laufen: Run fast

Bewege, dich schweines: Move, you pigs!

Hungarian:

Igen: Yes

Polish:

Odejdz: Go away

Chce zostac sam: I want to be alone

Au: Ow!, Ouch!

Ela: A Polish diminutive form of the name Elizabeth.

8 Lipca: July 8th

Rodzina Konick: Konick family