Sometimes, it felt like he was half-awake; not all there, one foot in the grave and one out. His mind would feel hazy, almost as if the very gas he used to exterminate those...lesser beings...was clouding his very mind with its fumes of poison death.

Other times, he felt half-asleep. One might question if there was a difference, and he would very bluntly tell you that there was. Being half-asleep, as opposed to being half-awake, was a much more pleasant sensation. It was like watching clouds float by on a blue skied, warm spring day; instead of watching the black night light up with artillery fire, as he was doing now.

Day and night, dark and light, death or life. It was a constant struggle between the two. For him to reach his ultimate, to prove to the world that he was superior, he needed to utilize death and sacrifice life.

And while the bombs rained down like so many flower petals thrown to the wind, while bullets stung like an enraged swarm of bees; the man who had told him what he could be in this world, and had inspired him to become what he now was, was cowering in a bunker and readying himself to die.

And Germany stood by as his leader took his own life with cowardice instead of dying with honor in battle alongside his faithful soldiers, and silently asked why he was cursed to remain half-awake and half-asleep.