.oOo.
They may not understand the need to travel away from this trap of a desert, to find a place full of life. But she does.
.oOo.
Elif Kaya, 12, Turkish Female
She sits on her bed and opens the book once more, letting herself fall into the wonder of this world where boys and girls wander the forest freely. She wishes she could see a forest once, the imagery in the novel paints a picture in Elif's brain of lush, mossy-carpeted forests with trees that stretch up to the heavens and dark, large leaves that shield the forest from the bright sun. She loves the thought of this cool, breezy paradise - so far removed from her own city.
But most in Turkey are content with what they have for now. They like the desert and the busy streets, full of people and places and animals that bray at those who get too close to them. That's probably why she never likes to talk about it to others - they may not understand the need to travel away from this trap of a desert, to find a place full of life.
But she does.
She shivers as she sees a German soldier walking through the busy streets outside and pulls up the scarf of her hijab, letting only her eyes show through the scarf as she moves further away from the window. Even up in the second floor, she doesn't feel safe from all of the people down there. She just wants to be left alone by the Germans, yet she wants to run outside and never look back. She hasn't been out of the house for weeks.
She's tired of staying indoors all of the time.
"Elif? Come down here, there is news." Elif hears the voice of her father and walks obediently towards the doorway, walking down the narrow set of stairs and sitting down to watch the television blare in the living room. She waits as her male cousins come in to sit down on the couch then moves to the other one, where she watches the leader of Germany and his wife bark orders to a group of politicians. "There is a Turkish translator for us, so you don't have to try to decipher it."
Elif nods and sits down onto the uncomfortable sofa, waiting for the Turkish translator to explain what was happening on the screen. She doesn't talk, rather waiting for the man to explain what was going on in the television so recently installed by the German soldiers that had taken over Turkey. They were everywhere lately, from the shops to the hospital where her father had to get checked-in for a bout of flu to the schools where her cousins learned. She didn't go out into the city often, even before the Germans had come.
And now?
Now she almost has no opportunity to leave.
The television continues to blare the harsh voice of the German leader, his eyebrows knitting themselves together in anger as he continues to talk to the other men on the screen. Elif can't help but feel frightened by his voice, how loud he is and the intensity of his actions. She doesn't understand German and the translator has made no move to begin yet, but she can tell that he's describing something bad. Maybe not for himself, but for the world.
Then the calm voice of the translator begins to overtake the harsh tone of the Fuhrer, and her cousins begin to murmur about what he's saying. Not too loudly, however. They're too curious about what the leader is announcing to drown out the television with their own noise.
"I, the grand leader of Germany and its new empire, announced a new system to track all of his citizens, extending from the far reaches of the Baltic region to the sands of Turkey and Afrika. From now on, all citizens must attend a yearly meeting, held in their town square. There, they will register their names and their families, before the citizens aged twelve to eighteen will be taken into the square. Two from every region of the empire will be chosen through lottery to be taken to the capital of our empire, the fair Berlin. There, these children will be presented to the world before fighting in honourable combat, the survivor winning their region supplies and funding that will make them stronger! Together, these children will be the spirit of our empire. The meeting is mandatory - whoever does not join the congregation of people on the scheduled day, unless gravely ill, will be taken into custody by the guards stationed to your town and jailed for an indefinite amount of time. I hope to see perfect attendance rates in every town and city throughout the empire."
The translator cleared their throat and stopped talking, Otto Schnee continuing to speak to the politicians. When the screen faded to black, the translator began to talk once more. "As you know, every registered citizen in the empire now has a television set, thanks to the efforts of our empire. The competition between the regions will be broadcast to every one of these sets, so that all can witness the combat. Viewing will be mandatory, and there will be civil holidays throughout the competition so that all can view as they please. This has been a broadcast from your leader, Otto Schnee. Please hurry to your town hall to register for the competition, or you may be fined depending on your competency and financial state at this time."
The screen cut to static and the other couch erupted, all of Elif's cousins arguing over the ethics of this announcement.
"They can't do that! They can't!"
"Will they take only men, or will the girls be taken as well?"
"I won't go," one of the cousins said before another hit him on the arm. "Why should I when they can't track us all?"
"There are state records for a reason, idiot." Another cousin rolled his eyes. "If you don't show, I bet they'll shoot you. If not, then you'll rot away in prison for an indefinite amount of time."
"You mean for life." The oldest cousin glared at the screen, his arms crossed over his chest. "We can't do anything, can we? We just have to follow whatever they choose, or they'll shoot us. They did it to our army when we tried to resist them, and the pigs have no morals to stop them from doing the same to us, or women, or children."
They don't notice Elif walk away from the couch and back up the stairs, trembling like a sun-scorched leaf on the trees that sprout around their block. She's terrified, but she won't let it show to them.
She doesn't allow herself to cry until she closes the door.
.oOo.
It may be foolish, but it's the right thing to do.
.oOo.
Deniz Aslan, 12, Turkish Male
He's in the middle of class when the soldiers first arrive, knocking on the door firmly before the teacher hurries to unlock it. They haven't come to the school before, but there have been rumours of doors being broken down if the occupants are too slow to respond.
Deniz looks up from his math work and puts it back in his desk, folding his hands neatly on the middle of the seat so and sitting up straight. The others at his desk do the same, and soon the entire class is silent and wary. They're watching the soldiers.
The first soldier asks a question in German to the teacher, which he responds to quickly. Annoyed by the teacher's clumsy German, he chooses a man behind him and drags him out between the teacher and himself. Deniz realizes that the man will act as the translator between the teacher and the officer, and settles back into his seat to listen to the conversation. He'd like to help the teacher up, who looks terrified at this point, but he knows what could happen if he does so. Right now, he should stay in his seat. Doing anything else would be foolish.
The officer asks something in German to the haggard man he chose from the group of soldiers, and the man translates it for the benefit of the teacher. "Are you equipped with the new books given out by the Ministry of Information? We have to make sure that you're teaching the correct curriculum to the students."
"We… we haven't received them yet. The post office is slow… we rarely get anything on time. I've been giving articles to the children to learn about the war you have won..." the teacher responds, and it occurs to Deniz that he's forgotten his teacher's name. The man arrived the other day after their original teacher was summoned to another part of the region, and began teaching his class math and grammar while he waited for another placement. He'll be transferred as well soon, to another classroom or school in the city to teach another group of wide-eyed children. That is, if he isn't summoned to military service under the German forces. Too many fathers of the children in the class have already been summoned to service in the past few months.
The translator tells in German what the teacher has said to his commanding officer.
The officer scoffs.
The teacher cringes.
"Have you made any efforts to get these books faster?" the translator asks in heavily-accented Turkish to the teacher. He looks nervous for the teacher's sake, and the officer behind him grunts in annoyance.
Deniz winces.
"I have just arrived yesterday - I am a substitute for the teacher who will be taking my spot in a few weeks. I have not had a chance to get these books, I barely knew that we were supposed to get them. I am sorry. I will speak to the principal about this, and we will get them as soon as we are able while teaching these children to the best of our ability. That is all that I can do."
The translator murmurs this to the officer, and the man steps forward and looks the teacher in the eyes.
Then he slaps the teacher in the face.
Deniz's teacher falls onto the floor, where he lies in a heap of fear and cowardice. He's sprawled there on the floor for a few moments, catching his breath and trying not to fall apart completely in front of the officers, before Deniz rushes forward and helps the man up.
It may be foolish, but it's the right thing to do.
The officer looks down in contempt at Deniz, and Deniz suddenly feels ashamed of his short stature. He's like a dwarf compared to this tall man in black leather shoes and a crisp uniform that seem to scoff at Deniz. He brushes aside his curly dark hair and nods to the officer, then steps away. He stands there for a few moments to make sure that the officer does not want him to remain there, then scurries back to his seat, back to anonymity.
The officer turns away from the class - he's deemed them too young to even speak to - then barks a few more sentences to the translator. The man nods and tells the teacher what he must do. "You'll be telling the children what is in the papers for the rest of the lesson, as long as they are German-sanctioned papers. Do not pull any tricks, or we will find out. We'll be returning in a few days with the books that you need to continue classes. Unless, of course, you leave and your substitute will take up teaching this class."
The teacher nods and talks a bit more in clumsy German, reaching out his hand in a brave attempt to say goodbye to the soldiers.
The officer does not take his hand. Instead, he shakes his head and walks out of the classroom. The other soldiers follow him, but one stays behind to rip down the posters of Turkish leaders and throw them in the rubbish bin. Then they disappear into the hallway, and the sound of boots marching in unison fades away as they enter another classroom.
The class seems to let out one singular breath of relief, their shoulders sagging back down to their normal postures and a few scratching itches they didn't dare touch while the soldiers were in the classroom before starting on their work once more. The teacher stands by the chalkboard at the front of the room, but says nothing to the class. He looks like he's trying not to cry.
Deniz decides to lose himself in his thoughts instead of finishing his math work. After all, he's only a few problems away from finishing, and the teacher looks too scared to finish the class. Instead, he'll think of the bakery back at home and his father, who will be working to sell all of their fares to the customers around the city. Soon, Deniz will be home to help as well, making sure that their pies and buns look appetizing enough to buy, before eating supper in the candlelight with his family and heading to bed.
He'll be home soon.
.oOo.
Bosede will decide when he finally dies.
.oOo.
Bosede Okafor, 16, Afrikkaan Male
The ten times that Bosede Okafor has murdered:
i.
Bosede is only five years old and is playing in the kitchen while his mother begins to dry the laundry outdoors. His father is away on military duty, as he has been for most of Bosede's life, and the boy has no one to watch him as he decides to climb onto a counter and look through the cupboards for something to eat.
To Bosede's surprise, a large rat is sitting in the middle of the cupboard and eating the stale carton of crackers Bosede has been looking for. It seems as surprised to see Bosede as Bosede is to see that his snack has been eaten, and attempts to scurry away before Bosede grabs it by the tail and slams it into the counter, stepping on it with his heel for good measure.
When his mother comes in with an empty laundry basket and sees the dead rodent, she heads to the store with Bosede and buys a few mousetraps. Bosede gets a small caramel to suck on, and he smiles as they walk back to their small home.
Life is good.
ii.
"Kill it!"
"Kill it!"
"Someone get the dog!"
Bosede walks around the corner to see a group of boys cheering on a cat as it holds a bird in its jaws, jumping down from the tree that it had caught the bird in and walking - no, prancing - away from a snarling dog.
Bosede's eyes narrow. He loves birds, and can't stand the looks on the faces of the people around the cat. He charges in with a yell and kicks them all away from the cat, before stomping on the cat until it lets go of the bird.
Then, he keeps kicking the cat until it stops moving.
iii.
Bosede's life changes when the war arrives.
He had heard rumours about what the Germans had done to other countries in Africa, how they had used terrible bombs to destroy the capital cities of the more developed nations who had stood a chance against Germany's massive military, but he didn't understand the full depth of the situation until his father brought him to become a soldier.
It had been a calm day, a clear day where there was not even a hint of the cloud in the sky when his father arrived home. Ignoring the embrace of his wife, he headed straight for Bosede and walked him out of the hut. "Today, my son, is the day you become a man."
Bosede nods in confusion and walks after his father, stopping to give his mother a quick hug before continuing on. They walk for hours, and Bosede thinks that his legs may fall off when they reach the makeshift hut that his father walks into. Bosede follows him, and his eyes widen as he sees the array of weapons scattered on the floor. Guns, grenades, knives, it's the most he's ever seen in one place.
A few more men walk in and grab guns from the floor, stuffing rounds of ammunition into their pants before walking back out. Bosede grabs one at his father's command, and the man shows Bosede how to load it before escorting him to a tall tree. "Climb up there, and wait until you see a German uniform. Shoot when they're in range."
Bosede is about to ask what a German uniform looks like, but his father quickly leaves in the direction of the other men in his unit. In the distance, he can hear bombs falling.
When a German finally does walk his way, Bosede recognizes him instantly. He's white and is muttering a harsh dialect to himself, one that Bosede doesn't understand. That's when he shoots, the first shot missing before Bosede fires three more in succession. He's always been a good shot, and the man crumples into the ground like a paper doll with red wine for blood. It seeps into the dust of the battleground, and Bosede looks away out of respect.
He feels a tinge of satisfaction for having done his job, but it's just a small tinge.
Just a tinge.
iv.
He doesn't remember what happens after the first man dies, but he does remember seeing the second body slump onto the first.
v.
Bosede works with his father's unit for many weeks, but never kills. The Germans are gone for now, wary of the guerilla units roaming around the outskirts of Ghana's largest cities. But when they do arrive, Bosede finds himself trapped with his father behind a wall of sandbags in the middle of the city.
"Run, boy! Get to a house, something, anything!" Bosede nods and darts out from behind the sandbags, the enemy soldiers distracted by Bosede's father firing at them with the gun that he didn't give Bosede. Then they toss grenades at his father, and they hit the ground with a horrible thud before causing the ground to erupt in smoke.
When Bosede realizes that the body of his father is gone, he's shot a man in the heart and is reloading.
vi.
Another gunshot causes a second man to fall to the ground, and the ringing in the soldier's ears clear just as Bosede shoots a third bullet.
vii.
When the third man dies, the Germans realize that they have to take the boy seriously. One fires and misses, and Bosede aims for a man who's loading his rifle before dodging behind a building and pulling pins out of the grenades that his father gave him.
viii.
The first hits a soldier square in the chest, and he tries to kick it away before it goes off and destroys his face.
ix.
The others land under the feet of a second soldier, and he's distracted by Bosede disappearing from sight before they explode. Bosede doesn't look back, not when he's shot in the back, not when a grenade scorches his shirt and peppers his legs with shrapnel.
But he does look back when he finds a place to reload.
x.
He was told that he had killed over a dozen more in the battle and his escape into the heart of his city, but he can't recall any of their deaths. It's all a red haze in his mind, mingling with his first murders and blurring into an indistinct face. He doesn't even feel guilty - the disconnect from the victims is great enough for Bosede to disregard what he's done, although those close to him would say that he has always been too calm around death.
Perhaps it's better that way. At least he won't get hurt.
Bosede will decide when he finally dies.
.oOo.
She'll be home soon. Then, she can do what she wants.
.oOo.
Amal Issa, 17, Afrikkaan Female
She should be home soon.
That's what Amal always tells herself when she's out with her father during one of his gambling nights. Right now, she is waiting at the side of this room for him to finish up with his game and bring her back home. Her father is sitting at a large table with three other men in their late forties and early fifties. The men are playing cards and drinking alcohol, entirely too much for Amal's father to be of use to her when they walk back home tonight. But by this point, an extra person with her will do wonders for her safety.
She usually likes to wander the streets alone - when she was younger, Amal was notorious for disappearing for days at a time before showing back up in her bed, hair askew and body covered with dirt - but the war's changed that all. Everyone is expected to walk with someone else if they want to be safe at nights, regardless of size, age, or gender. They can never be too sure of when they're safe to be alone, so they never are.
Her father slams his hand onto the table and laughs at the faces of the others around him. "You all wish you could be as lucky as I am tonight. Praise be, I will be walking home with all of your wages!"
"If you don't trigger a German landmine with all of the money weighing down your pockets!" The man beside Amal's father chortles, and the others join in. They're at the very least tipsy and at the worst hopelessly drunk, but they're having a good time and Amal doesn't mind listening to them as she finishes some work that she has to finish for school. She's one of the lucky people who are allowed to attend the local college, no small feat considering the attitude against women in her city.
When people on the street and at the college tell her that her place in the home, Amal laughs at them. Her father spends too much time in the homes of others for her to bother taking care of their house, and she's not planning on marrying. Not yet, anyway.
A German officer passes by the window of the home, and all of the men freeze until the man walks out of sight. He doesn't notice them, but Amal still shudders as she continues to write out her plans for an essay she must turn into her professor next week. Algeria has been under the reign of France for a century, and the people are so accustomed to the ways of France that it was a shock to have it ripped away with the end of the war, replaced by the Germans.
There had always been whispers of rebellion among the people, but never too serious. After all, France had been slowly letting go of Algeria throughout the years, allowing it to become more independent over time. It was a nasty surprise for one European country being replaced with another, one that was more watchful and sent out more soldiers to watch them in their very homes.
Amal doubts that all of the soldiers that patrol the streets of the city are German; there are entirely too many of them to be all from Germany when there were dozens of other countries to watch. But it doesn't stop the people from stopping in their tracks when they see the uniform, and it doesn't stop Amal from referring to them all as German. Sometimes she slaps on the word scum behind the word German, but only behind closed doors. It's likely too risky to do otherwise.
Amal doesn't take chances.
As the men resume and finish up the game, her father scoops up his prizes and grins at the other men. "Amal, are you proud of my winnings?"
"If you didn't waste all of that money with weak hands, I might be." Amal laughs at her father and returns to her studies, the other men breaking into laughter. Her father grins as well, knowing that Amal is fine with however much money he gambles away. As long as they can have a roof over their heads for to study under and dinner on the table for them both to eat, the Issas are content with their lifestyle. Why want what they don't need to have?
"Amal is a woman of her own," her father brags to the other men at the table. "She is studying at the local college, and may be getting a degree in a year or so. Not bad for a girl who's supposed to stay in her home her whole life!"
The other men murmur in admiration and clean up the cards, taking a few more swigs of alcohol as they do so. Amal's father never gambles with the strictest Muslims or religious people in the area. They'd disapprove of the wasted money and intoxication that comes with it. That's why these are the men he spends nights with - they don't bother much with religion, and will always be down for a night of good fun. They don't mention what they do in their free time to people outside of their social circle, and no one asks them in return. No one feels the need to probe any further than small talk about the weather and the war.
Amal's father slips on a jacket and Amal stands, putting her work in a bag and tightening up her clothes to protect herself from guarded eyes and the cold night. She can never be too safe.
Father waves to the men, a grin plastered on his face. "Sleep well! I'm sure your shoulders will be light tonight, with all of the money you've lost." He's always happy after a good night of gambling. Even when it's a bad night, Amal's father still walks home with a smile. He is a happy drunk.
Then they walk out the door and into the road, Amal closing the door behind her father. She falls into line and keeps rhythm with his unsteady gait, helping him up when he stumbles and keeping her head low. She's tired, but she has plans to study tonight and can't do so until her father is tucked into bed.
She'll be home soon. Then, she can do what she wants.
BET Y'ALL DIDN'T EXPECT THIS TO COME BACK
But yep, I'm back! After being swamped by Gr. 11 and an insanely busy summer, I managed to lose control of my updating schedule and stopped updating this story for almost a year. I'm sure I've chased most of you away because of the wait, but I promise sticking around is worth it - in order to make sure this doesn't happen again, I stockpiled almost 30K words, from the remaining intros to the bloodbath. I'll be updating this every week or so, and I hope that a few of you choose to take this journey with me! I'm very excited to share this with you, and I hope the three or four of you feel the same way.
Otherwise, that's pretty much it. You have nine pre-written chapters to look forward to, and I'm already into the arena - yep, I'm that ahead :o - so this should update relatively quickly. Thank you to the few who are sticking it out for the long haul, you're the reason I keep updating this. I love you all.
Enjoy the chapter. Until we reach Iberia and Italy, TheAmazingJAJ.