Warning: AU –Second World War

M-Rated!Contains coarse language, violent imaginary related to the context of war, and sex.

I do not own South Park. I do not own anything. I wish I was that f* genius!

It was after lunch and Kyle was walking in between the women's working field trenches.

Every time he wandered in the female section, he desperately looked around, in a constant search for a certain red haired woman. Always in vain. By each passing day, the hope she still was alive died a little bit more. Kyle gave more power as he climbed a hill to access another area of the women's work field. As usual, he was scanning the grounds for more corpses, while he lifted his eyes once and a while, always in search of that one familiar face.

Suddenly his eyes caught a glimpse of a dirty red color among the mass of women. He continued pushing the cart, with his head low, but never took off his eyes from the woman. Her hair was long, messy and curly and a new hope filled his heart. He slowly approached the line of women where the redhead worked. Her body silhouette didn't match his mother's. Could this be another woman after all? Or had his mother lost that much weight? His question would be soon answered, as he came closer and closer. He could see her features clearly now. With a racing heart, Kyle smiled, recognizing his mother's characteristic bend nose. A new wave of joy invaded his spirit. He wanted to call out for her, run and hug her tightly. But he knew all this was forbidden, was impossible. It would be a death sentence.

When he finally was close to her, he pretended to lose balance, making the cart wobble so a girl's corpse fell on the ground. Some women witnessed the incident and gasped shocked when they saw the dead child, but quickly ignored it and continued working. A Nazi looked in his direction but didn't take notice, believing it had been nothing but a clumsy accident. Kyle bended over and pretended he was going to pick up the body. He was right behind his mother. He threw a small stone next to her hand to catch her attention. She stared at the grit with a furrowed brow and immediately a second pebble followed. Perplexed, she turned her head to look behind her and see who was throwing stones at her. She froze and her eyes widened greatly when she saw none other but her own bubullah. Kyle quickly put his index in front of his mouth, urging his impetuous mother to remain silent. Fortunately it worked. He had little time.

"Dad and Ike are okay." He whispered. "I love you mom." Before Sheila Broflovski could react and say something back, Kyle quickly lifted up the dead girl's body, placed it back in the cart and moved away. It was a perfect timing, for the soldier was already looking suspiciously in his direction, but seeing the boy move again, returned to his sentinel.

Sheila Broflovski took fleeting glances in her son's direction while she worked. All her prayers had been finally answered. Her heart warmed up at the knowledge her men were still alive and well. Tears cascaded freely from her eyes as she mesmerized her oldest son's face. He was thinner, his hair unkempt and his face was dirty. But he had the same sparkle in his eyes he always had, since a little boy. They hadn't managed to break him. And although she later on realized, to her horror, he was the camp's bodies' fetcher; she thanked God for finding a way to bring them back together.

…

That evening the Broflovski males partied together. Kyle told them he had seen his mother. Told them she was alive and strong, despite her drastic loss of weight. They considered themselves lucky. All families had been separated, never having the chance to learn if their loved ones were safe or not. But fate had been kind to this one Jewish family. Kyle still hated his work. He still loathed that monster of a fat Nazi. But he felt blessed to be the bodies' fetcher. Because now that he learned where his mother was, he knew he would see her tomorrow again.

…

I walk to the factory with the two last bodies. I bring them to the morgue. Or better, the dissection room. There is a man dressed in a white coat. It is stained with red blood. He autopsies a body. He tells me he needs to, while he cuts the chest, rips it open and reveals blood and organs. He tells me it's the only way he can determine the cause of death. As if that was difficult to figure out. Most of them died of disease or weakness. Others had a bullet in their brains, unfairly killed by a Nazi, only because he felt like doing so. Only because he had the power to so.

I leave the room and enter the large division with dark grey walls. There I face the pile of dead bodies. They are more than I can count. Naked and opened up. Grey bodies and red blood. The sight doesn't shock me as badly as in the beginning, when I used to run to a corner and puke. The excruciating stench that fills the air still bothers me, though. This contaminating smell, coming from the dead, has been spreading through the room for already many hours.

I warm up the ovens. There are three of them, which makes my work easier. I can burn three bodies at the time. I place one body on a long iron platter and whisper: "May your soul rest in peace and be with God." I place the body inside the oven and watch the flames slowly consume the flesh. I go on with my work and burn body after body.

At a certain point I know what's going to happen. I want to force myself to go away, but I'm stuck in my daily work routine. I see a body with its face to the ground. Knowing of what's coming next, I don't want look at it. But then again, I have no control of my actions. An unknown force impels me to come closer to the corpse. I reluctantly turn over the body. The dead man has his eyes closed. Suddenly they go open. Widely. And stare at me. Accusingly.

Kyle woke up in a startle, panting and sweating. His brother, having sensed the flinch in his sleep, woke up too and tiredly opened his eyes.

"Had a bad dream again?" He sleepily asked.

"Yes, but I'm okay now. Go back to sleep." Kyle assured his little brother, with a kiss on his head.

Kyle watched in the dark his brother softly close his eyes. In no time his breathing became heavy and regular and Kyle knew the boy was sleeping. He wished he too could sleep as peacefully as Ike did. He was tired of having this dream repeat itself every night. He was doing this work for already two months. He could pick up corpses without feeling every time guilty for being alive. He could place them in the fire and watch them burn without becoming sick. But at night, his conscience would get the best of him. Kyle sighed as he tried to wipe the nightmarish images off his mind. He wearily closed his eyes and surrendered to sleep. He knew he would not dream it a second time. He never did.

…

"Ah! God damn it, Butters! You clumsy sleazy piece of shit!" Herr Cartman yelled furiously at the telephone. He swore, if that idiotic of a blonde was in the same room as him, he would punch him right on his face.

"I-I'm sorry Eric. I-It just hit so hard…I'm a dork, aren't I?" An insecure and sheepish voice came from the other end.

"Yes, Butters. You are a dork!" Herr Cartman confirmed, causing a heavy pause in the phone call. He nervously digged his fingers through his brown hair. He watched the clock and cursed under his breath "Where in Earth am I going to find a musician in less than four hours!

"W-well, I dunno…m-maybe we can go on without music." Butters suggested.

"Are you fucking out of your mind? Butters. Listen to me." Herr Cartman said while he balled his fist, took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. Why did this little shitty good for nothing kid had to be this incompetent he would never know. "There are two things you cannot do without in a soiree. One is opium and the other is music. I have the opium. You were supposed to be in charge of the music!"

"I-I'm sorry Eric." Was the sincere apology coming from the other end. Herr Cartman sighed heavily, knowing there was nothing to do but improvise.

"I'm sure you are, you douchebag. I'll think of something." The Nazi said with a calmer and almost defeated voice. He hanged off without adding another word and hit the phone a bit too hard. "That little son of a bitch!" He said with his teeth clenched.

He had to think fast. There were few he knew that could play decent music and they were all too far away to make it in time. He paced from one side to the other in his office, complaining something illegible under his breath. Tonight he was having some important guests. They were children of influential officers he befriended during Nazi parties. It was absolutely necessary for this everything to be perfect. These were rich spoiled teenagers that expected a night with quality and wild experiences. And he needed to impress them so he could make his way to his next promotion.

He sat down on his desk while he rubbed his forehead. He had to think of something quickly. His reputation was in stake. He lifted his eyes and they accidently fell on a box kept away in a corner of his office. His mind traveled back to the day he stopped a stupid soldier from burning a violin. He had kept the instrument because of his love for music, since he didn't play it and didn't really know somebody that could. Then suddenly, he had an idea. Herr Cartman opened the box and took the violin out of it. It was a risky plan. It was unthinkable! But maybe, just maybe, it could work. He groaned realizing how desperate he was. Butters would pay him dearly.

…

Herr Cartman rushed to the working fields. He headed first to the male section, since it was closer. Would he fail, he would go to the women's fields. There had to be at least one fucking Jew who could play the violin. He ordered the laboring men to stop working and everybody was to stand on line, next to each other, facing him. Herr Cartman paced from one end to the other, making sure every Jew saw the violin he was holding.

"Does anybody here recognize this violin?" He asked with a loud voice, making sure that even those who stood the furthest, could hear him. There was no response. "Does anybody know who the owner of this violin is?" Still nothing. Herr Cartman was feeling more agitated by the minute. He was wasting his time, the musician was probably already dead. Still, he repeated the question one last time, with a little bit more force in his voice. "Does anybody know who this violin's owner is?"

"I know!" A high-pitched voice was heard among the group of Jews. Herr Cartman turned around hopeful.

"Who said that?" He demanded. "Take a step forward!" He saw a child step from between the line of male Jews. He was small and frail, dark haired and didn't look much older than 10. Herr Cartman walked towards him and had the slight unpleasant feeling this kid was familiar, but couldn't quite pinpoint it.

"Tell me, boy. Who is it then?" Herr Cartman asked.

"Kyle is."

"And who may this Kalh be?"

"He's the bodies' fetcher." The child's answer hit him like a blow. Herr Cartman stood paralyzed for a few moments, while the revelation slowly sunk in. He straightened up his back while he felt a strange chill go down his spine. From all the Jews in this world, the owner of the violin had to be his Jew.

"Tell me boy. Does he play well the violin?"

"He plays it wonderfully." The child said with a proud smile and the Nazi knew the boy was telling the truth. He swallowed dry. This was awkward. His bullying victim was about to become his rescuer.

"Go all back to work!" He ordered angrily and all men obeyed him immediately, returning to their daily torturous task. Gerald Broflovski watched the fat Nazi walk away. He bent over while picking stones, so he was closer to his youngest son.

"Ike, why did you tell him? What were you thinking? You don't want to give more trouble to your brother, do you?"

"Dad, I have a feeling he really needed to know who the violinist was. I don't think he's going to hurt him." Gerald stared shocked at his little boy's sincerity and dangerous innocence. He secretly reminded himself to later on explain Ike that Nazis never have good intentions and that he could not rely on his feelings or instincts. The father sighed worriedly. All he could do now was hope that Kyle would do fine.

A/N

It becomes it finally clear why the title is "The violin". If I were a god, the violin would be my chosen destiny/fate's instrument to make the lives of these two characters intertwine.