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A non warhammer story (fictional antisemitism)

Discussion in 'The Beast Within' started by Mello, Nov 13, 2011.

  1. Mello

    Mello Hasn't left TVC for the rest of the forum True Blood

    Joined:
    Oct 26, 2010
    Messages:
    3,484
    Hi all,

    I was writing this story up for school, and thought that some peeps on the forum might like to read it as well. The story mainly an excuse for me to let off steam at society in general, and what the people outside it have to deal with (aka me xD)

    Please note: I am NOT anti-Semitic or sexist in any way, and have several good Jewish freinds. This story is only written from an extremist nazi view, not my own. Just in case, any events in this story are entirely fictional and any resemblemce to real, past events is purely coincidental.

    Yes, I’ll admit it, I was one of the weak minded slaves of the German people in the war, I am responsible for many bad things, but you can’t blame me can you.  After all, a man has to feed himself one way or another, right?
    At least that was what I used to think, until one person changed everything, made me see the light, or darkness, so to speak.
    I grew up as a well off child in Berlin, with comfortable, welcoming parents, and no care in the world, except the trivial things like how to dress up for the coming day, or how to impress the girls more than my rivals, if such a fierce name can be given to so lazy a competition.  We would all go out to the park and play, the three of us, after school, and watch the girls as their skirts revealed their fine legs.  Eventually the girls would join us, and the three of us would coax them into our arms, latently trying to get the prettiest.  With such ease, we felt the comfort of warmth, and the softness of skin.  Time ambled by as we grew up, watching the sun set together.  Now, later, we have young women under our arms, soon we would have to choose, but that time still seemed so long away.
    I watch that scene happen in front of me now, a couple of boys sitting in the grass, and the girls meandering towards them like they are connected by an invisible thread, slowly drawing them in into the warm, mothering trap of ‘friendship’.  I shiver, I am separated from them now, the invisible barrier was drawn, and I can no longer return, nor does anyone want me to.
    We chose eventually, and I got the prettiest.  The other girls no longer joined us now we were occupied, with a shy, but sad smile as they walked off.  The other boys stood at the fringes of the park, asking the girls for a walk, some succeeding, and some failing.  They all eventually got a girl, and, with faces of relief and joy, headed off on what we had already enjoyed years before.  Everyone was pleased; all, except one.  
    He stood in the shadows, watching us, silent.  As we returned home, we glanced at him, his sweeping black hair partially covering his eyes, and shivered, the breeze had picked up in the late night.  It always seemed colder around him; he was always wearing his grey trench coat.  A few shouts of ‘freak’ and ‘loner’ were casually thrown.  My girl frowned under my arm.  “He always creeps me out.” She used to say.  He always just looked straight back at us, with an undiscernable expression, and never spoke.
    I used to think that his expression was lustful jealousy towards me, but I now know it was pure and simple hate, not meant rudely, just sincere.
    We forgot the boy, and grew up.  We sat on the bench, watching the world go by, our arms around our partners; because we thought we were old enough.  My friends, smiling as they cuddled theirs, occasionally glanced over at me and what was mine, their smile flickering for a fraction, before their girl drew their attention back from where I could see their true face, society’s true face.
    Yet I could not see.  Or did I just refuse to?  Was the truth too horrible?
    The war came, and the three of us signed up, our girlfriends cheering us on, wearing their best dresses as we departed on the train, all of us waving and smiling.  Other men were doing the same, as were other girls.  The whole of my happy view of the world seemed to have congregated in this station, only young boys and girls, with their whole lives ahead of them and the boys going off on adventure, the girls left behind to do whatever they wanted, a strange kind of freedom that they didn’t take.  They merely continued the lives described to them by society: washing the dishes, looking after the dog, as any good wife should do.
    We were winning the war, and my friends and I laughed while the stupid enemy came out of their only protection into our righteous wall of bullets.  Stupid French!  Didn’t they know that we were unbeatable and youthful?  I was then assigned to protecting a rural village, well behind our lines.  My friends and I then saw the carnage that was war, but yet we did now open our eyes.  It was their fault after all that they got into all this trouble.  Stupid Jews...  Every day they would come to us and wail at us about not having any food and medicine, the translator said.  We laughed, of course they are getting enough supplies, and we hand them out every day!  They’re just too greedy, filthy Jews, and are eating it all themselves, pretending to be hungry.  Damn, they probably steal from each other.  Our commander showed us, with a broad sweep of his hand at the entire village, that this is what happens when the Jews go out of control: chaos, stealing, and more chaos.  Thank god we got here in time, I thought.
    I stare at the park, at society’s ‘perfection’.  I yearn to return there, but I cannot, for it will spoil the only pleasant thing I have left: memories; and replace them with newer, darker ones.
    I got a minor promotion, and was now in charge a small part of the town’s force. The day came when they had to go.  The HQ had said that all the Jews are being rounded up and exterminated; we are finally getting rid of the vermin of society.  We are doing the world a favour, I said to my friends, who nodded enthusiastically.  The tinge of jealousy was still in their eyes, so far from the past, but still relevant for them, and their dreams.
    I would never forget this day.  It was my enlightenment and simultaneously my downfall.
    When I woke up, the day was already unsettling me.  I had expected the Jews to react, to rise up and gnash their teeth at us, revealing their true, horrible nature.  Yet there was no violence, there only seemed to be sadness.  The crowds shuffled onwards, resigned.  They knew there was no hope of survival.  There wasn’t the animalistic last struggle, only dignity in their silent shuffle.  This unnerved me, how could these people still retain dignity when they all knew they were going to die?  Every step they took seemed to mock me.  They were the ones calling names at me now, just silently.  Coward.  Weakling.  Then the children were brought out.  Even though there were only small spots of violence, some screaming and digging heels in.  I tried to draw comfort, see they are animals!  But it didn’t work.  They weren’t screams of rage, only sorrow and sadness.  There was nothing I could accuse these children of.  Even then, the slow tramping of the masses of the other children, some holding their parents’ hand, was mocking me. That must be their only comfort: they would die with their loved ones.  But tears nearly came to my eyes as I reminded myself that the families would be separated, to stop people grouping together, the children would die alone.
    All of this would have just been a bad day, but then it happened.  He showed up.
    As I held my sadness in with a grimace and the masses flowed past I heard an outcry.  I saw a widow being separated from her five year old child, as it was snatched off her by one of my friends with a sneer.  Its father, now dead, was a Jew.  Had I never seen my friend sneer at a child before?  I realised I had. As the child was kicked forwards into the crowd by my friend, stumbling, a figure in the crowd stooped down and caught the child.  I couldn’t quite catch who it was; there were too many nameless, shuffling figures around him.  The child flickered a smile briefly at the stranger, who must have smiled warmly back, as the child burst into tears and clung to his leg.  There should have been too much noise from so many people to hear what would be said, but there was an eerie silence as the crowd, still moving, turned to watch.  But I still couldn’t see, I was craning my neck.  The child whimpered “Please don’t make me go”.  The stranger grimaced and shook his head.  A sense of realisation came over the child and he offered his hand up to the stranger.  They both started walking off to their death; even the child knew the inevitability.  Only then did the crowd part enough for me to see the stranger.
    His smooth black hair flew outwards as he took one last look at the mother, grim faced, trying to give reassurance. Yet the mother was crying into her hands, she could not, would not watch.  As he was turning back, the young man caught my eye.  That one look communicated so much, on so many levels.  Time grinded to a halt as we held each other’s gaze.  He looked at me, pleadingly, was there nothing I could do?  My face was one of desperation.  I knew I could do something to save everyone here, I just couldn’t: I wanted to live.  I glanced at the mother; she was silent, tears streaming down her face.  Her arm was extended to the child, reaching. Silent words moved on her lips.  Pity surged throughout me.  Was my life worth more than all this grief?  My face hardened, I couldn’t do anything, I tried to persuade myself.  He saw my expression, and his mood changed.  Disappointment.  His final, ultimate hope gone he started to turn back.  I was still staring at him.  As we were just about to break eye contact one final expression appeared on his face.  
    Pity.
    I was confused, why would this man pity me, I had shunned him all my life, bullied him, and now by my lack of intervention he, and this child were going to die.  
    Then it dawned on me.
    This man pitied me for my stupidity.
    I had followed society, other men dumbly like a sheep for my entire life.  I always thought that I was in control of my life, but I never had been.  I always picked the stylish clothes, not the ones I liked the most, although I pretended they were the same, I chose the pretty girls, and not the ones who actually wanted to make me happy.  I joined the army because everyone else was, because I wanted to be like all the other young attractive boys.  He, however, was not part of this cycle, he had broken free.  He wore what he wanted and spoke to who he wanted to speak to.  We shunned him, purely because he was different, because he was not exactly like us.  He didn’t mind though, he hated us sure, but he knew we couldn’t control ourselves any more; we were too lost down the cycle of popularity.  He pitied me, because I had never had free will, but the worst thing of all?  He pitied me because I chose to be like this, I was too weak to take the path of freedom, I was a coward.  The man’s grey trench coat swirled up the same colour dust as he turned round, as he resumed becoming a part of the crowd, all doomed to die.  There was no complaint.
    The world shifted under my feet, everything went out of focus, and then sharpened again.  Everything seemed darker.  The air was crisper, and I shivered.  The real world was cold, frightening.  Then a cry that had previously only attracted my attention sent shivers down my spine.  The mother was being beaten.  I flew into a black bestial rage, and screaming, ran into my former friend, if I could ever have called him that.  A fist came flying, and blackness embraced me.  My mind free, memories were streaming through my head, now all given the true perspective.  Of course my friends were jealous; my ‘girlfriend’ had never loved me, only my body and clothes.  The realisation stung me; this is what everyone was like? How could society by so evil?
    Nobody ever visited me in the asylum, my friend looked disappointed, yet relieved, as I was dragged off.  It was so easy to read the true expressions now.  Mine was free for pickings now, his old girlfriend no longer mattered.  Before she was stolen, I received a letter from her, saying how she could not bear to meet me, she couldn’t handle it.  I knew the truth was that she did not want to be associated with me anymore; I was outside the box now, and I accepted it, I never truly loved her anyway, I realised.
    I get down from the cell window, and, although I yearn to be back in the park, I know I cannot.  The only way I can go back is if I forgot reality, if I returned to ignorance; and I know I can never do that, the truth can’t be unlearnt. I cry.

    If only it could.




    Thanks for reading. Please comment your opinion, I always love to know if you enjoyed it or not, and rely on your output. (and no haters please, it's fiction). Once again, thanks :)
     

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