Martyrdom

Bah-boom. Bah-boom.

Like the stinging drum taps on a snare -

Bah-boom. Bah-boom.

or the rounds of an automatic gun -

Bah-boom. Bah-boom.

my heart runs rampant in my chest.

Bah-boom. Bah-boom.

Faster and faster. Louder and stronger. It's frantic beat pulses throughout me. I can feel it pounding in my head, fingertips, and down, down, down to the tips of my toes.

Bah-boom. Bah-boom.

It's monotone pattern takes over all my senses. I am numb to everything but it, and my ears ring with the sound of it.

Bah-boom. Bah-boom.

Slippery fingers grope for the stair railings, but they slip, and I stumble. My feet are clumsy, and they become more of a detriment than anything.

Aunt Ruth is behind me, her breaths come out in short, labored pants as we race up the stairs, two at a time.

The basement's opening nears, and the knocks on the front door seem vicious and fierce. When we reach the main floor, Aunt Ruth pauses - securing the basement door and shoving the antique piano over it.

I rush for the living room.

The rambunctious pounding on the door get louder, mocking the tone of my stuttering heart.

Bah-boom.

Bam, bam, bam!

Bullets of sweat dart from my pores, and every breath I take feels like a choke hold placed around my neck.

Bam, bam, bam!

"Open up!" A muffled voice demands from the opposite side of the door.

A sob threatens to escape me as something akin to a thunderstorm rumbles in the pits of my gut. The sound of his voice sickens me in a way it never did before.

Bah-boom. Bah-boom. Bah-boom.

My shoes feel like boulders with every step I take.

Sooner than I would've liked, I reach the door, and my quivering fingers rest around the knob.

I hear Aunt Ruth's delicate foot steps as she enters the room. I look up at her, and her face is blank. It's void of any emotion which frightens me even more than the officers outside the door.

"Go ahead, Love." She all but whispers. Her tone is dead, too. I feel a shiver curl down my spine at the sound of it.

I tear my eyes away from her solemn stare and look past her. All I can see is the end of the hallway, but I'm really thinking about what - or better yet, who - lies at the end of this hallway, down the creaky basement stairs, beyond Aunt Ruth's dusty book shelves, and behind the droopy love seat.

Bah-boom. Bah-boom.

A pang shoots through my heart, and my vision clouds.

Bam, bam, bam!

"Open this door!" The command is spat in a thick, German accent, snatching me away from my thoughts. “Or I'm kicking it down.”

I send a desperate glance to Aunt Ruth, but she only responds with a curt nod.

A lone tear cartwheels down my cheek, and without another thought, I open the door.