Status: A flash fiction piece.
The German Boy
The German boy - full story.
Martha was sitting in her room, brushing her mousy brown hair in the dressing table mirror. Her young face smirked back at her as she thought eagerly about her father’s return from the war, which should be any day now. He’d been injured as a result of a bomb explosion, and even though he could no longer see, Martha was looking forward to having him back. After all, a blind father was better than no father. She was home alone, as her mother was working until late at the factory, preparing guns and ammunition for the soldiers. She looked at the clock on the table as the hands slowly ticked past 8 o clock, and calculated that her mother wouldn’t be home for at least 2 hours. She stopped, hairbrush mid-way down her shoulder length locks, and smiled at the photograph staring back at her. It was a simple family portrait, just her, and her mother and father outside their red brick home in a quiet little village. She put the hairbrush down gently on the table, and caressed the photograph lightly with her soft fingertips.
“Oh, papa” she sighed. His eyes were a dark hazel colour, even though they looked almost black in the photo. She stared into her own eyes in her reflection, and wondered what it would be like to never see daylight again, or never see another night sky, or the people she loved. “Soon” she whispered.
A noise from the dark alleyway behind her house startled her, and she blew out the candles in her room and ran to the window to look out. The street was a thick, inky black, and the tape across the windows made for poor visibility. Something that sounded like a bin falling over echoed up the street, then was silenced immediately. For a second, Martha wondered if it could be her father, home already, and made a split second decision to investigate, despite her mother’s warning to not leave the house, even for a second. The thought of her father’s return made her act instinctively, as she rushed down the stairs and straight out of the back door without putting on her shoes. The gritty path was harsh and painful against her soft feet, and she winced as she ran over the sharp stones. The bolted gate wasn’t a problem for her to get over. Her mother had placed 2 heavy locks on it after hearing a rumour about German soldiers being in the area. Martha remembered laughing at the news as she replied her mother “It’s a village. Why would soldiers come here? What can they take? There is nothing here already!” She clambered onto the brick wall surrounding the small patch of grass that was her garden, and expertly hopped over the gate and onto the cobbled street behind the house. She’d done this many a time when sneaking out after hours to explore the fields near her home after her mother had gone to work. Martha was an adventurer. The unknown always called to her, its mysterious voice dragging her in like the turn of a tide.
The alleyway was silent. Nothing moved. The only sign of life was the crisp curl of air coming from her mouth, icy white against the solid darkness. Her breath hung in the air and clouded vision as she squinted through the darkness down the alley. A small movement just ahead of her caught her eye.
“…That’s not my father” she whispered to herself. Her conscience told her to get back inside the house as she remembered her mother’s last words to her, but her curiosity fought over that voice and she found herself padding down the alleyway, shoeless and shivering from adrenaline. She was about halfway down the street. The walls of surrounding gardens became more claustrophobic as the darkness crushed her further, and she was about to turn around after deciding the noise must have simply been a fox looking for food, when she heard the distinct click of a gun being loaded.
She pivoted on the spot, and turned to face the barrel of a cool metal revolver, pointing at her chest. Fear took her tongue and bit it off. She couldn’t breathe, let alone scream. At the end of the gun was a young man. Black boots held tight to aching feet, and led up his shaking legs to a skinny torso. His dirt stained grey uniform fit snugly to his frame, although the black belt about his waist accentuated his slender build. One hand hovered around his chest, almost clutching at his own shirt, whilst the other was pointed directly at her, the revolver acting like a metal extension to his shaking frame. His face was by far the most interesting feature of this foreign man. A strong jaw drew attention to full, round lips that were cursing fluently in German under his breath. His eyes were a pure, safe blue, and they darted from her to the empty alleyway behind her. Martha could see that under his hat laid a smooth sweep of clean blonde hair.
Time stood still. Even their breath, solid in the air from the cold, stood still. She watched his eyes grow wide with fear, mirroring her own. Her blood ran cold, and she was almost sure that his did the same, and she felt the temperature drop lower. She recognised his uniform straight away. Even if she didn’t, his appearance meant that ‘Hitler’s youth’ was hung round his neck like a noose. Once the nauseating shock had washed over her, her initial reaction became one of being impressed as she wondered how he’d managed to make it this far without being caught or killed. The boy must have realised she was unarmed and vulnerable, as he lowered his gun to the floor.
“W..W..What are you doing here?” she managed to stammer out; surprised that fear had granted her a voice. He stared at the gun in his bluish hands. A range of emotions played across his face; first confusion, then anger and sadness. He shrugged his shoulders, and continued to mutter under his breath in his native tongue. The rhythm of his choked words suggested he was praying, and Martha felt a wave of sympathy wash over her.
“You speak a little English?” she tried to pronounce the words in a German accent, and shuddered at the thought of being caught. Her mind flashed with pictures of her father, being blinded by a German soldier, and then to her mother, working in the factory so she could have a home. Her deep sympathy for the lost soldier drowned out her feelings of hatred, as she reached out and touched his hand. He flinched away from her as though she’d blistered his skin.
“Ja” the boy whispered, staring deep into her eyes. Martha stared that hard, she imagined the sky blue colour of his eyes leaking into her dark hazel coloured ones. Goosebumps pricked the surface of her skin.
“I can help you. My mother isn’t home for a while. Come, get warm. It’s a secret.” Her rosy lips curled gently into a warm smile, as she took his wrist.
A slow drone filled the air; quiet at first, but increasing in urgency as it became louder and louder. Her blood ran colder, and she wondered if she’d stopped breathing entirely this time as it dawned on her what the drone was. The air raid siren was placed at the police station a few streets away, but it’d never been used before. Her grip tightened around his wrist, and she felt his other hand clasp over hers in a frozen embrace. The slow hum of plane engines thundered over the horizon, and she felt the earth vibrate underneath her bare feet. The noise shook every particle in the air and fogged her brain, and the deafening roar of the engines drowned everything in a wave of terror. She felt him tugging her towards the garden, and stumbled blindly after him, shaking in numb disbelief. The sky lit up the colour of blazing heat, white hot, and she saw him turn around in horror, his crystal eyes desperately looking for reassurance through the blinding light. Her mother’s words echoed in her head.
“Stay away from those German’s, Martha.”
“Oh, papa” she sighed. His eyes were a dark hazel colour, even though they looked almost black in the photo. She stared into her own eyes in her reflection, and wondered what it would be like to never see daylight again, or never see another night sky, or the people she loved. “Soon” she whispered.
A noise from the dark alleyway behind her house startled her, and she blew out the candles in her room and ran to the window to look out. The street was a thick, inky black, and the tape across the windows made for poor visibility. Something that sounded like a bin falling over echoed up the street, then was silenced immediately. For a second, Martha wondered if it could be her father, home already, and made a split second decision to investigate, despite her mother’s warning to not leave the house, even for a second. The thought of her father’s return made her act instinctively, as she rushed down the stairs and straight out of the back door without putting on her shoes. The gritty path was harsh and painful against her soft feet, and she winced as she ran over the sharp stones. The bolted gate wasn’t a problem for her to get over. Her mother had placed 2 heavy locks on it after hearing a rumour about German soldiers being in the area. Martha remembered laughing at the news as she replied her mother “It’s a village. Why would soldiers come here? What can they take? There is nothing here already!” She clambered onto the brick wall surrounding the small patch of grass that was her garden, and expertly hopped over the gate and onto the cobbled street behind the house. She’d done this many a time when sneaking out after hours to explore the fields near her home after her mother had gone to work. Martha was an adventurer. The unknown always called to her, its mysterious voice dragging her in like the turn of a tide.
The alleyway was silent. Nothing moved. The only sign of life was the crisp curl of air coming from her mouth, icy white against the solid darkness. Her breath hung in the air and clouded vision as she squinted through the darkness down the alley. A small movement just ahead of her caught her eye.
“…That’s not my father” she whispered to herself. Her conscience told her to get back inside the house as she remembered her mother’s last words to her, but her curiosity fought over that voice and she found herself padding down the alleyway, shoeless and shivering from adrenaline. She was about halfway down the street. The walls of surrounding gardens became more claustrophobic as the darkness crushed her further, and she was about to turn around after deciding the noise must have simply been a fox looking for food, when she heard the distinct click of a gun being loaded.
She pivoted on the spot, and turned to face the barrel of a cool metal revolver, pointing at her chest. Fear took her tongue and bit it off. She couldn’t breathe, let alone scream. At the end of the gun was a young man. Black boots held tight to aching feet, and led up his shaking legs to a skinny torso. His dirt stained grey uniform fit snugly to his frame, although the black belt about his waist accentuated his slender build. One hand hovered around his chest, almost clutching at his own shirt, whilst the other was pointed directly at her, the revolver acting like a metal extension to his shaking frame. His face was by far the most interesting feature of this foreign man. A strong jaw drew attention to full, round lips that were cursing fluently in German under his breath. His eyes were a pure, safe blue, and they darted from her to the empty alleyway behind her. Martha could see that under his hat laid a smooth sweep of clean blonde hair.
Time stood still. Even their breath, solid in the air from the cold, stood still. She watched his eyes grow wide with fear, mirroring her own. Her blood ran cold, and she was almost sure that his did the same, and she felt the temperature drop lower. She recognised his uniform straight away. Even if she didn’t, his appearance meant that ‘Hitler’s youth’ was hung round his neck like a noose. Once the nauseating shock had washed over her, her initial reaction became one of being impressed as she wondered how he’d managed to make it this far without being caught or killed. The boy must have realised she was unarmed and vulnerable, as he lowered his gun to the floor.
“W..W..What are you doing here?” she managed to stammer out; surprised that fear had granted her a voice. He stared at the gun in his bluish hands. A range of emotions played across his face; first confusion, then anger and sadness. He shrugged his shoulders, and continued to mutter under his breath in his native tongue. The rhythm of his choked words suggested he was praying, and Martha felt a wave of sympathy wash over her.
“You speak a little English?” she tried to pronounce the words in a German accent, and shuddered at the thought of being caught. Her mind flashed with pictures of her father, being blinded by a German soldier, and then to her mother, working in the factory so she could have a home. Her deep sympathy for the lost soldier drowned out her feelings of hatred, as she reached out and touched his hand. He flinched away from her as though she’d blistered his skin.
“Ja” the boy whispered, staring deep into her eyes. Martha stared that hard, she imagined the sky blue colour of his eyes leaking into her dark hazel coloured ones. Goosebumps pricked the surface of her skin.
“I can help you. My mother isn’t home for a while. Come, get warm. It’s a secret.” Her rosy lips curled gently into a warm smile, as she took his wrist.
A slow drone filled the air; quiet at first, but increasing in urgency as it became louder and louder. Her blood ran colder, and she wondered if she’d stopped breathing entirely this time as it dawned on her what the drone was. The air raid siren was placed at the police station a few streets away, but it’d never been used before. Her grip tightened around his wrist, and she felt his other hand clasp over hers in a frozen embrace. The slow hum of plane engines thundered over the horizon, and she felt the earth vibrate underneath her bare feet. The noise shook every particle in the air and fogged her brain, and the deafening roar of the engines drowned everything in a wave of terror. She felt him tugging her towards the garden, and stumbled blindly after him, shaking in numb disbelief. The sky lit up the colour of blazing heat, white hot, and she saw him turn around in horror, his crystal eyes desperately looking for reassurance through the blinding light. Her mother’s words echoed in her head.
“Stay away from those German’s, Martha.”