writing ~Pull Out The Plug

[Mephala 2,633]

This was something I wrote for my summer English course (took it so I could take the next level of English this year so I have space for another Maths next school year.)
I handed it in late because I am a terrible person, so I wrote it five minutes before, no edits. Thankfully I got a 98% on it ^^; (And my teacher said she got pretty depressed for a bit after, heheee.)
It was supposed to be about one of the experiences in a certain place we had as the trip was all over Europe. Mine happened to be Auschwitz, because I cried the entire time I was there, and I found it both disturbing and touching. If you get the chance to visit, please do; it's a very humbling experience.
Another restriction was that it could only be one page in length; mine was exactly so, huzzah.
So yeah, I suppose that's a bit of background on the piece. I know there's a lot of flaws in it, but give me a break, it was a rush. ^^;

 

 

 

They were both twenty one when they first met. Dark eyes met blue across the room, shy approach. When the music started, they were the first to begin on the dance floor. Wild long hair mixing with short, brown stark against blonde. It was midnight when they kissed. It was two when they left.

 

They met a few times more. There were no names exchanged, not yet. They were new to the concept of love and commitment. They did not want to be afraid of letting go.

 

War came around. He volunteered for the creation of a new country. He told her that he was going away to fight. Tears came out of her eyes. She turned and ran. There was no goodbye, only the faint trace of her lilac perfume and dust in his eyes kicked up by her shoes.

 

The war was fierce, but the thought of the girl kept him going. He knew that one day they would meet again. That was how fate worked. He had faith in his god, in his country, in his girl.

 

Wounded. He was no longer fit to be a soldier on the battlefield. He became a guard at a concentration camp. He was the one who let out the gas. He was the one that pulled out the plug of life.

 

Weeks past and the routine remained the same. Hollowed eyes of Jews watched him, eager for their shower. The gas came down. There were muffled cries through walls of concrete. Guards with stony faces looting the bodies of the dead when it was over. No shame in this, this was war.

 

New shipment. Same faces, same haunting eyes. Children, men, women, you live, you die. How they were picked, there was no reason. Some parents watched their children leave with a small smile on their face, eager to see their child clean again. When they never returned, the smiles flipped, the nods and encouraging words they gave the children before turned to wails. The wails were stopped by beatings and hard labour.

 

New shipment. Same faces, same haunting eyes. And then he saw a recognizable face. Same face, same brown eyes. It was the girl. It was his girl. She met his own eyes, dark met blue. She looked at the ground. They could not face the truth.

 

He had no chance. She was too weak, of no use. They told her that she would be cleaned. Her face showed no emotion, but he knew that she knew what would befall her. She was at the front of the party of children, men, women. The figurehead of the band of motely Jews. The martyr. She stood straight, proud, and the others followed her lead.

 

They stood in the fake shower. Traced the shapes on the faded concrete. Stripped themselves of clothing. They waited for the coming water.

 

He watched her, his eyes glazed, and she stared at him, challenging. The guard summoned him outside. She tilted her head back, closed her eyes, defiant. He felt a cold gun against his temple, the guard telling him to hurry up, traitor. He reached for the switch. He pulled out the plug.

 

 

 

EDIT: Silly emotes.

Edited October 27, 2013 by Sayaka Maizono