

Until We Die

Published by Stephen R. Isaac at Smashwords

Cover photo and design by Stephen R. Isaac

Copyright 2011

"Patience is the companion of wisdom."

\- St. Augustine

Disclaimer: This book has not yet been professional edited. You will find errors. If you would like to make me aware of any such errors, email me at Stephen_R_Isaac@yahoo.com.

Thank you,

Steve Isaac
Prologue

March 7th, 2002

Dear Jacob,

I have a challenge for you. I challenge you to pick up a newspaper and find me a page that does not contain the dismal attributes of our human existence. Death, violence, hatred, greed... Those are just a few words we use to sum up our despicable actions. Have it be a simple domestic dispute or the governmental organization of genocide. Death is everywhere. You can find it among the rich and the poor. You can find it in city crack houses or your local elementary schools. From serial killers to church preachers, acts of unspeakable proportions are occurring at every moment. As you read this, someone on Earth is being raped or murdered.

I believe that most of the violence is driven by the unconscious fear of the unknown. Yes, that great unknown of which we try so hard to reach. Have you ever stopped to think about such things? Have you ever wondered about life, death and so on? Or are you one of the sheep, that let the masses led you through life by the end of a stick? I, personally, ponder the world until my head is on the brink of explosion. I forced myself to peel the blindfold from my eyes. This blindfold that, our parents placed there, hides the truth from us. It hides the pain, the suffering and most of all, it hides the one inescapable fact; death. Death is the one thing that everyone in the world shares. It's funny to think that you share a common thread with all the murders, rapist and terrorist in the world. Yes, you will all die someday and none of you know what will happen next.

I would, however, rather spend my time thinking about other things. Life as we know it, does fascinates me. However, the endless possibilities that lay beyond the here and now intrigue my mind the most. Ponder this. If one is born, and one dies, where do they come from and where do they go? It is said that matter cannot be created nor destroyed. It can only be transferred. Maybe, just maybe, we are souls drifting from body to body, or life to life. Think of it; is it out of your realm of possibilities? Have you never thought of a life before this one? In your childhood, you must have explored these possibilities. Maybe you were a ninja or maybe an animal. I'm sure you pretended to be such things. All the while, thinking of those endless possibilities of what could have been. Do you know why these thoughts come so naturally? They give us hope. They trick our brains into thinking, "Hey, if I was alive before this life, I will return after this one." It is the perfect solution to the inescapable truth.

You might say, "But wait! If I was alive before, then why can I not remember it now?" The answer to this question is very simple in a physical sense. In order to remember, it would imply that there are stored memories in your brain; a brain that no longer exist. Tell me, if you could remember your past life, would you really want to? Could you honestly tell me, you would? What if your past life was not a pretty one? What if it was filled with terror, despair and death? I could see it now, events spanning thousands of years, filling your sheltered mind, driving you insane. Perhaps even driving you to murder? Now what if every life you ever lived was this way? What if you just returned time and time again, to a life full of misery? In this world, I have learned one thing; anything is possible. While it might not seem probable, it will always remain possible.

If you are reading this, by now, you have realized why I have explained to you my lives. You must now understand why my actions were necessary and why so many have died by my hands. The world's possibilities revealed and the blindfold removed. I just hope you can forgive me.

Regretfully,

Damon Drake

PS: If you open the door, she will die. Remember patience, my friend.

Part One

Chapter One

"So, where shall we start?"

Perhaps we better start at the beginning, again.

"Very well."

It began early one spring morning.

"Jake... honey, get up..." I awoke to the soothing voice of my wife. "Your alarm clock is going off. Time to get up."

"I'm up... I'm up!" I answered groggy as usual, at that time of the morning.

"Good morning, New York City!" I heard the voice state, coming from the radio on my alarm clock. "It's now 7:25 am, March 7th, 2002 and it's looking like a beautiful day ahead of us."

"A beautiful day huh?" I thought.

We have not seen a truly beautiful day in a long while. It had been roughly six months since 9/11 and although things were getting back to normal, the chaos was still very real.

"Here..." My wife said, pushing a steaming hot cup of coffee in my face. "Breakfast is on the table."

I quickly sat up, and sipped the hot coffee.

"Mmm..." I murmured. "That's good stuff."

"Your clothes are all laid out." She replied, scurrying around the apartment, trying to get ready.

"What would I do without you?" I said as I grabbed her, pulling her close to me.

"Probably die." She answered sarcastically.

"Probably true..." I replied, with a laugh.

I put the coffee on the dresser and retrieved the clothes that were laid out for me. I quickly got dressed and made my way to the dining room for breakfast. As I ate, I remembered dreading the thought of going to work that day. Not that I hated my job, it was just mundane sometimes. I was usually fine once I got there. The hard part was getting me there. If only I would have known what the day had in store for me. Sadly, I did not, so I went on my way. It was just as any other day.

I grabbed my black leather jacket and walked to the door. I passed my daughter Amber in the hallway on my way out. She was busy getting herself ready for school. Her hair was in a great messy bun and she had her jacket half on her back, as she frantically searched for her school books. I grabbed her before she could slip by and planted a kiss on her forehead. She smiled and hurried away, as I continued my way toward the door. My hand was on the knob when I heard the phone ring. I sighed and paused to see if Jenny, my wife, was going to answer it. Sure enough, she was yelling for me, before I could escape.

"Who is it?" I asked, as my wife handed me the phone.

"I am not sure." She answered. "He asked for Mr. Davis."

I gave her a cockeyed look and grabbed the phone. No one ever called and asked for Mr. Davis. I was immediately thrown off guard.

"Hello?" I said, hesitantly.

"Yes, is this Mr. Davis?" I heard a soft, well mannered voice ask on the other end.

"Yes, yes this is." I answered. "Who is this?"

"Hi, my name is Damon." He abruptly answered, followed by silence.

"Umm, OK?" I replied, at this point I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck raise. "What is it that I can help you with?"

"Well, detective..." He paused. "I believe I have some information pertaining to your case."

"Is that right?" I questioned.

"It is a missing person's case..." He paused again. "Her name is Stacy Finn."

A jolt of excitement shot through me.

"Oh really?" I asked, trying not to sound too eager.

I had been working on her case for about seven months, at that point. Every lead I received turned up cold. The family was growing impatient with our, well I mean, my effort to find her. I thought maybe this could be the big break. Then something dawned on me.

"How did you get this number?" I asked. "It's not published."

"Oh... umm, I called the station and they gave it to me."

I paused for a second and thought about it. It must have been Marilyn, the old hag; she was terrible at stuff like that.

"OK, well, what do you have for me?" I asked, pleased with his explanation.

"Yeah," He said. "I was actually thinking we could meet up and talk about it. It is kind of a long story and I am on my cell phone. Damn minutes, you never seem to have enough of them."

"Well, yeah I hear that." I replied. "So, how about you come down to the station?"

"Can't do that either." Damon answered. "It is kind of far for me to take a cab. I can't afford it. I am what you would call... poor."

He admitted this with an awkward, little chuckle. I could do nothing else but laugh along. I did not want to offend someone of such informational value.

"How about I meet you at the Utopia Diner?" He answered. "It's on Greene St, a few blocks away from the Washington Square Park."

"Oh... yeah, yeah, I know where that is." I said pausing for a second. "It actually sounds rather familiar."

"Yeah, the diner is pretty well known." Damon replied. "Their ads are posted on almost every street corner. It's kind of hard to miss."

"Must be where I know it from." I replied. "I was actually heading out the door right now. Should I meet you there?"

"Yes, that would be preferred." Damon answered.

"Ok, I should be there in about twenty minutes or so." I stated.

"Sounds perfect."

We said goodbye and I hung up the phone. My slightly nosy wife was patiently waiting behind me the entire time. As usual, she was eager to find out who the strange unknown caller was. I could not blame her this time. The call was in fact weird and random. She always worried about my well being. Nothing bothered me much. I was 6'1 and 190lbs. Needless to say, since I was a cop, I was a bit built and armed.

"Who was that?" Jennifer asked.

"Who knows?" I brushed it off, handing her the phone. "It is some guy who claims to have some information about a case I am working on. I'm just going to meet him for some coffee, I guess."

"OK..." She said in that semi-annoying, slash semi-sweetly concerned voice.

"Psst!" I hissed. "It will be fine honey. I love you!"

"Love you too, punk." She said with a smile.

I walked out the door, with my tongue stuck out at Jenny. I made it down the rickety, mildew scented elevator and headed to the street. Since it was still early March, it was not very warm. The sun was out and it was warmer than usual, but there was still snow on the ground. I immediately attempted to flag down a cab. It's not that I can't afford a car; it's just stupid to drive one in New York City. The commute only takes me about twenty minutes from my doorstep to the station. I stood on the curb, as tons of people flocked around like busy working ants.

New York City was so predictable. You always have the curbside sales man, who seems to have everything in the world for sale. There are the street preachers who condemn you to hell, before they even ask you your name. You could be the Pope himself and they would tell you, 'you sold your soul to the devil'. I pay them no attention. They are rather ignorant people. Of course, there are the homeless, who with their makeshift signs would seem to do anything for a buck. I don't mind them; I pass them a buck or two every day. I know that they spend it on alcohol or drugs but hey, if that's what they need to be happy, so be it! They seem thankful and that makes me happy.

I stood there on the curb, one hand with my cell phone to my ear and the other frantically waving in the air. Countless cars and trucks zoomed by, splashing mud and melted snow all over the side walk. It was a constant battle, not to get soaked. I could not, for the life of me, flag down a taxi. Each time one rode by without stopping, I would scream at them as they passed. I just did not understand why they would not stop. They want money, don't they? As usual, I had to check in with the chief, so he would know I wasn't fucking off somewhere. Not this time at least. I now had a valid reason for not going to the station. It felt, well, kind of good. I was very optimistic that morning, despite my inability to flag down a damn cab. I was on the verge of walking the two miles or so, when luck struck. Finally, after about five minutes of standing there like a complete moron. I was able to eventually get someone to stop for me.

I lived on West 40th street, right across from the New York City Library. It's really too bad that I don't ever read. I am sure there are a million and one books in there. I just do not have the time or interest to read. Mainly, I simply do not have the patience to sit there with a damn book in my face. Too much work to be done.

New York City traffic is wretched. While driving, it is very well possible that you may run over a stupid tourist. They never bother to look both ways before they step out on to the crosswalk. They are so awe struck by the Big Apple, that they lose all common sense. Makes you wonder, if common sense is as common as we make it out to be.

In the cab, I looked out the window at all the people walking to and fro. I can understand why they call it the city that never sleeps. There are always people running around at all hours of the day. Since today was nice, nearing the end of winter, all of the hibernators have come out to soak in the sun. The diversity in this city is mind-blowing, and yet, everyone seems to fit in to the overall scheme of the NYC daily life. You have whites, blacks, Asian etc.; all intermingled in the streets together. All of them have the same goal; to get where they are going without altercation. Ever since 9/11, the country has seemed a lot more unified. We were not only blacks, whites or Asians; we were now Americans, all of us. It seemed to make my job a little more tolerable.

The cab slowly made its way to Greene St. Stop and go, stop and go. It is enough to physically make you sick. To distract the boredom, I tried to spark up a conversation with the driver. Unfortunately, I could barely understand him. He was of some kind of Middle Eastern descent; not very popular these days. He must have only arrived in this country about six months prior. Since I'm a nice person, I played along. I pretended to understand and laugh when I thought I should. I said "I hear ya, man", after his long pointless spurts of crappy language that he calls English. It's funny how even when I don't understand someone, I still realize when I should laugh or when I should agree with the person. I always wondered if that person knows that I had no clue what they were saying. I just would feel bad saying, 'hey, I have no idea what you're talking about'. To make the trip worse, the cab was filthy. There was a faint smell of stale cigars and body odor. I was sure the body odor came from my driver friend. I said nothing, however.

We headed south on Park Ave, on our way through Greenwich Village. The buildings lined each side of the street, as far as the eyes could see. There are only a few breaks, large enough to allow a street to cross. A line of trees ran down the middle of Park Ave, separating each lane. We veered down Broadway and continued south. It wasn't until we crossed over Waverly Pl and turned onto Greene St that I realized how run down the area was. The buildings looked like they were in a state of constant repair. Debris tubes ran from the floors above the street and down into a large garbage bin. The streets seemed to be lined with endless trash bags.

The cab pulled up to the curb and I turned to look around. I did not immediately see the sign for the Utopia Diner. I was starting to question if this was in fact the right place. Then I looked down the road about twenty yards and saw the sign. It hung from a pole attached to the brick building. The sign was as worn out as the rest of the street. Faded red letters spelled out the name and the R at the end of diner was nearly gone. Above the diner appeared to be an apartment building. Air conditioners still hung from the windows, regardless of the time of year. There was the sound of loud Latin music coming from one of the windows. Apparently, someone thought it was an appropriate time to let out the stale winter air from their apartment. I, indeed, knew where I was. I had a friend that lived right in this very area. It had been a while since I had seen them here. If I was not mistaken, they may have lived right above the diner, or was it across the street? I couldn't remember.

Either way, I paid my fare, gave the man a healthy tip and said farewell. I stepped out of the cab, and there was an overwhelming smell of grease and death in the air. This undoubtedly came from the buildings in repair. The diner had neon lights in the window that ensured me that they were open. Surprisingly enough, the sign was not lying. On either side of the entrance, there were a few posters on the wall. I stopped briefly to check them out. It was a cluster of wanted and missing person posters. One immediately caught my attention. It was that of a little girl; she was such a cute little angel. It read; Myra Ramirez, age three, missing since January 26, 2001, abducted from parent's residence. She has long black hair, brown eyes, dark skin, and was last seen wearing pajamas with moons on them. She has a birthmark on her left upper arm that is the size of a quarter. If you have information concerning this child, please call your local law enforcement agency.

I stood there and thought to myself, how can someone do such a thing? You would think that I would be used to it, given my profession. Yet I still was not. People just go into other people's homes and take their children. I started to wonder why people are still having them. I simply rolled my eyes and continued forward. I can say with immense confidence that the Utopia Diner was anything but Utopian. I have seen classier diners in West Virginia. Not that there is anything wrong with W.V; it's just an analogy.

There appeared to be two rooms in the diner, as far as I could tell. The front room contained the typical bar stools area and a few tables behind them. On the opposite side of the bar, the kitchen was only separated by a wall with a large opening in it. Almost like a large bay window. The back room was pushed back and semi secluded. The entire room was lined with tables and booths. It had a more comfortable feel with dimmer lights and dark paint.

I was approached by a skinny, slightly diseased looking hostess and asked where I'd liked to be seated. I advised her that I was looking for someone and quickly stepped by her. I can get past the hooker hostess and the out dated furniture. It almost gave it an antique-ish look; like they planned it or something. What I cannot get over, at any restaurant, is filth. The first thing I passed, besides the previously mentioned hostess, is an old man sitting in a booth by himself. He clearly just begged his food money off of the street corner. His shirt, which I believe should have been tan, was now a cluster of old coffee and grease stains. Immediately, I determined I was not going to be eating here. That was even before I noticed a hefty roach climbing the wall behind the old man's head. Lucky for him, he was not as easily disgusted as I was.

I scanned the diner looking for anyone else that may be my new found informant. To my dismay, there was only the old man, the hostess and a pot-bellied cook behind the dividing wall. I made my way to the back room and at first it looked like I was still out of luck. That was until I turned a corner, to find the room continuing further back. There was one man, sitting far in the back, in a booth.

He appeared to be in his mid-twenties. I could not be sure in the lighting. He sat in a booth along the wall by himself. The first thing that I noticed was a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He had black buzzed hair and dark eyes. He was wearing normal blue jeans and a black t-shirt that read 'Patientia'. I was completely unaware of what it meant. His face was round and shaved. He had a small nose and a rather boyish look. His eyebrows and 5 o'clock shadow were dark. One could question if he might have a hint of Hispanic or middle eastern in him. He didn't really look like the common criminal, but he gave off this strange vibe that almost seemed threatening and violent. He took notice of me approaching him and nodded.

"You know it's illegal to smoke in a diner right?" I said, with a smile.

"HA..." He chuckled. "They don't care here, so why should I?"

I sat in the booth across from him and reached out to shake his hand. He firmly accepted it. He was by no means as built as I was, but he had wild eyes. It seemed as if at any moment he could snap. I felt myself slightly put on guard. We waited for my coffee to arrive before diving into conversation. Once we were all settled in, I broke the ice.

"So, Damon, what is this all about?" I asked.

"Well, I killed Stacy Finn." He answered, as if he just told me won $5 on a scratch off ticket.

I nearly spit a mouth full of coffee on the table. After coughing the liquid out of my lungs, I tried to muster up a reply to the comment.

"Excuse me?" I said.

I know it wasn't Shakespearian or anything, but like I said. I do not read. I am sure as hell no Shakespeare.

"Yeah..." He paused to sip his coffee. "I did."

I reached to the gun on my waist. I'm not sure if it was out of fear, or habit but Damon interjected.

"WOW! Jake, there is no need for that." He replied.

"Excuse me, but how the hell are you going to drag me here and tell you killed someone?" I asked. "What did you expect me to do?"

I now pulled out my gun and held it in my lap.

"No, it was not like that." He pleaded. "I didn't mean to kill her. I am not like that."

"So, what is this?" I questioned. "A cry for help?"

"No, you need to know why I did it." Damon stated.

"Wait, I thought you said it was an accident." I stated.

"No, I said I didn't mean to." He sternly replied. "There is a difference."

"I don't understand how, but OK." I snapped back.

"See to understand, I think I'm going to have to share with you some of my views and thoughts about life." He said.

"OK..." I replied, with a nod and shrug.

"See, I'm not one of these Christian people who think, eye for an eye is the way to go. No, No, No, but in the same sense, I'm not a Satanist or anything. I think that the only sin that matters in the eyes of, what you may call, "GOD", is greed. So, all of that bible crap and its list of sins can all be listed as simply, Do Not Be Greedy. If you think about it, all the sins really boil down to just that. Don't steal from people; don't screw your neighbor's wife. That is all based on greed. It is the only sin I abided by. When God made the first people, I am sure he didn't expect there to be religion. Surely, I cannot believe that he expected us to waste such vast amounts of money on constructing churches. If God could hear you in a church; he can hear you in your home, car, anywhere..." Damon paused, before continuing. "Religion just screwed everything up. People are killing each other over it. No one can come up with a common religion. People just use it as a way to control and segregate their population. I believe that in order to redeem a sin, one need only to seek forgiveness from the person they sinned against. So if you fuck your neighbors' wife and he is cool about it, then it's not considered a sin. You see what I'm getting at? This applies to all sins, except for one. You will be hard pressed to seek forgiveness from a corpse. Therefore, homicide is the one sin where redemption is a little more complicated. Do you see where I'm going with all of this?"

I was really dumbfounded and thought that I had walked into a room with a complete psychopath. With his long speech, this man started to sit up more and was now using his hands in waves of frenzy. He also lit yet another cigarette and was drinking his coffee like it was the last drink on earth. I gripped my gun a bit closer than before.

Did this man even understand himself? Could he hear what was coming out of his mouth? These were questions that frantically ran through my mind as I stared my new "friend" in the eyes.

I started to understand what he was getting at. This would explain that violent vibe I got from him when I first entered the room. Uneasy I sat back in that booth and tried to move back a bit. He just sat there, returning his glare and was as calm as could be. A few seconds went by without a blink and I tried so hard not to let him know that I was uneasy. Finally I looked away, having enough of our staring contest. He was waiting patiently for me to answer. I turned back to him and replied with hesitation.

"I think I know, but this is all too overwhelming for me. Let me get this straight. You said you killed this woman. Which means you must have sinned? Now let me ask you a question. Do you want to go to heaven?"

"Yes, yes of course I do." He replied, shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders, as if that should have been a rhetorical question.

"OK. Now in order to be allowed into heaven, you must first receive her forgiveness. Unfortunately, she is dead. That is not possible. Right?"

"Right, so... In order for me to go to heaven, I must first die for my sin. That cannot be reversed, but I can't kill myself because that is also a sin." Damon paused to suck on his cigarette. "Furthermore, the reason why I committed this murder is going to be far more complicated than anything we have discussed thus far."

"How the hell possible?" I thought, but my mouth said, "How so?"

"Well, see Jake, this is not my first life." He paused, trying to gage a reaction. I did not satisfy him with one. "I have actually lived multiple lives before this one."

"So, what exactly does that have to do with anything?" I asked.

I have to admit, in retrospect, I was falling into his trap. He set the bait and I bit it.

"These lives were not very glorious lives. No, there was nothing but complete horror." Damon stated. "They should have never been. No one should have gone through them; especially, not me."

"Why? What makes you so special?" I questioned.

"Most people have the ability to forget their past lives. The memories are simply gone; faded away with their decayed brain." He continued. "That way each time it is fresh and new. With a new brain, they are back to a clear slate. The terror and horror does not stay with them and build throughout the years. So, much of the negativity is able to be discharged. Unfortunately for me, I do not have the ability to filter out such torment. I remember every bit of it; all the years of misery. It just all built up until I could hold it any longer."

"There is still one unanswered question here." I paused. "Why me? Why did you call me?"

"Why not?" He answered. "First of all, you are the detective on the case. Secondly, when we are done here, you will bring me to justice. I will only then be able to continue knowing I still have a place in heaven."

I paused for a second. This was complete madness I thought, but I was interested. I wanted to see how far I could push it. It is truly a personality conflict, but I have the need to always push it. I needed to gage how sane this man was and truly needed to see if he was speaking the truth about the murder. Plus, if we finished up now, we would have to go back to the station. After all, anything beat going to the station.

"So tell me, if you have lived in the past, what is the earliest memory you have?" I asked, curiously.

"Are you sure you are ready for this?" Damon asked.

I look him dead in the face and put my gun back in my holster. I took a sip of coffee and said the four words that would hereby change my life.

"Let me hear it."
Chapter Two

The one thing I don't remember about my first life was being born. This probably doesn't seem strange to you, since normal people do not remember being born. I had some faint memories when I was very little, but they're too vague. They have very little significance to the story. So I'll spare you from listening to the parts of my lives that are anything but interesting.

I will start with my first vivid memory. It takes place around a thousand years ago in 1,000 A.D, give or take a hundred years. It is terribly hard to determine the exact date, since there were no formal records of my existence. What I know now is that I lived among a vast city in the middle of the Mexican peninsula. The people of my society were called the Mayans. I first remember sitting on a hill, overlooking a field. There were many men out there, playing a game. It was about the size of a modern day football field; rectangle in shape and along the longer sides of the field there were two huge walls.

These walls were made of stone and roughly twenty five to thirty feet high. They had great carvings on them of the warriors playing the game before us. On each wall, there was a big solid rock hoop. It resembled a modern day basketball hoop, expect for it was vertical. The shorter sides of the field had two temples, which were about two stories high. These were shaped as miniature pyramids.

The men on the field were extremely beastly. I remember being frightened by them. As any other ten year old, these men towered over me. They looked like animals; yelling and attacking the opposing team. Equipped with elaborate headdresses and padding on their arms, knees and feet, they were ready for battle. Each man wore padding in the shape of a U, around their waist. It looked almost like a belt, or life preserver for swimming children. I want to say it was made of some material like leather, probably from animal skin.

The men ran up and down the field hitting a ball and bouncing it off each other. For whatever reason, the men only used the forearms, knees and feet to advance the ball down the field. I remember looking around in amazement at the beauty of the arena. All the people and players made for an amazing sight. The sound that came from the court was overwhelming. The sound traveled from every end of the field.

"Father, what is this?" I asked, with my innocent child voice.

"This is a traditional ball game, which has been played for generations." He answered me like he was a History professor.

"How do they play it?" I asked.

"Well, you see the two hoops an each side of the walls?" He asked as I nodded. "The players have to get the ball into the hoop without touching it with their hands. That's why they have all of the padding on them. They don't want to get injured. You understand?"

He spoke softly in his gentle voice. He always used it when he explained things to me.

"Yes, father." I answered.

"Good, Tikal." He said with a smile.

My parents had named me Tikal, after a neighboring city. They had met each other there a few years before I was born. Upon my birth, they traveled to Chichén Itzá to live with my father's parents. They named me in memory of the birth place of their love.

We sat there for a few hours watching the men run back and forth with the rubber ball, hitting it desperately towards the stone hoops. The men were rather violent, throwing each other around and tripping each other to the ground. Immense screaming and fighting was typical. The game reminded me of modern day soccer, basketball and hockey. Soccer because of the way they moved the ball up and down the court. Basketball because the way they scored and hockey because of the brutality of it. I saw a few men get knocked down to the ground. They would scream in agony, with broken bones. After a few seconds, the men would finally make it to the sidelines. There someone would wrap up their wound in linen and out they would go to continue the game.

I could see a group of men sitting on the platform of the pyramids. Unlike us, they sat on chairs. They were guarded by two men who were much larger than the players. There were also women, on each side, fanning the group with large leaves. They were dressed in luxurious clothing, unlike me and my father. They had jewelry all around their necks, hands and wrist. How I envied them. As I sat in the hot sun, they had shade and a cool breeze. The heat was breath taking and I was sweating profusely. This didn't matter much to me though; I was amazed by this new game. My father was really getting into it, which also made me excited. So, we settled with what we had. When I initially noticed the group in the chairs, I turned to my father and asked.

"Papa? Who are those people on the temples over there?" I pointed to the people in the chairs.

"Oh, they are the noblemen of our city. They run the city and keep the Gods happy." He stated. "They are the ones we pay our utmost respect to. If it were not for them, we would have no homes nor food."

"But what makes them better than me?" I asked in a disappointed voice. "Why can't I sit on the temple in the shade?"

"Because son, that's not our place in society. Everyone has his or her place in this world. It is determined by the Gods." He said with a snap of his voice. "It just so happens that we are not noblemen, but we are better off than most other people in our city."

This snap meant, don't complain and take what you get.

"I guess." I replied.

"I guess?!" He snapped again. "There are people in the city who don't have any food to eat and they break their backs all day for nothing at all. We have a home, food and the luxury of coming to social events like this one. You should be a little more grateful."

"I'm sorry, papa. I just don't think it is fair."

"Oh, oh, look!" He said pointing to the field, which for the last few minutes we had stopped paying attention to.

I turned my head and looked at the field. One of the players had the ball and was about to attempt a shot. I was under the impression that he must have been the captain. He wore more of an elaborate headdress than the others. This man and one man from the opposing team were dressed alike. The man in question ran with super human speed unlike I had ever seen before. He was no doubt the best player on the field. There was a sense that all the other players feared him. He stood about 6 foot 3 and was a rather lengthy man, but his muscular frame made up for his long limbs. He ran in between the other players, dodging back and forth. Two players from the opposing team ran up to him and attempted to double team the man. This was far from being successful. The man threw an elbow to one of the players; sending him right on his ass. The other he tripped with one foot and stepped on him with the other. He did this all the while, without losing the ball. I was astonished at what I was seeing; I thought the man must be a god. The crowd roared at this excitement that was unfolding before us. I immediately fell in love with this sport and with the super human power of the man on the field. The crowd was chanting his name as he made his way down the field. They were chanting, "Yax Pac!" Yax Pac, the rising sun.

This man was one of the most well known and most feared contenders in the sport. I remember hearing his name on the tongues of some of the towns' people. This was the first time I had ever seen him, in the flesh. At the second I saw him and heard the crowd chanting his name, my blood started to race. This was unlike anything I have ever felt before. I wanted to be him; he was such a beautiful creature. Although this isn't exactly what I thought at the time; this is how I remember him. At the time, I was ten and only knew that he was my idol. Yax Pac was now under the hoop with the ball and his teammates tried desperately to fend off the opposing team players. He let the ball bounce off the ground and hit it with his thigh. The ball drifted to about shoulder level. He then spiked the ball with his forearm.

My father and I took a deep breath and stared at the ball as it made its way up to the hoop. The entire crowd followed suit. It all seemed to happen in slow motion, until it made it completely through. It made it through the hoop without even touching it. The crowd erupted with joy. It was the loudest thing I have ever heard in all my lives. It no longer sounded like screams. It was now one extremely loud unified roar. It sounded like a beast in the midst of battle. The noise sends a shiver down my spine, just thinking about it. We all jumped to our feet, cheered and clapped our hands. This was the first time, I had ever attended one of these games and I already knew it was an amazing event. My father turned to me with a look of some concern.

"You must now pay attention Tikal." He softly commanded. "This is why I brought you here today."

"What do you mean papa? What's going to happen?" I replied.

I was clueless to the true meaning of this event. Never had I ever heard about it before and I wouldn't ever be able to make it up if I wanted to. I merely thought it was for sport, like the NFL or something. I was truly misled. We turn back to the field, to hear the crowd was still yelling. The players were all migrating to the end of the field where the temple was. It was the same temple at which the noblemen sat with their slaves. One of the noblemen stood up and silenced the crowd, with a wave of his hand in a horizontal motion. Again, I could sense he was in charge. His Hitler like persona portrayed complete control.

"Silence!" He yelled.

All at once, the entire crowd went quiet. It was unbearably eerie, the power of this nobleman. He was a pipsqueak compared to man on the field, but his voice was dominant. He was draped with gold and jade. His appearance projected his status of wealth. While a rather charming looking man, I still disliked him for being wealthier than my father and I. His gold tip staff was pounding on the platform; producing a deafening sound.

The two teams, now at the bottom of the temple pyramid, took a knee. They lowered their heads in obedience. The crowd followed the team's move and knelt down. I looked at my father as I was knelt down and he had his face buried in his knees.

"What is this all about?" I thought to myself.

As everyone else, I bent down and bowed my head.

"Everyone remain still, until I finish what I mean to say!!!!" The nobleman said with such power. "We are all here today to pay respect to the Gods. Such an action requires a great price. There is no way possible to repay the gods for what they do for us every day. They demand great sacrifices to continue their services for our people. If these sacrifices are not met then our existence will cease to be. The Gods demand blood!!! Rivers of blood from our fragile hearts! So blood is what we will give them."

I was now so scared that I almost stood up and ran from the crowd in a frantic rage. I wanted to flee, but my father grabbed me by the arm.

"Stop and listen damnit!!!" He demanded.

He was clearly not pleased with my reaction to the service thus far. To break the silence and flee the arena would have been a mortal error. This would have disturbed the ceremony and my father and I would have to pay dearly for it. I regained my composure and knelt down again. The nobleman did not ever stop speaking nor did anyone take notice my shuffling about.

"These two teams came here to do one thing and one thing only. With their lives, they have come to make that sacrifice." He said while throwing his hands in the air. "They came to pay the ultimate price for the whole community's sake. For this we should all be thankful. So let the ceremonies begin!!!!!"

The crowd started cheering once again and everyone stood up. The players of the team that lost all turned around and headed back towards the wall that held the hoop on it. The other team stayed knelt down at the bottom of the temple, with their heads still down. The losing team lined up against the wall with their hands behind their backs. From behind the temple ran a group of man, who approached the defeated team. These men were all dressed in military attire. They were the men who fought off the rival tribes. They defended us from those tribes who meant to steal our food, supplies, city leaders and women. The men, who were armed with bows and arrows, were large like Yax Pac. As they approached the defeated team, they lined up in front of each man. There was one soldier for each player. The intensity in the air was unmistakable. It was like everyone was holding their breath to the point that their lungs would explode. Well, maybe it was just mine.

At that point in life, I had never seen someone die. To think that these men were going to sacrifice their lives in front of me, frighten my fragile mind. I was openly disturbed by the event, yet I could not take my eyes off of it. I felt like I needed to witness it. Ritual sacrifices were a part of everyday life in our society. Watching someone die made you respect life a little more. For the leader's sake, it also keeps the masses in line. Like I said, part of me wanted to watch this. I think it was the animal instinct in me that thrived off the sight of death. Everyone has animal instincts, even if you don't realize it. It is instinctive to appreciate someone's death, because it is not your own. To know that even though they will never see another sun rise, you will. It is the instinct to survive.

I know it sounds weird, I was only ten years old, and I wanted to watch someone die. In this time period, ten years old was almost a third of your life. People in that time usually did not live to be very old. Some did, of course, but even then they were only about fifty to sixty years old. It wasn't like today, when people live to a hundred plus years. With modern day technology and modern medicines people are starting to be able to live almost for forever.

I stared at the men, as they lined up against the wall. The military men were lined up as while, in striking stance; waiting for the order. The nobleman sat in his chair and again raised his arms to the sky. Everyone again grew quiet.

"Silence! The sacrifice here today will satisfy the Gods' request. These lives will not be taken in vain. For their deaths will ensure that our society will thrive for yet another year. Everyone, let's take a moment for a pray to the Gods." He bowed his head and held his arms in the air again, to pray.

"Our beloved Gods, please take our offerings that we present for you today." The crowd echoed his every word.

"All that we ask in return is for your guidance in our everyday lives. Please supply us with an abundance of food, materials, shelter and health among our people. These men we supply for you today are strong, healthy and brave men. They will prove useful for you on the other side. These men, we send to you, with immense happiness and appreciation."

The crowd then said a phase I cannot remember in detail. I believe it was the equivalent of the Christians phase, amen. The soldiers raised their bows to the sky. I could see the tension on the faces of the defeated team. I was afraid for those men. At such a tender age, I could not understand why any of this was going on. I mean, come on; Gods and sacrifices, all of which was tied to a ball game. I wanted to stop this all from happening. Such an attempt would obviously get me nowhere, and my father would have killed me. I was conflicted. Part of me was terrified, but the other part was intrigued. Either way, I again tried to shut my eyes, but my father saw me...

"You must watch this, Tikal. Keep your eyes open, or I will punish you for it!"

I did as I was told and opened my eyes. The nobleman now raised his hand in the air again.

"Ready. Aim." This felt like an eternity to me, for him to finish the command. Finally it came. "FIRE!"

The nobleman let out a great roar. It almost matched the roar of the crowd, when Yax Pac had won the game earlier. Then as soon as he commanded, the soldiers let their arrows fly.

The arrows ripped through the flesh of the men and a horrid screams came out. You could hear the sound of their bones breaking, as the arrows entered. The once brave men now sounded like butchered pigs... A high-pitched whine was piercing my brain; it was terrible. I almost gave way to tears. From the wounds flowed an enormous amount of bright red blood. The blood fell from their bodies, onto the ground of the field. As the blood pooled into puddles, I couldn't help but wonder how many other people had died here.

The men, now lying on the ground, were in puddles of their own blood. I could hear them gasping for air, through the holes from the arrows, that pierced their lungs. There was no use. The gargling sound in their breath signaled that the end was right around the corner. Blood was entering the lungs.

I saw the nobleman wave his hands toward a group sitting off in the corner of the field. The second group of soldiers ran towards the helpless, dying men, lying on the ground. These men carried axes in their hands. They were not like axes we have today. They were made of stone carved to a point, and lined with copper. They were much duller than today's axes. The soldiers approached the dying men and with a swing of their axe, began to chop them into pieces. This I could not bear. Complete terror filled their eyes before the axe fell. They screamed out to the soldiers to stop but they did not. They continued, chopping off their arms and legs. Most of them, at that point, were either dead or unconscious. After chopping off their arms and legs, the axes went for the heads.

Meanwhile, the crowd had risen their voices back to the monstrous roar that had once been, at the end of the game. The heads of the men rolled across the field, and the members of the other team ran and picked them up. There was one head for each of the players. Each man had a large pole, which they shoved the heads on. Blood ran down the shafts and all over the hands of the men who carried them. The men danced around in the middle of the field, cheering along with the crowd. I had failed to notice, since I was so engulfed in the slaughtering of the men, the smoke from a fire. A fire was now raging at the other end of the field, near the opposite temple. The bow and arrow wielding soldiers were now loading the remaining body parts onto a pre-modern stretcher made of wooden poles and animal skin. As they headed towards the fire, the team now followed them. The bodies of the dead were being tossed onto the flames. Thick black smoke rose and the smell of burning flesh was all around. The smoke poured into the air only to be carried away by the summer's breeze. I was now nauseated by the stench of burning flesh.

After all the remains were in the fire, the team danced around it, chanting prayers to the Gods. The sight of this made me sick to my stomach, but I couldn't take eyes off it. I desperately tried not to throw up in front of everyone. It was like passing a car accident. You pass by, hoping to see some gore. Yet you feel bad for watching. There is something inside that just doesn't let you stop. I wanted to stop, but there was this urge I could feel emerging. It was an urge that I had never felt before. My eyes followed the men on the field as they danced and chanted. The crowd was still roaring and jumping up and down. The chanting and dancing went on for a couple minutes until the nobleman stood up again to address the crowd.

"Now people, there is one more thing to be done here today. Can we have everyone over here?" The nobleman said, directing us to the temple at which he stood. "Since we have provided the Gods with such generous gifts, they will now give back a gift to the captain of our winning team."

I was confused about this said gift. I thought maybe now that Yax Pac led his team to victory, that he would now become a nobleman. I was dead wrong about this; he wasn't going to become a nobleman, he was going to become a God.

"Also with giving this gift to Yax Pac, he will be giving his teammates part of this glorious gift, as well. Can I please have Yax Pac come up here?"

There was a moment of silence as the crowd made way for Yax Pac. He climbed the stairs like a brave warrior; just as brave as he looked on the field. He got to the top of the temple platform, and stood face to face with the nobleman. The nobleman waved his hand at two men standing to the left of them. They came forward quickly, carrying a strange looking stand with them. It was a box shaped object that looked like an L. It stood about three feet off of the ground. At the top of the L, there was a half moon shape cut out. The stand had a magnificent carving of a woman goddess. The woman had a rope around her neck and seemed to be hanging from it. She was the suicide goddess, Ixtab. The people in my culture thought that suicide was expectable in certain situations. In these situations, the person committing suicide would go straight to 'heaven'. The two men place the object next to Yax Pac, turned around and return to their places. The nobleman now resumed his speech.

"Yax Pac, will you please take your place on the Ixtab stand?"

He knelt down on the object, with his knees on the horizontal part of the L. The nobleman's helpers came over and strapped his legs to the stand, and tied his arms behind his back. They then held him in place. Another helper came over with a bucket and stood in front of Yax Pac. He leaned forward and put his neck on the half moon shape part on the top of the Ixtab stand. The nobleman came forward then, to address Yax Pac and the crowd.

"In this hour Yax Pac, your passing will be to grander things than this world and life has to offer you. You have proved to be worthier than any men in this world, including myself. For this the gods will now take you from this realm to their realm, where you shall live the most luxurious and sublime life. Please bow your head Yax Pac."

He leaned forward all the way so his head was hanging over the side of the Ixtab stand and he shut his eyes. This was the first moment I could sense any fear in Yax Pac. He sat there with his eyes shut and his hands tied behind his back, while the nobleman continued his speech. The nobleman's slave brought out a dagger and handed it to him. The knife was double-bladed and had a slight curve in it. It was a sacred knife used for these occasions. The nobleman took the dagger in his hand and continued his speech.

"With the Hero Twins dagger and the power given to me directly from the gods, I will now send you to the realm of the Gods!"

I would later find out that the games were based on a mythical story about The Hero Twin's. It glorified two twins who had defeated the God of the underworld in the ball court game. They would in return become Gods themselves. That is how the ritual came to be and was done numerous times throughout the generations.

"Yax Pac." The nobleman continued. "Please receive my dagger. You may refuse it if you would like, but once the decision is made, it cannot be reversed. If you refuse, you will continue life as a normal man, with no extra privileges. If you receive my dagger, you will enter the realm of the gods and your teammates will also be granted with a piece of your gift. So what will it be, Yax Pac?"

He was silent for a few seconds, until the crowd began to chant.

"Receive, Receive!!" They screamed in unison.

After this chant continued for about thirty seconds, Yax Pac looked up to the nobleman. With his half scared, half heroic- lionhearted expression in his eyes, he would seal his fate.

"Receive!" He proclaimed.

The crowd once again returned the roar; it sent my nerves into frenzy. I wanted to cry and cheer both at the same time. I was sad that this beautiful creature, who I had just laid eyes on, was going to become a sacrifice. At the same time, I was intrigued by the event and happy that this man would become a god. Yax Pac leaned forward again and the nobleman stepped up and put one hand on his head. He held the dagger in the other hand.

"With this dagger, I now send you to the Gods. Any pain you feel will never compare to the glorious pleasures that await you on the other side. You are the bravest man and the strongest man I have ever laid eyes on. Your death will never be in vain. Now go to them; Embrace the Gods who await your arrival, on the other side."

Having said this, the nobleman took the dagger and sliced Yax Pac throat. Yax Pac let out a scream, but it wasn't like the screams of the defeated team. Unlike their whimpering, high-pitched cries, his was profound and somehow acceptable. He did not continue to move, except for the initial entrance of the blade. Even then it was only a minute shift of his head. Nothing seemed to indicate he was trying to escape. After that, his body shook and his fist were clenched. The blood poured from his throat, like a river. It looked like someone had thrown a bucket of blood, all over the front of the stand.

The slave with the bucket stepped forward to receive the blood; collecting it from his throat wound. The other two slaves held Yax Pac up as his body tried to collapse to the floor of the temple. The slaves finally released him from his straps and let his body gently fall. His spirit had now left his body, for it was now completely lifeless. One of the slaves ran to the side of the temple and fetched seven cups. He handed these seven cups to the remaining six members of the winning team and also handed one to the nobleman. The members of the team passed Yax Pac lifeless body and bowed their heads. This was the custom for showing respect to a God. They all lined up with their cups and one by one dipped the cup into the bucket of blood. Once they all had their cups filled, the nobleman spoke again.

"Yax Pac is now among the Gods and will be remembered for as long as our great city stands. His image shall be carved in the ball court wall along with the other great ball court Gods. As part of this ritual, Yax Pac has left us his blood. With his blood we will have part of a God inside us. The men standing here with me now, are from this moment on, to be considered the most noblemen in our society next to direct noble blood. Raise your cups gentlemen. Cheers the life of Yax Pac and drink. You deserve it!"

The six men and the nobleman raised their cups in the air then downed the blood. Dripping off of their chins, the deep red blood stood out against their white tunics. I could not imagine drinking someone else's blood. I just sat there in amazement. I hadn't even looked or spoke to my father since he told me I had to watch this event. Now that I think of it, I didn't look at anything, except for the event that took place before me. Not the crowd, hill I sat on, or the sky. Not even myself. I only watched the event before me. I felt alienated from my normal life; it seemed like a completely different world. I was looking at everything again for the first time. The people, the sky and the trees of the surrounding jungle all looked vastly different. This event had transformed me into a whole different person. I was no longer a child; I was a man. I wondered if my grandfather had brought my father to this game. I was willing to bet, he did. These rituals dated back many years.

Yax Pac's lifeless body was wrapped in linen, by the slaves and carried out on a stretcher to a location beyond our range of view. The crowd cheered as the men drank the blood of the new God, as Yax Pac's body was taken away. My father looked at me with tears in his eyes and said we most return home now. He wasn't really crying, but he was close. I never remember seeing my father cry before. Men weren't supposed to cry since crying was a sign of weakness. The fire was put out and all the new noblemen were now on their way out of the arena. My father took my hand and led me out toward the city and just like that, it was over.

Our city wasn't like the city of the 21st century; it didn't have skyscrapers and hundreds of roads. It was more like a large clearing of grass, with an enormous jungle surrounding it. Temples and pyramids replaced the large apartment buildings and company offices of the modern world. While we had sacrifice platforms, military tributes, sites for ritual cleansing; we also had public baths and market places. This did not make us very different from the rest of the "modern" world at the time. It was very different than the life we know today. Our most revered structure of our city was the Pyramid of Kukulcan. It contained four sides, with a staircase leading to the top. Each side had three hundred and sixty five steps; one step for each day of the year. The pyramid was used for studying astronomy and for ritual ceremonies. From the top of the pyramid, you could see the entire city and the endless jungle that stretched to the end of the world. This was our largest structure. The people of our city, Chichén Itzá, lived in villages outside of where the pyramids and temples were located.

Our village was in sight of the fore mention pyramid. Our huts were made out of tree logs from the jungle for the frame. More logs were attached to the frame to make the outer walls. Clay from the earth was then placed in-between the logs to seal them from the elements. The roofs were constructed in the same manner; tree branches were attached to prevent rain from seeping in. Out of fear of collapse, the clay was not used on the roof. The huts lined up in rows with enough space in- between to make a fire, hang clothing and to cook. The people in the villages were all like family to everyone else. Rarely did anyone commit a crime or start fights. People, who went against the rules of the noblemen, were the first to be sacrificed. This was not like the sacrifice that Yax Pac had made. The criminals were sacrificed to the Gods in return for nothing. Yax Pac's sacrifice prevented mass sickness, war and famine. So they say.

Most of the time, two or three generations of families lived in the same hut. There was one big room where everyone slept on beds of straw or tree branches. In my family, it was only my father, my mother, my younger sister and I. Other relatives of ours did, however, live in the same village. After the ball court game and sacrifices of the day, my father and I returned to our village. The whole walk home, nothing was said between my father and I. Right before we got to our hut, he stopped and stood in the path.

"What is it, papa?" I turned and asked.

".... I'm sorry, if that was too much for you to handle. I know I should have told you before we got there. I couldn't. That's how these things work, you see? I had to bring you there; it is a tradition that every man has to partake in. My father brought me to that exact place we were today, when I was your age. The same with his father and so on. You are a man now. It had to be done. How can you be a man if you don't know our way of life? Do you understand Tikal?" He said, with a sad voice almost like he thought he had ruined my poor little life.

The reality was that I had enjoyed the game and enjoyed the sacrifices. The sight of death dumbfounded me. I couldn't completely understand death. I thought that becoming a God wasn't logical. However, dying in such an honorable way and having everyone remember you really thrilled my mind. I was afraid of dying, but not being remembered after I died, scared me a lot more. From the moment I left the ball court, I know that I was going to make my mark in this world before I died. I didn't really want to be a ball player, because if you lose then you get nothing. It was too much of a gamble for me. You get remembered as a loser and that's all. I didn't know my calling at the time, but I would surely find it before I departed from this world.

I looked at my father who was still looking at me with tears in his eyes. I knew he felt terrible about bringing me there and forcing me to watch. He probably hated going to those games as a child and figured I hated them also.

"Papa, it is ok, I understand what you had to do. It is not your fault. I feel like I'm a different person than I was before we want to the game today. I think I like this new person. I enjoyed the game very much and the sacrifices were a necessary part. I can handle what I saw." I said this like I didn't like the sacrifices but I did.

I didn't think I could tell my father that I liked watching those people die. I was only ten and was not suppose to think that way. A sense of relief flowed over my father's face and replaced sadness with a smile.

"If you ever need to talk about anything at all, you can tell me. I'm your father and I love you. I will always listen to you Tikal." He replied cheerfully. He came to me and hugged me tight. "If you ever want to go to another game, just tell me and we will go together."

We continued to our home, as if nothing mind-altering ever happened. My father and I went to the ball court game every time there was one. Every time, each team battled for a piece of godliness; in hopes to not become another pointless sacrifice. Their deaths were only to satisfy the Gods, and never to be remembered again, for the rest of time. No ball game was ever better than the first one I had seen. No player of the field could have ever matched the braveness, strength or honorability of Yax Pac. This man was one of a kind and I did in fact remember this man until the day I died. He was easily the finest player that this world has ever seen.
Chapter Three

Our everyday life, besides going to the games, consisted of farming, hunting, and learning about religion or arts. The women usually farmed and gathered fruit and seeds. The children and men who weren't fit to hunt also farmed. We grew maize, beans and a lot of other things. Since we were surrounded by it, the men had to go to the jungle to hunt. This was a very dangerous venture for anyone. There was no such thing as guns back then. All you had were spears, arrows and axes. Many men have been lost on the hunts for food. Some get lost in the jungle never to return; some get attacked by animals and die in the jungle. The jungle that surrounded our city was very dense and extremely large. The jungle stretched for miles and miles. There were other cities in the jungle. Some were our people while some were rival civilizations.

So how did our society come about, you may ask? Well, there are a couple different theories on how we came about. One is that the God of all Gods, Hunab Ku, created earth in three layers. One inhabited by dwarfs, one by the Dzolob, the offenders, and we, the Mayans, inhabited the last layer. Itzamna, Hunab Ku's son was the founder of Mayan culture. He gave our people maize and other crops. He also taught our people about writing, healing and how to use the calendar. He was the moon- god and was also known as the 'lord of knowledge'. There were an endless amount of other Gods, who also helped to contribute to the creation of our society.

Another theory was the one that most people do not believe. This theory comes from the elders of the tribe and goes against the notion of the creation theory I stated above. Some say that hundreds of years ago, our ancestors came here from a far away land. That land was very different than the land we lived during my life. It was colder, harder to domesticate plants and animals in and had a much smaller availability for prey. At that time, they were suffering from mass famine and knew if they stayed there they would surely die out. The conditions were so terrible that even the animals were migrating to different lands. So the people decided to follow the herds of animals in hope for better conditions. Plus if they did not follow the herd, they wouldn't have any food left to eat. They left their homes, in hope for brighter future. Undoubtedly, some stubborn members must have stayed behind and surely died. The rest followed the animals through the harshest conditions ever imaginable. For months or even years, they followed the animals. They were led to a land full of ice. The ground, the mountains, everything was covered in ice. Having gone so far, the men forged forward despite the worsening conditions. Eventually, they made it through the ice lands until they found a large body of water. Once at the coastline of an enormous ocean, the group simply followed the herds down that coastline.

They made their way though modern day American and into Mexico. Here they came in contact with other groups of humans. They tried to intermingle with these people, but they were met with extreme resistance. The tribes were much more civilized and well prepared than our people. They drove our people into the jungle and away from their lands. Our people, afraid of these tribes, fled deep into the jungle. No one is sure where the first city was located. Nor did we know how large the first group was, but there must have been many of them. It takes a tremendous amount of people to clear out a gigantic chunk of jungle and even more women to populate it. Now the Mayan society is massive and continuing to grow. Which theory is correct? No one knows.

As I said, we lived to farm, gather and learn. At least until we were fit enough to hunt. I spent endless days in the fields picking corn or planting seeds for other crops. I also gathered fruits and seeds from the edge of the jungle. We were instructed to never enter the jungle. We were too defenseless to take care of ourselves, at such a young age. Even standing at the edge of the jungle was dangerous. Sometimes the animals would come to the edge of the jungle in hope of finding food. Other animals came right inside the city borders. I remember the first time a jaguar entered the city limits. It was in search for food and heading towards the town where we slept.

This beast stood about three feet tall on all fours and it was about two hundred pounds. It could have easily have eaten a child or small woman. The teeth on the animal were about three inches long and its claws were equally as impressive. It walked towards the town and we were alerted at once. We could hear the sound of its growl; an intense grisly noise. I was about fifteen years old when this happened. The naïve hero in me wanted to go out and catch the animal. My father ensured me I was still too young for trying such daring and dangerous things. He told me that the beast could bite my arm or leg off before I could even lay two fingers on it. All the men in the town were now awake. Before they could capture the animal, it had made its way into a hut and screams filled the air.

"Get it out! Get it out!" I heard the woman screaming.

Despite my father's advice, I snuck my way towards the hut. As I approached, I could see the family now standing outside. A man and woman stood side by side, with their parents and child.

"The baby is still inside!" The woman screamed. "We have to get her out of there!"

"Please, stop your screaming." The man demanded. "You are going to irritate the animal. You are not helping."

The man tried to reason with the woman, but she was petrified. Just then the beast stepped out of the hut. The animal was indeed huge; larger than I truly expected. It turned its head, and in the burning torch light provided by the town's men, I could see the baby girl.

"It's got the baby!" The woman screamed.

The man grabbed the woman and shook her.

"You need to keep your mouth shut, if we plan on saving her." He firmly stated. "Do you understand me?"

"But it's got the baby!" She replied.

"Go!" He demanded, turning her around back in the opposite direction of the scene. "Go take a walk and let the men handle this. The baby will be fine. I promise."

Just in time, the woman's mother walked over and took her by the arm. She was led away, but her screams and cries did not cease. They only faded.

When I turned back around, I noticed the town's men had encircled the beast. I ran down to the men and could see all the people of the village looking out the windows and doorways. It was well past bedtime and all the people in the village were up and watching. The cries from the woman must have awakened everyone, because on any other night everybody would have been asleep. It only took a few seconds to reach the circle of men. The growls could be heard, once again. I pushed my way through the circle of men and saw a gruesome sight. This huge beast was standing in the middle of the circle, pacing back and forth trying to find a way out. The men had spears and were thrusting them at the beast to keep it back. The animal turned around and faced in my direction. I could see the baby in the grasp of its jaw. She was still alive thankfully. The little girl cried and tried to squirm her way out of the jaguar's death grip. It was a failed attempt at escape. Her black straight hair hung half way to the ground. With every move the jaguar made, the child's hair swayed.

The animal hadn't harmed the baby yet, but it was getting aggravated from all the taunting of the men. The baby lay in the mouth of the beast; its head sticking out one side of the mouth. If the animal were to bite down, it could have very easily severed the baby's neck. I stood there in shock, not knowing what I should do. I guess that's why my father said I wasn't ready yet. If I had been ready, I would have known what to do. One of the men, in the circle, throws his spear at the jaguar and hit it in the rear, right above the hip. This caused the animal to collapse on hind legs. The beast, now infuriated, sank its teeth though the baby's neck. Her cries were muffled with the severing of her vocal cord. The blood was rushing out of the jaguar's mouth and dripping onto the ground. Death was coming for the baby, faster than anyone could try and stop it. This all occurred just in time for the mother's return. She let out a deafening scream and tried to lunge towards the circle but was stopped by the men. Another man threw his spear and hit the jaguar in the side of the neck. It pierced through its throat, causing significant damage to the beast.

The pain caused the beast to release its grip on the dying baby. She fell limp to the ground. The animal let out a high-pitch yelp. It was now dying from its spear wounds. The teeth from the beast had punctured the baby's throat right on the main artery. With the baby out of the mouth of the jaguar, it allowed them to use more force on the animal. Four or five spears came flying from the men and are were all direct hits. The animal now lay motionless on the ground bleeding from the wounds. A few men ran towards the baby to retrieve it, while the other men ran towards the beast. They tossed a net over the animal, just to make sure it did not return for a second round.

The baby was brought to the father, who held the baby tight in his arms. I felt bad standing there and watching this, but again it was like the car accident thing. I couldn't peel my eyes from the tragedy. It was the ball game all over again. The baby was still bleeding from its neck and had no chance of surviving. Medicine wasn't nearly what it is today. The man held the baby, despite the blood that dripped down his chest.

"We are sorry, sir." One of the town's men stated. "We tried our best."

"Why? Why Gods? Why must you take this poor soul from me?" The man shouted over the voice of the townsmen.

The women ran back to the father as he held his blood soaked child. The beast lay on the ground, caught in the net and was not giving much of a struggle. Its sporadic breathing indicated that it too was close to death. The man handed his baby to his wife and walked over towards the trapped animal. The man stood above it and retrieved a dagger from its case that was tied around his waist. He got to his knees in front of the now sprawled out dying beast. It only now let out a pitiful growl. The man did not even flinch. He held the dagger over his head and with quick thrust it entered the jaguar's abdomen. He stabbed the beast repetitively, while crying over the mutilated animal. The other men came over and had to pry the man away from the animal. He fell back onto the ground and dropped the knife. Sitting Indian style, with his head in his lap, he was now covered in blood head to toe. The man's wife came over and with one hand holding the deceased child. She grabbed the man's shoulder.

"Come on now, my love. She is gone." She said gently. "There is no way to bring her back. We must go now and prepare a grave for our little love."

"But..." The man cried.

"Stop trying to figure a way to bring her back. It cannot be done." She interrupted. "It can't be reversed. We must now live with it."

She bent down and kissed the top of his head. It seemed to be the only place not covered in blood. The man took his baby from his wife and went into the house. The custom in our culture was to bury the dead underneath our hut. We had no proper flooring. It was simply dirt and straw mats. The dead were buried under the houses, so that in the afterlife they would have shelter. Only the elite and the Gods were provided with such things after death.

The child would be wrapped in linen, as is and placed in the grave. The grave had to be deep in the earth, because the smell of the rotting flesh would rise up from the ground. After the grave was dug and the body was wrapped, the dead were placed in the grave with any valuables the family could afford to part with. Also the Mayan culture believed that the dead could watch over the living and protect them. The spirit of the dead would remain on earth close to their bodies, if it decided to do so. The people keep the dead under the house to insure that the spirit upon returning would be inside their home.

The townsmen retrieved the beast and dragged it to the front entrance of the hut.

"Here, you should take the beast." They told the father. "Eat its flesh and use it skin. At least, this might be the only positive thing to come from this."

"Positive, HA." He snapped. "Nothing will ever be positive again."

He took the beast and dragged it into the hut and left the men outside, without even a thank you for their effort.

I stood back and reflected on the situation. I could hardly believe that this had happened. I then turned around and ran back home. Once inside, I lie in my bed and assumed a fetal position. I would not answer anyone's questions. I never thought before that something like that could happen. I felt a lump in my throat like I was going to either cry or throw up. This was the first time an animal had come and taken a life of anyone. I had a feeling in me again like I had the day of Yax Pac's sacrifice. I think I changed from watching the beast rip its teeth through that baby. Yes, I have seen people die before, many times. The thing that makes this time different is that it wasn't planned. This wasn't some criminal or a chosen one for a sacrifice; this was an innocent child who had been torn from its bed. The child was a victim of "the wrong place, at the wrong time". I felt a bit of fear in me. I realized now how vulnerable the human creature was. Despite our bodily strength, we were far more fragile than we like to admit. It was at this point that I realized that any day could be my last.

Before then, I had always thought that I would die either when I choose or when I was too old to continue. I was beyond wrong; my blindfold was peeled away. Death doesn't care about how old or healthy you are. It doesn't care if you are good or evil. It takes who it wants, when it wants. When I thought about this, my stomach ached. The feeling compared to when you go on a roller coaster and your stomach drops. I hated the feeling. I use to think about it so much I would give way to tears. How can death be so unmerciful; so cruel? How can it take children from their beds, in the middle of the night, and bring them to such brutal ends? Why not take the elderly, instead? I could no longer plan my life around fun or happiness. I had to plan it around the probability of death. I would ask myself, if I go into the jungle alone, what are the chances that I will get attacked and killed? At night, before I want to sleep, I would lay there and think about death. I would become frightened by the fact that I could fall asleep and never wake up again. Would I realize that I had died? What would it feel like?

I started then, thinking about life after death. I was starting to question all the things I have been told. Did the afterlife really exist? And if not, then what happens after death? Is it just the feeling of nothingness? Can you even feel nothingness or is it just the blackness that occurs while you sleep, but do not dream? You don't realize you're sleeping until you wake up. What happens if you never woke up? I doubt we would even remember falling asleep. The first Law of Thermodynamics states the energy cannot be created nor destroyed. So, what happens to the energy of the body after death? It has to go somewhere, right? I believe this supports the life after death theory. No one can prove otherwise. I think that all the energy that is needed to power the body is transformed into the 'soul' of the dead. Now, where the 'soul' goes afterwards, I'm not sure. But I'm getting far off subject of the story.

Like I said, I was changed by this experience, once again. I went on with my life like nothing was wrong. At the same time, I had made the decision to put my ass in gear. As a young man at the age of fifteen, I really needed to find my calling in life. In my society, I was supposed to serve my parents and the noblemen. I could have been anything from a hunter to a pyramid builder. I knew that there was one career that could suppress the thoughts of life and death that plagued me; a priest. The only way to escape it was to beat it, with knowledge.

It was not an easy career. Hell, I didn't even know how to read. However, there was this longing; this driven force to know the unknown; to drive out my demons.

So from the time of my epiphany to become a priest, I started hinting to my father that it was what I wanted. I brought it up one day, out of nowhere.

"Father, I've been thinking about what I can do with my life." I stated. "What do you think I should do?

"Well, I don't know son." He hesitated. "I guess whatever makes you happy."

"So like a hunter, or ball player." I said as he raised an eyebrow. "Or maybe a priest?"

"Hmm..." He replied. "Hunting is too dangerous. So are the ball games for that matter. But a priest? That is a complete waste of time. You shouldn't strive for a position where you will waste all day telling stories."

"But father..." I interrupted. "To serve the elite and keep the Gods happy."

"It's all a big fake," He stated sternly. "If you ask me, Tikal, the elite pay the 'priest' to say whatever they want."

He was right. Those times were not much different than today. There were always going to be sneaky politicians. They were just called different titles at different times.

"Of course, your mother would love the idea." He continued. "It would keep you out of trouble, but it is a tremendous amount of work. How will you fit it into your day?"

"Well, I figured maybe I could just work half of the day farming, and half the day learning." I stated.

"How does that benefit me or our family, if you only do half of the work and play the rest of the day?"

"It wouldn't be play. I would be learning a lot." I replied, generically.

He stopped and just stared at me. I had a feeling I had him. Despite his feelings that it was a complete waste of time, there was something inside him that was agreeing with me. Maybe he too had the urge to know the unknown. Maybe live vicariously through me.

"Fine... You will work most of the day. "He said. "I'll let you leave early, with the understanding that you will be teaching your sibling how to read."

"You have a deal." I replied with a smirk.

"But..." He interjected. "If you slack off on either your work or your studies, I'm going to make you quit the studies and you will be working full time."

I simply smile and hugged him.

Month after month, I woke up early in the morning to go farming and gathering. Then I'd go to study for hours until it was too dark to stay out. The priest taught me everything about the Gods and the earth. Here's an interesting story for you to ponder.

They say that the first men made by the Gods, were a failed attempt. These men were too God-like and knew everything about the world and space. They believe that this would cause the men to not have a creative impulse. They thought their creation would also lose their impulse to reproduce. If they knew everything, there would be no motivation for bigger and better things. Sound logical?

I was also taught mathematics and astronomy. I was to know everything about the human sacrifice and why it is so dearly important. This went on for about five years. I studied and worked constantly. I was completely satisfied with my life. I didn't think there was anything else I ever wanted to do.

When I turned twenty years old, however, I was told that I was now fit to go hunting with the men of the tribe. This was great news for me, for more than one reason. For one, I was now considered a "real man". For two, hunting took up less time then gathering. This meant I had more time for my studies.

The men of the tribe taught me how to use weapons to hunt. Our biggest weapon was the spear. Which is simply described as a large stick with the end sharpened to a point. Used to throw or stab, it was effective at nearly any range. We also had nets to catch the animals. You could either toss the net on the animal or you could set a trap with it. Both were also effective.

The last transformation into manhood meant that I would be able to go to trading missions. Men from the city would travel to other cities within our civilization. Most of the tribes around our city are considered Mayans but they had different kings than we do. Most of them were our allies but there were some in the jungle who loathe us. I have never been out of our city and I have never entered the jungle. This was very exciting for me. I loved adventures and dangerous situations.

Before I did any of this, I had to take training sessions. These included weapons training with spears, sling- shot and nets. As well as, weight lifting training and hand-to-hand combats. The jungle was a dangerous place and at anytime we could come across rival tribes. I would need to be able to defend myself.

The training only took four months every day except for our equivalent to modern day Sunday. It consisted of sparing with the trainers and trainees. We had to have spear training on targets that were shaped as animals. We learned how to wrestle, which was more like the UFC fighting. It was a mixture of everything. We were not influenced by any other fighting style of the time, since we were so secluded. After our training was complete, we were taken out into the jungle for the first time.

While our first trip into the jungle was exciting, it was also very uneventful. Not too much happened, nor did we really see any animals. My trainer was able to catch a little monkey but nothing worth going into. I didn't really see what the hassle was all about. The jungle didn't seem dangerous to me. It was actually quite peaceful. I went into the experience thinking that there would be jaguars chasing us, rival tribes to fight off, or something, at least. I just remember my feet hurting from walking on rocks and roots all day, and to top it off, it was for nothing.

For a couple of months, I went on hunting trips only, no trading missions. I also studied my religion, in the evening hours. I hunted everyday and for months I caught nothing, not even a monkey. I became rather upset with hunting and wished I could go back to gathering. There wasn't that instant gratification that gathering provided. At least I never came home empty handed when I simply gathered. I could bring something home for my family that way, unlike hunting. Luckily for me, my luck had changed.

It happened one day after I had completed my spear training and was allowed to hunt with it rather than just a net and a sling- shot. We woke at sunrise like always and prepared for our trip into the jungle. After we got set up, we began our journey. I had a good feeling about that day since it was the first time that I could use a spear. I felt empowered and confident.

We walked through the jungle, which was considerably darker than the clearing of our city. Walking on the jungle floor was harder than on the grass or dirt ground of the city. It was covered with rocks and twigs, which stuck in your foot if you weren't watching out for them. Also there were enormous roots that supported the trees that stood far above our heads. It was very easy for someone to step on these roots while not paying attention and twist the ankle or stub a toe. So needless to say, I was very vigilant of everything as we made our travel.

After sometime, we came upon a community of monkeys. This was a chance to get a big hit. Instead of all of us charging at the monkeys, we first split up and surrounded the tree in which they lived. We did this without letting the monkeys know we were stalking them. There were six of us; two went to one side of the tree, two to the other and the remaining man and I were sent to climb the tree. We weren't trying to catch the monkeys. We were trying to work them up, so they would all scatter. After this happened, each man would leave his partner and chase one monkey. This made it easy to catch at least one. If the whole group chased one monkey and it got away, all of the other monkeys would be long gone. The group would be left with nothing out of it.

"You two..." The leader whispered to me. "Go climb that tree, right over there."

I was a climber since I was considered to be the "weakest" in the group. This was customary when you were new to the clan. I crept up to the tree and bent over trying to stay out of the view of the monkeys. I took one side of the tree and the other trainee took the other side. We sat on the root of the tree and looked to the other men in the group. We were motionless while we waited for our sign to climb. The jungle was quite loud now with the sounds of birds and the monkeys screaming. The root I sat on had a musky smell, and was very damp from previous rainstorms. The wetness dribbles its way from the highest tip of the tree to the base. That was the only real way to get the rain to the roots of the tree. The rainforest is so dense and the trees all overlapped each other, forming a canopy.

"Have you ever done this before?" The other trainee asked quietly.

"No." I replied bluntly.

We were not supposed to be talking. The point of the sneak attack was to be just that, a sneak attack. If we made the slightest noise, we could tip off the monkeys.

"I hope we catch them." He stated eagerly.

"Shhh!" I said, under my breath.

After a few seconds, the sign came in the form of a nod from the leader of our group. The other trainee and I looked at each other and with a nod, we started to climb. While we climbed, we shook tree branches and screamed as loud as possible; it seemed to be working.

The monkeys scattered as we hoped. They jumped to the next tree and climbed to the ground. They were trying to escape the two predators in the trees, but little did they know what was waiting for them. Two of the four monkeys escaped, but the other two ran directly into the nets of the other men in our convoy. They grabbed the two monkeys in the net and proceeded to club the monkeys until they were dead. They smashed their heads with the clubs. Pools of blood now littered the jungle floor.

The men and their clubs were saturated with blood and dirt. It reminded me of the father of the unfortunate baby who met its death earlier in my story. The sight of blood is one that never gets easier to look at over time. There is something frightening about it. I think it goes back to the fact that it shows us just how fragile our bodies actually are.

I was exhilarated by all of this. My adrenaline pumped through my veins in the same way it did when I watched Yax Pac's neck get slit and his body went limp. I had this sensation rush through me and I had an uncontrollable urge to take the monkey in my hands and devour it. It was the same urge I had before, except stronger, but within a moment it was gone. With every sight of death, the urge was growing. I felt guilty about having the urge, so I kept it to myself. I was training to be a religious leader. Even though blood rituals were a part of our religion, I wasn't supposed to think about such things. Furthermore, I was not supposed to enjoy it.

I snapped back to reality and realized I was sitting on the roots of the tree that the monkeys came from. I had my head in between my legs and I felt very faint.

"Tikal!" The leader shouted. "Come on, we are heading back."

They had their monkey carcasses strung up on a large branch, which was being carried on the shoulders of the two men who caught the monkeys. They all had started on their way back to camp and I was holding up the group. I shot to my feet and ran to catch up with the gang. There were some joking comments about my holding up the group. I just laughed it all off and we all made our way back to the city.

Our trip back to the city was the same as our trip into the jungle. All went well for my first successful voyage. The chase, the catch and the kill, introduced me to another part of life I never knew existed. It introduced me to feelings that I never knew before. It was the rush of it all that thrilled me. When we came to the edge of the jungle, I could see the pyramids and temples. We made our way through the city and came to the town. I could now see the smoke from the campfires. Everyone was preparing food for dinner since it was now near dusk. I saw some kids playing fetch the stick with one of their wild dogs. Some of the women were taking clothing off their lines. I watched them as they brought them in. It's strange how societies work. They are more organized then the people in them think. There is a time for everything, time for work, time for play etc... If one person changes the way they run their day, it can really fucked things up for everyone else.

The men in my convoy that carried the monkeys were in front of me as we made our way in. A group of children ran up to us to see what we had brought back. In awe, the children pointed and whispered under my ability to hear. I just nod and say hello, I remember being one of those children. My friends and I would wait for the men to come home from the jungle to see they brought back. We use to think so highly of them. They were like warriors to us. I felt very proud of being a hunter now.

I walked with my group up to the area where all of our houses were. Since the way the people were chosen for the hunting group was by where you lived. All of us lived within twenty to thirty yards from each other. We stopped at the leader's hut and we helped him gut and skin the monkeys. The leader cut the monkeys into equal pieces, handing it to all of us. I walked away with my ration of monkey over my shoulder and entered my home. My family greeted me with hugs and smiles. My father came in and with a smile he told me how proud he was that I had been successful on my trip into the jungle. My father helped me cut up the monkey and we cook it over the fire. It felt so great to eat something that I helped catch. We all enjoyed the food and after we ate, I told everyone of my hunting trip. It was one of my happiest days ever. When it became very late, all of the families in the town retired to their homes for the night. I also went into my home to put an end to my perfect day with a perfect sleep. Unfortunately, this would not happen. My sleep was anything but perfect.
Chapter Four

As usual, I was the last one to fall asleep in my household. I like to lie on my mat and listen to the sounds of the surrounding jungle. It was hard to get to sleep sometimes on account of the bugs. I also got freaked out sometimes and couldn't sleep. I'd think I could hear strange noises or voices. When I was young, I was told that the spirits of the dead would whisper in your ears, as you try to sleep. I, sometimes, wondered if they were right.

This night was like many others, but it was also the night that would cap off my first day as a hunter. I finally felt worth something. I lay there and thought about the day's events. It was a very quiet night and after a little while of listening for sounds, I grew extremely tired. My eyes grew incredibly heavy and sleep started to take over my body. That is when it happened.

I heard a loud thundering noise. It was so loud I thought for sure that my hearing would be completely gone. I looked around and realized I was not in the hut any longer. It was very smoky and I could hardly make out anything even within reaching distance of me. I heard more loud noises, one after another. Ducking down to the ground in a fetal position, it was then I noticed I wasn't even myself. I was about twice the size of my normal shape. I had on heavy clothing, unheard of at the time and I was carrying some kind of bundle on my back. The bundle weighed a significant amount. I took it off my shoulders and threw it on the ground. I could hear what I thought were voices, but I could not make out what they were saying. They kept screaming the same thing over and over again. I had no idea what it meant. I looked up and the smoke cleaned a bit. A man appeared, holding a long shinny object, foreign to me. This object was making some of the lesser thundering noises. With each explosion, it was blowing little flames out of it.

I could see now that we were in a little room of some sort. It had four walls, like most rooms and was a bit smaller than my hut. One wall had a doorway in it and the other wall had a large open window from one end of the wall to the other. This man held the object halfway out the window.

He then stopped, looked directly at me and screamed something again. I still had no clue what was being said. All I knew was that he was very upset with me for some reason.

I just shook my head and crouched farther back against one wall.

"I don't understand you. I don't know what you want from me!!!!" I yelled.

The man could only reply by hollering some foreign obscenities at me. The anger in his eyes spoke more words than I could ever understand.

I did nothing but stare at him in horror. I didn't know what was going on. I wanted to run but there were so many thundering noises. The walls had little holes blowing out of them, and little shards of wall were flying about. Also, I thought if I tried to move, this man would stop me. Just then the man dropped the object and stepped towards me vigorously. He grabbed my jacket and shook me. I could see him perfectly now, as he continued to yell. He was a rugged man with a scar on his neck. He looked like no one I have ever seen before. He was dressed in dark green pants and matching jacket. The man wore some kind of headdress. It was a half circular object placed on his head. There was two pieces of material that went from one end, under his chin and to the other end. It was a strap of some sort. Fear swept over my body. I thought this man was going to kill me.

Then there was the loudest thundering noise yet. It shook the room we were in and I saw a bit of fire come through the window. I think I lost the hearing in one of my ears and I heard a constant-piercing ringing. He grabbed the shinny object again and stuck it back to the window. It once again blew little flames out the end and made little thundering noises. After a few moments another man entered the room and ran over to the man with the object. The two men spoke in a tongue unknown to me. The first man placed the object in the other man's hands, and the second man continued what the first man started. Once again, I was approached and grabbed.

He shook me very hard and continued with the verbal assault. I didn't move. I simply tried with all my might to stay as close to the ground as I could. The man then slapped me in the face and yelled at me once more.

"I have no fucking clue what you are talking about! What do you want from me?" I asked him.

Just then I looked over to the second man and his head blew apart. His body and the object fell to the floor. Pieces of skin, brains and skull were now covering the room. His body came to rest on the floor not five feet from me. I was now beyond fear. I had just watched a man's head disappear into countless fragments, and I didn't even know how it happened. His body lay still on the ground and the blood poured from what was left of his head. It was like the monkeys I helped catch earlier that day. Except now, I was so uncertain about everything that was happening.

After seeing the man's head explode, a sensation came over me. It was the urge I had felt in the jungle after watching the beaten monkeys. I looked at the man, about a foot in front of me, who gripped my jacket with both hands. I thought then that it was either him or me. This man was going to kill me. For all I knew, he had caused the other man's dismay and I was to be next. With an extreme strength I never knew I had possessed, I shot up and tackled the man on the floor. We rolled around on the ground and the man tried desperately to escape my grip. I won the upper hand and was now on top of the man, pinning him to the ground. On top of him with my knees on his shoulders, I punched his face repetitively. Blood gushed from his nose and mouth. Just then a thundering boom equal to the previous ones, blasted the room we were in and everything shook. I lost my balance and the upper hand. I was thrown backwards off of the man and landed next to my bundle.

Sticking out of the bundle was an object that looked like a dagger. I grabbed it and when I turned around, I saw the man charging at me. I stuck the object out and the man ran directly into it. The dagger stuck into the man's stomach and he fell on top of me. He was now inches away from me, face to face. I tried to push him off but I was now losing my strength. The last blast had blown part of the wall off and a large sliver of some type of material had stuck into my left side. I could barley use my right arm and the pain was causing me to become light headed. I sat up right against wall and the man lay on top of me.

I was now staring him right in the eyes and his expression had completely changed. No longer did he scream. He now looked into my eyes with a solemn expression and out of his mouth came what seemed to be a desperate plea.

He was crying and I could hear the pain in his voice. I could see now a look in his eyes. He knew his time was coming. Blood was quickly pouring from his wound and I could tell he was either on the verge of fainting or dying. He looked at me again and said the only two words that I still to this day remember.

"Heil Hitler".

I was completely clueless to what it meant, but it struck a chord in my brain. I couldn't help to stop and wonder. This language, if indeed that is what it was, I didn't understand and have never heard before.

I pulled the dagger out of his stomach and blood flowed out like a stream. It covered his jacket and was dripping onto me. The man let out his last breath and became completely motionless. I used as much energy as possible to push the man off of me. I finally got him to budge and I laid his lifeless body on the floor.

I looked around and not too much was visible. The last blast blew off much of the wall, which contained the window. The room was now on fire. Smoke and flames were in every direction. I knew then I had to get out of the room before I either choked to death on the smoke or caught on fire. I looked for an escape route. The window, which was once the sidewall, was now reduced to rubble and flames. The doorway was the only clear exit. I grabbed the object the two men held out of the window, and used it to gain my balance. Once I got too my feet, I used the object to hold my weight. I stumbled my way to the door, inch by inch. It seemed to take forever. My leg had also been pierced with the material from the blast. I finally reached the doorway and put my hand on it. I needed to pull myself through the doorway and around the corner. I dropped the object and grabbed the doorway with both hands. I then pulled myself through; propelling me out of the room.

I was successful. I swung myself through the doorway and around to the right. What waited for me, I wasn't quite sure. All I remember seeing was a man as I rounded the corner. He was standing within reaching distance from the doorway, waiting. I do not have enough time to take note of any details about the man. As soon as he noticed me, I was slammed in the head with a large blunt object. The next thing I know, I jumped up screaming. It was only a dream. I had woken up and was sitting upright on my mat. I was back in my hut with my family. Of course my screams had awakened everyone.

"What is it, Tikal? What's the matter?" My mother asked.

"Nothing mother, I just had a bad dream." I replied, as I tried to reassure her everything was ok. She just stared at me with a confused look.

"No really mom, I'm alright. Just a little nightmare, you know?"

"Well you surely scared us half to death, screaming like that." She replied.

"Yes I know mom, I am sorry. Please go back to sleep." I told her.

Everyone then went back to their mat and resumed their sleep. I did the same, except I wasn't successful for a while. I just lay there and thought about the dream. I had never seen such things as the shinny object or the clothing before. I without a doubt have never heard that language before. I would have remembered it a little if I had ever heard it. No there was nothing; no recall. The dream seemed so vividly real. It was driving me crazy. I thought of the smoke, the thundering noises and the room. Especially, I thought of the man with the strange looking object that I had never seen before. Eventually, I was too tired for any thought process. I fell back to sleep and slept the whole night through. Well, that which was left of it, anyways.

The next couple weeks went by with no ado. There were the same events as usual. We went on more hunting trips into the jungle. We caught more animals; monkeys, jaguars, anteaters, armadillos etc... The more we went on these adventures, the more I loved it. I started to become extremely good at it too. I had now all but completely given up on becoming a priest. I climbed the ranks with ease and I put my all into it. Those couple of weeks turned into a couple of months. My parents were so proud of me, especially my father. He had never made it as far as me in the hunting society. He never had what it took. At least that's what people tell me. He did all he could in the community. I was now consumed with hunting and nothing but hunting. Only if I would have chosen the road to priesthood; things might have stayed the same.

The dream I once had for religion had now faded to hunting. It was the feeling, the rush that I loved. Hunting filled me with the feeling of life. Something I normally lacked. There still was one thing that we had not done yet and that was travel to other cities for trade. I always wanted to travel to the other cities and meet new people. I wanted to see new things and learn new languages. I hoped maybe I would hear the language I heard in my dream. The thing is they don't just let anyone go on those trips. You had to be one of the strongest and bravest. I did not have the recognition yet. It would surely come one day soon. I had become very good with a spear and could hit a bulls eye from thirty yards plus. I was also becoming excellent at running, wrestling and boxing. Everything you needed to become a trader.

I had now just turned twenty one years old and I was eager to become one of the best hunting/ traders in the tribe. The only problem was the present leaders still had not recognized me. I practiced as much as time allowed. Work and practice consumed my days. Sleep was barely an option, since I practiced well into the night. I was now a man and no one could tell me when to go to sleep. I worked and practiced to become the best. I yearned for my place in high society and wouldn't stop until I achieved it. Just as I hoped, that didn't take long. My goal was completed about a year and a half after my first journey into the jungle.

We had gone out as a team to hunt but somehow I got separated from the group. In my wandering, I was hopelessly trying to find the others or at least my way home. Inevitably lost, I came upon a group of three jaguars instead. I contemplated leaving them to find the group for help to take them down. Messing with such animals alone was a death sentence, but I was still just young and stupid enough.

I snuck up to the group to get a better look of the scene and to determine what my chances were. I had all expectations to leave and return to my group. When I approached them, I saw them hunch over something. The group had caught an anteater and was feasting on it. When I looked at the animals, I saw them sinking their teeth in the anteater and ripping large chucks off it. One of the jags turned and looked in my direction, but didn't notice me. The jags face was covered in the blood of their victim and the other two continued gouge. My heart started to race and the fear arose. At the same time, the rush returned to take over my body and mind. I figured if I could get at least one of these jags, I could show the leader my supreme marksmanship. I had two spears, a net and a dagger. All I could ever need, as long as I connect with one the spears. The jags were plenty close, about fifteen yards. I thought it would be no problem. I tried to get a little closer without them noticing, but this could scare them off. I crept up a few feet closer and took my place behind a large tree. All three jags were facing the opposite direction and completely unaware of my intentions.

I studied the movements of the three to find the weakest one. This was a hard task when they were standing in one spot, but that was what I was trained for. I was sure I found my target. In position, I grabbed both of my spears and prepared to shoot. I stuck my body half way out from beyond the tree and with my right hand I launched the spear at the weakest jag. Without seeing if the first had made its mark, I grabbed the second spear and launched it at the now running jag. I noticed before I let go of the second spear that my target was dragging its leg. The first spear hit the jag in the hip right in front of its back legs. This caused the jag partial immobility and made it very hard for it to escape. The other two jags ran into the jungle and left the weak one behind to die. I guess that's why they say; only the strong survive. I was excited to see that the second spear had also reached the target, just behind the shoulder blade. My hopes were that it had entered the lungs or heart. I ran from behind the tree like one of the crazy Indians in the movies and with my net in hand I approached the jag. It was lying on the ground, with two spears still stuck in each side of its body. I ran and threw the net on top of it, just in case it decided to try and run. I doubted very much that it could. I had hit it in the two most effective places.

Without even checking to see if it was alive, I jumped on top of it, took out my dagger and grabbed its head. I reached my hand under its jaw and lifted. With its throat exposed, I gladly slit it. From that point on, there was no movement from the jag. No breathing or struggling; nothing! It was now completely lifeless. I put the head back on the ground and stood up. My heart pounded and my entire body was tingling. I wanted to dance and sing. It was my first kill, solely on my own. I took the two spears out of the jag and licked the heads. The taste caused me to shiver, and I started to feel the urge building. I became light headed and the visions of Yax Pac and the priest, fluttered in my brain. I walked over to the beast and flipped it over. With the slit showing, I got to my knees and held the neck of the jag. The blood was flowing out and I put my lips on the neck of the beast. I let the blood flow into my mouth as I sucked it up. I drank until I felt sick but I couldn't stop. I could hear the crowd screaming, "Receive, receive!" This was the blood of Yax Pac, I was drinking; not the blood of an animal. I took my mouth off its neck and collapsed to the ground. I could not hold the blood in any longer and I vomited on the jungle floor next to the beast.

After lying on the ground for a while, I started to regain my composure. I couldn't tell at first if that just really happened. After wiping my mouth, with the back of my hand, I saw the blood. I frantically searched for an injury, but there was not one. This blood was surely not mine. I jumped up, out of fright. What had I just done? I quickly gathered my things and used a piece of cloth to wipe off as much blood as possible. I didn't want the others to see me in that shape. After I cleaned up, I took some rope out of my bundle and tied the legs of the jags together. I slung it over my shoulder and headed out to find my convoy. I was so excited to see the looks on their faces, when I returned. I caught the beast all by myself, so I had the say in who gets what. I could keep it all to myself if I wanted to. I made my way through the jungle, half covered in blood and there was no sight of the group. Walking through the jungle half covered in blood was a bad idea. The animals out there would pick up the scent and think I was dinner. So I made it a fast trip and watched my back. I, by now, had a decent knowledge of the jungle and way back to the city. Finding the group was hopeless; I started to make my way back home.

I made it all the way back to the city without finding the group. I walked through the city, towards the town and finally made it to my home. It was then that I saw the group gathered in front of my hut. I could only guess what was going on. They were probably telling them right then that I was lost in the jungle. One of the men turned and noticed me.

"I can't believe it!" the man said.

Everyone turned and looked in my direction. They were all stunned. My mother threw her hands in the air and cheered.

"Thank you, Gods!" She cheered.

"What? You all thought you lost me, huh?" I replied.

"What happened? We turned around and you were gone." One of the men said.

"This is what happened." I flung the jag from off my shoulder and let it hit the ground.

The men in the group were speechless. They couldn't believe their eyes. They had come back with nothing, a failed mission.

"But, how? How did you manage to catch and kill a jag by yourself?" The leader asked.

"Because he is the best!!!" my mother protested.

I just laughed. The men came closer to get a better view of the kill I brought back.

"We thought you were gone for good." The leader of the group said. "I have to say, I'm very impressed. Why don't you tell us all how you managed to accomplish such a great feat?"

So that's what I did. I told them everything, well except for my blood drinking. I told them of the hits I made with the spears and how I slit its throat. Once I was done, the leader spoke again.

"Well, now that you got this kill all by yourself, what do you plan on doing with it?"

"Well of course, I plan to share it with you all." I said with a smile and a wink. "But only if my mother and father get the largest piece and first choice."

The leader walked over to me and with a smile put his arm around me.

"That's the best thing I heard all day. You know boy you might actually have what it takes to move up in this world." He said.

"What do you mean sir?" I asked, hoping that this was my time to receive my recognition.

"What do you think I mean?" He said. I just shrugged. "I think you may have what it takes to join our trading journeys. You have proved to me by your generosity and marksmanship that we can trust and count on you."

This is what I had been waiting for since my first voyage into the jungle. I was so thrilled to be able to travel and learn new things.

"So you accept my offer?" he said.

"Absolutely!!" I replied and reached out to shake his hand.

Then it started, I was from then on a tradesman. It was safer then hunting, although we still had to travel through the jungle to get to the other cities. There were many things I had to learn before I could go on any trade trips. I had to learn the different languages and expand my combat training. Hand to hand combat was a real possibility in the jungle. There were also quarrels over territory with other Mayan cities and worst of all, there were the savages. History would dub them, the Aztecs. They were mainly located a good distance from our city, but it wasn't impossible for a group of them to roam into our part of the jungle.

The Aztecs were an extreme military force. They were generally better trained and disciplined. They practiced human sacrifice intensely, believing it was a necessity in day-to-day life. There were stories of the Aztec rounding up whole towns of people and chopping off their heads. They were the first civilization to practice genocide in the western hemisphere. We openly feared these people. An encounter with them would most definitely end up disastrous. That is why we learned to fight to the death. The Aztecs dealt with nothing less than death.

I wasn't afraid to travel out of the city. Hunting in the jungle by myself, made me believe that I could handle anything. I also was a cocky twenty one year old boy. By this age, I was about 5 foot 10 and 150lbs. It was rather large for our day. I did not have one ounce of fat on my body and my athletic ability was equally as impressive. I knew I would never be taken by another tribe.

I went through an intensive training session. I spent most of the day training and was reduced to hunting only twice a week. I ran for about half of the day, which was about five or six miles. This was an easy task. I was use to running, and I enjoyed it. I was so glad I took an interest in running at an early age because traders ran a majority of the way between cities. Walking would take way too long. We learned bow and arrow techniques and sharpened up my spear throwing. After about five weeks of this training, I learned that I was to be sent out within the next couple days. While my mother was tremendously proud of my accomplishment, she was equally fearful for my safety. The day came when I got the news that I would be leaving the following morning at sunrise. I ran home to tell my mother and father. I entered the hut were they sat in the middle of a conversation.

"Ma, pa, I'm going tomorrow!!! I just heard the news. What do you think?" I asked.

"Well son, I'm full of pride and excited for you." My father replied.

"As, am I." My mother stated. "But I'd rather you stay here, where you are safe and protected by us."

"Mom I'm thrilled you still have it in you for such a thing but I'm twenty one years old. I am more than capable of taking care of you and myself. I have killed a jaguar all by myself; I doubt many people can say they have done so." I said in my cocky tone. "So if any little thing happens, I will fend for myself. I will return with great treasures and great knowledge. I can make something of my life this way. I swear I won't let either of you down. I will be as brave, strong and as smart as I can be. Believe me!"

"I know you will, I just love you and if anything were to happen, I would just die." My mom answered.

"I know, I know, mom, I will be fine and careful." I told her. "What do you think father?"

"Well, I feel the same as your mother, but I know how much it means to you and I have no doubt that you can do it, safely. So go out and be your best." He responded.

"Good, I love you both!" I told them. "Don't worry about me or lose any sleep. I'm with highly trained men. They will take care of me. I trust them all with my life."

My mother told me she loved me and I hugged them both. I could understand their worries, leaving the city was a dangerous thing to do. Hell, I told you how unsafe the city could get, with wild animals roaming in and eating little children. What could you expect though? She was my mother, she brought me into the world and she would rather not see me leave it before she did. Just like today, no one wants to see his or her child die. It is a terrible tragedy. I was glad I could ease her fears a little before I left the next morning. After the discussion, my parents started preparing for bed, but I wasn't quite ready. I was too excited. I spent until well after dark practicing my techniques and warming up for the trip. By the time I returned home, they were all sleeping on their mats. I was awfully tired and needed to rest for my morning trip. Luckily, I quickly passed out.

I slept beautifully that night. I did not have any nightmares since that last one. Considering my excitement, I was surprised I fell asleep at all. I woke earlier than normal, to a perfect morning. During the present season, all the days were nearly perfect. Since I woke up so early, no one else was up yet. I packed up all my gear and went to the practice site and shot some arrows. I thought I'd better run a little, but it was too early for running and I knew I had a lot of running to come later. So instead, I spent a while stretching and then returned home. When I returned, I saw my mother was up cooking breakfast. I went to see if she needed help. She declined like normal so I waited for the food.

After the food was finished, we all ate and then I made my leave. I said my goodbye to my parents, which might as well have been a replay of the night before. After this I returned to the practice area to meet the other tradesmen. Upon my arrival, I saw five men standing in a circle, one being the man that gave me the chance to become a trader. I walked up to the group and made my presence known.

"Hello men, I made it!!" I said.

"Hey good, we are just going over the game plan for today. Come join." The leader replied.

I walked over to the group and shook the hands of the other men, who I did not completely know. I had seen them in the training sessions, but I think they were higher in ranking than me. They all greeted me warmly and made me feel more then welcome. It's more then I can say for most people now a days.

"We are going to Uxmal. It's about three days away. So we have a while to walk." The leader stated. "I trust you all packed light, because you'll also have to carry the trade items. Each of you will have a bundle with a variety of goods in it. You are all responsible for the goods you carry, so make sure not to damage or lose anything."

With saying this, he started handing out the bundles. He handed over mine and I opened the top and peaked inside. I seen a few little statues carved into figures. These looked like they might be made out of jade or some different gem. There was also gold, and an assortment of shells. These must have been traded to us from some other city because we were hours away from any body of water. Our trading organization was much like the Silk Road that ran from the steps of Asia all the way to Europe in the middle ages. This is true except for the fact that it wasn't nearly as long or linear. The Silk Road ran from Asia straight to Europe, ours ran all over the Yucatan Peninsula and back in no specific form. All of our great cities were located on our Silk Road.

I unloaded the bundle and checked the items in with the leader. He went through the items and took a mental note of what everyone had. After this was completed, we all got the order to head out. We made our way through our city and headed for our new destination, Uxmal. I was a little nervous as we made our way passed the temples and the pyramid. I turned back and looked toward the town. I could see smoke from the women cooking breakfast and the many people walking here and there doing the daily duties. I was afraid I might never return. This was farther than I have ever traveled outside the city. Despite the fear, I was excited and very brave. I knew this trip would change everything for me. I just hoped it was for the better and not the worst. With my bundle on my back, I made my way into the jungle leaving my beloved city. For some unknown reason, I had a feeling I was never coming back.
Chapter Five

My last sight of Chichén Itza, before entering the jungle, was that of the Pyramid of Kukúlcan. There were herds of people climbing its steps to conduct their observations. The sun was not yet all the way raised and it shined through the doorways of the temple on top of the pyramid. An explosion of light was shining with the spirits of the Gods. It was a very beautiful sight and it made me feel good about my choice to leave. The fear and anxiety had vanished and I was now at peace with my mind.

We completely entered the jungle and now when I turned around, all I saw were trees in every direction. It was like being on the bottom of the ocean. You can see top to bottom, but when you look around you can't tell which direction you are heading. In the jungle, the trail you walk on is your only direction. There is no way to see the sun or stars at night since the jungle is too dense to even see the sky. Also, we did not have compasses in our society to show us the way. The Europeans had them, but we lacked the technology they had. We stayed on the trail when we traveled, and made little exception. We only left to find food.

The first couple of hours were nothing but running. We ran for a good three-hours, with maybe a few five-minute walk breaks. This may seem crazy to you, it seems crazy to me. To a 21st century human, twenty minutes is a long time, but to us twenty minutes was warming up.

After the running session ended, we took a well-deserved hour break, to look for food. We sat on the trail and two of the men went to find food. We used calls so they would know when they were close to us and could find their way back. The two men were the best hunters in the group and came back within in minutes with a creature I have never seen before. They skinned it, gutted it, made a fire and roasted it. Whatever it was, it tasted great, most things taste good when you're very hungry. Hell if I'm hungry enough I'll eat my own arm, if it came down to it. Luckily it hadn't, we could find plenty of food in the jungle. There was an abundance of animals in any given direction. It was full of life, ranging from microscopic bacteria to the jag. We ate for a few moments and rested for an equal length of time. After I ripped the beast to pieces and devoured it, I laid back on the jungle floor.

All I could see when I looked up were tree branches. I could barely see any clearing in the trees and minimal sunlight was penetrating through. There were birds above us in the branches, beautiful birds with countless vibrant colors. We didn't get these birds in the city; they must have all been scared out. They sang delightful songs that were very pleasant to my ears. It helped to get rid of any of the lasting feelings of fear I had.

After our rest, we were again on our way. I was starting to realize that this trading wasn't all it was made out to be. We ran too much, the bundles were too heavy and all we saw for hours were trees. Almost like going through Indiana or Ohio, except we had trees instead of cornfields. The pay off was greater than just hunting. I was still hopeful that when were arrived, there would be things to be seen and learned. From stories I heard, the trip was worth it. We ran all day with only a couple more breaks. We started to lose the little light that we once had in the morning. This meant we had to stop and set up camp for the night. Camp wasn't anything special; we had no tents or shelter. We found flat ground on the trail and built a fire, which we all slept around. Once all was set up, we sat around the fire and shot the shit, so to speak.

"So has anyone been to Uxmal before?" I asked trying to make conversation.

"Yeah I have." said the leader of the group.

"Really? Tell me, what is it like?" I replied.

"Well, it's different from our city. It's not as flat as ours; many hills. It's very large, twenty thousand people or more, but I don't want to ruin the trip for you." He said with a smile.

"Tell me something about it, you must have some stories right?" I said trying to get something out him.

"Well there was this one time." He said with a pause. "It was actually quite fascinating. It was a ritual they have only a few times a year. I just happened to catch it once about a year ago. They have a pyramid there that rivals our. It is a very important site. Like I said, it only happens like two or three times a years, when they city has fallen into hard times. The King and Queen of the city go up to the temple of the pyramid. In the temple, the King takes a flint knife and slices the side of his penis. Blood from the male genital is known to be the purist blood. The King takes the blood from his penis and collects it on a leaf. "

"What about the Queen? " I eagerly asked.

"She also took part in the ritual. She takes a long, sharpened piece of wood and pierced it through her tongue. When the wood is through, she then takes a rope made of pieces of grass that are braided together with thorns. The Queen then takes the rope and pulls it through the hole. She then spits the blood on the same leaf the King's blood was collected on. After the bloodletting is finish, the two make prayers to the Gods for order to be returned to the city. The leaf is then burned and smoke rises to the heavens. The sacrifice is received by the Gods. This is done in front of thousands of city people. I was there, I saw the whole thing."

We all just sat there for a few moments after his story. I really didn't know what to say to that. I couldn't fathom how someone could do such a thing. Slice my penis! Hell no, I would rather let the city burn to the ground. I guess that's why I'm not a King.

"So let me get this straight, he cuts his dick?" I asked to make sure I heard it right.

"Yeah, the purist blood is needed for such extreme situation." He answered.

"Do you believe it worked?" I asked.

"Of course." He responded with some spite. "The city is still standing. Is it not?"

"I know it's not my place to say, but I hardly think someone cutting their penis would ever save anything." I responded.

"That's why you're just a trader and not a King. Maybe you should start believing." He snapped. "You might have to answer to the Gods one day for your statements."

"Very well." I said with a smirk.

I could tell he was starting to get heated. I didn't mean to offend him; I was just stating my opinion. I guess on my first day, I probably should have kept it to myself. Thankfully, one of the other men changed the subject quickly. I'm sure they felt the animosity in our conversation. They talked for hours, it seemed. I keep quiet the rest of the night not saying more than two words. They talked about their families, their lovers, their hobbies etc... The night went on with no more quarrels and before I could realize it, I was asleep. It was an unsettled sleep, since it was the first time I had slept without a mat. We slept on the hard ground, which was full of roots. Also we had no shelter from the bugs, as they crawled all over me. I woke up a few times with spiders climbing my legs. I all but freaked out before I brushed them off and tried to resume my sleep.

As I lay there, a tremendous noise came all around me. I tried to look around and see what was going on around me, but my sight was fuzzy. I tried focusing all my attention but it was no use. I could smell something that smelt like smoke from the fire, but it was sweeter and more pleasant. As my vision started to clear, I noticed I was in a room. Again I thought I must be dreaming. There were no rooms in the middle of the jungle. This room had ceilings higher than the height of five grown men. There were elaborate pictures on the walls and ceiling. There were winged humans that resembled birds. As well as other creatures, I have never laid eyes on before. These creatures were larger than the men. They stood on all fours like donkeys but were much larger. The beautiful creatures had strands of long hair going down the back of their heads and had long bushy tails. The winged humans rode on top of these creatures, and they appeared to be in flight. The noise again was blasting my ears, but it did not bother me. It was a magnificent noise, like the birds I had heard in the jungle.

I shifted my attention from the picture to notice I was sitting on a chair. I was no longer lying on the ground, yet I didn't remember ever getting up. There were many people to both sides of me. These weren't like the chairs the noblemen sat on during the ball games. It was just one long piece of what I thought to be wood. It stretches down the entire row and everyone sat on it. It was rather uncomfortable, but better then the jungle floor, I feel asleep on. I looked straight and I saw a drop off, like a cliff. At the bottom of the cliff, farther down there was a platform. Before the platform, there were more rows of men and women. The countless individuals were standing in the rows, all staring at the platform. These people were not sitting like I was, but we both were focused on the same thing. I looked down to the platform and it was then I realized where the noise was coming from. The platform contained about five or six rows of funny dressed men all faced my direction. With sporadic motions, these men fiddled with foreign looking objects. I couldn't really completely tell, but I thought maybe that wonderful noise was coming from them. Some of them reminded me of the shinny object in my previous dream. Instead of flames, there was a beautiful noise coming from it. It was hard, at first, to tell where the noise was coming from. The sound was bouncing off every wall and engulfed me from every direction.

I studied every one of the rows and scanned to find something I recognized. There was nothing. The room, clothing, pictures; everything was alien to me. As I peered through the crowd, I noticed this one man. This man was on the platform, standing instead of sitting. He was positioned in front of the rows in the dead center. He faced the other men on the platform and flared his arms with the noise. It was as if the noise was coming from his finger tips. He reminded me very much of a priest, conducting a sacrifice. Is that what this was? I wondered. A sacrifice of sound. It was worthy enough to please the Gods. The noise was bringing me into a trance. Smooth and soft, it was very airy and relaxing. The sounds were long and gradually changing. I closed my eyes and it felt like I was flying. The hairs on my arms stood up, as I welcomed the sounds into my ears. It felt like a void had been filled and a lifelong search, completed. The noise drew so much emotion from my soul, I felt I might die. Surprisingly, I wouldn't have minded. As long as this was the last thing to register in my brain, I was fine with that. The fulfillment was all too much. I tried to stop myself from crying, but it was impossible.

I was like a baby, I cried and cried. With every sound that entered my ears, I cried harder and harder. I put my hands over my face, trying to hide the tears from anyone that maybe watching. It all felt so real, but I knew it was a dream. After the first vivid dream I had, I was now able to tell and I trained myself get as much out of them as I could. I looked at myself trying to see what I was wearing, but it was too dark to see. The only light in the room was from torches surrounding the platform. As well as some torches that lined the two most outer walls to my right and left. These torches provide the light on the ceiling where I saw the pictures. I felt the clothing on me that I couldn't see. They seemed heavy. The sleeves came down to my hands and flared out, consuming my hands. The noise continued and so did my tears. I was now focused on the platform and the men with their objects. It felt like hours that I had my eyes fixated on this platform. Once again I felt the feeling inside and the tears returned. I reached in to my bag I had on my lap and retrieved a square piece of this very smooth material. I'm not sure how I knew it was there, but there I was, wiping my eyes with it like I had done it before.

Just then with the material over my eyes, I felt something. Something was touching my leg, and it felt like a hand. I took the material from my eyes and looked up. To the left of me was a woman. I couldn't recall her description. The only thing I saw were her eyes. They were large beautiful eyes; a vibrant color of jade. They were so clear and flawless. I couldn't take my eyes off of them. I wanted to see the rest of her, but I couldn't shift my eyes. I could still feel her rubbing my leg as she stared into my eyes. She had long eyelashes, curled at the most perfect angle and her eyebrows were not bushy like the women of my city. They were thin, short and stunning. I froze in my seat and I couldn't move or talk. The sound that once engulfed my ears was now silent. It was like the moment our eyes met the noise ceased. My mind filtered out everything from the world except this woman. Everyone and everything had vanished, except those eyes. After what felt like an eternity, she spoke. Once again, like the first dream, I couldn't understand her to save my life.

"Vous Bien?" She said.

"I don't understand, what are you saying?" I asked her in Mayan.

Just then everything started to fade. I couldn't hear the noise anymore and the sight of her eyes was drifting away. I could now hear a man's voice and it seemed to be in Mayan.

"Hey, wake up!!" the voice said, but I could barely make it out. "Wake up, wake up damnit."

There was a slap noise and I felt a pain in my face. With the onset of pain, I woke up completely. I was once again on the jungle floor where I had fallen asleep. One of the men from my group was standing over me.

"You know, you are the hardest person in the world to wake up." He said jokingly.

"I'm sorry, I was dreaming. It was such a beautiful dream." I replied.

"Well, you can tell me later. It's time to get up, we're about to leave." He responded.

They must have been trying to wake me for a while because when I finally came to, everyone was up and ready. I got up as quick as possible and we started our daily travel. It was a wonderful day, as usual. The only time it ever gets really bad is at the end of summer when the monster storms sweep into the region. The second day was very similar to the first day. It consisted of running, break for lunch, running, and breaks for dinner and sleep. One of the men in the group said he believed that we were closing in on Uxmal. We should be there sooner than we expected. I was filled with excitement when he told me. On the third day, we started seeing signs of life. On the sides of the trail were statues carved out of rock. As my leader had said, in our heated discussion, the landscape was getting hilly and the jungle trees started to thin out. The sun was finally shining. It was when we started passing the Uxmal city people that I knew we had arrived. We discontinued our running now that others were on the trail. Now at a walking pace, I could soak in the scenery. I watched the men and women walk past us on the afternoon missions. I was a little shocked to see that they were exactly like me. Well as much as one could be without being my kin. They wore the same style of clothing and the same hairstyle. I guess you can only have a limited number of hairstyles in that time. I was so fixated on the people coming and going that I failed to notice the real sight.

"Look! Look!" My leader said, pointing ahead of us in between a clearing of trees.

There it stood; the city pyramid. We all stopped and took a good look at it.

"It's the Pyramid of the Dwarf." The leader stated. "It stands higher than twenty grown men, one on top of another."

We could only see the top of the pyramid sticking out of the trees. We resumed our walking pace and the closer we got to the pyramid, the larger it became. It was a stunning sight. We finally got to the base of the pyramid and I stood staring up at the unusual structure.

"Why is it called the Pyramid of the Dwarf?" I asked the leader.

"Well, the story goes that there was a dwarf boy who was hatched from an egg of a witch. The rulers of Uxmal found out about this and were obviously frightened, like anyone would be. He told the witch that the boy would be executed, unless he could construct a pyramid in one night. The next morning, the ruler awoke to find the largest structure anyone had ever seen. The ruler was so impressed that he handed his ruling power over to the boy and never returned."

The pyramid was the most unusual structure I had ever seen. Unlike Chichén Itza's pyramid that was square in shape, this one had an elliptical base and had multiple levels. Each level looked like it had a door, which probably led to a temple or tomb. It had a massive staircase on one side that was much steeper than ours. One would have to climb it like a cliff to get up the staircase. Like our pyramid, this one had great engravings on the sidewalls and the side of the staircase. I couldn't exactly make out what they were. As we walked past the pyramid, we made our way to a fork in the road. There were two choices; go right or go left, we chose right. There were so many things to look at I could hardly choose just one. To the right of the trail was a much smaller structure then the pyramid. It was a rectangular structure that looked like some kind of living quarters.

"What's that?" I asked. I sounded like a little boy in Disney World.

"That's where the high officials and their families live." My leader responded.

Like the pyramid, the living quarters had marvelous carving on its wall, of serpents and God-like figures. There were four buildings surrounding a courtyard. The Spanish would later deem this the Nunnery, because the room surrounding the courtyard reminded them of Spanish nunneries. The only thing is there was no such thing as Nuns in the Mayan society. That is a European term not known to the Mayans. After passing that structure we came to a T in the trail. Right headed to the living quarters and left headed straight to a structure well known to me. It was the Ball Court. A burst of excitement ran through me. I didn't expect to see one here for some reason. Although no one was playing, we got to walk through it. It wasn't as magnificent as our ball court, but its beauty was equal to ours. We once again came to a fork in the road and once again took a right. I was starting to get lost with all these turns. I looked towards the left and saw a grand fortress, surrounded by a wall. I could see an opening in the wall and there were two large men with spears standing guard. Beyond the walls, there was an exquisite building, rich in carvings and shinning with gold. There was no need for me to ask what that building was. I could tell by the guard, it was the ruler's palace, the King and Queen's home. I just hoped they were not in there cutting each other's genitals.

We turned right and not more than thirty yards for the last fork in the path, there was another. The city had elaborate paths going through it unlike our city. Our city was flat and open. I figured by now that I was lost. I wasn't use to remembering all the turns. We turned again for a final time before reaching our destination. We took a left and walked into a complex of buildings. This was the center of all trading. Here we were going to drop off our items and collect more to bring back to Chichén Itza. As we approached the complex, I noticed a large wall, not connected to any buildings or anything, just a single wall. There was a little hill before the wall, with steps going up the hill. The wall had one large arch in the center for people to walk through. The wall was extremely solid and about ten feet thick. Once inside of the wall, there was a swarm of people with tables of trading items. This is where all the trading went down.

It took some time to find the person my leader wanted to trade with. Out of the hundreds of people, you can imagine the task. We found the man standing next to two tables, one, which was empty, and one that was full of trading goods.

"Alright, everyone get in a line and empty your bundles on the empty table." My leader yelled to us over all the commotion.

We lined up and one by one we emptied our goods on the table. I, of course, was last in line, since I was the newest. After everyone finished the command, I walked up and emptied my bundle.

"That's it. There is nothing left in the bundle." I stated, as I stepped back.

"Wow, you made it all the way here without breaking or losing any items?" my leader asked.

"Yeah, you told me not too." I said with a smile.

"Well you keep surprising me, you know, you were the only one in the group that didn't break anything." He said while grabbing my shoulder and throwing an arm around the back of my neck. "Here you go, don't blow it all before returning home."

He handed me a bundle that was completely wrapped up. I had no idea what it was.

"What is this?" I asked

"It's your pay; did you think you were doing this all for free?" He said jokingly.

"Oh yeah, I hoped not." I replied in the same tone.

"Hey, we are now taking a break until morning, so make yourself at home. We will meet at the ball court at sundown. I'll show you where you'll be sleeping." He stated.

"Ok, great see you then." I responded.

"By the way, there is a great place to get food and other things not too far from here." He said with a wide grin. "Just come out the doorway of the wall we entered, go down the trail and when you get to the fork, instead of going the way we came in, take a left. After that just go straight and you can't miss it. It's a wild place. The goods I gave you will be more than enough to get you a good time tonight."

I stood there for a second and opened the bundle of goods I received for my completed duties. To my surprise they were gold statues and figurines. The first one I took out was simply a two-headed serpent, one head on one end, and one on the other. It was curled a little, not just straight and boring. The head had large teeth and some type of gem as the eyes; it was wild. The second was a circular piece also made of gold. It was of the Mayan calendar. It had the nineteen months of the year around the edge and in the center it had the God of Time. He carried a symbol that represented the burden of time on his back. Both were very impressive pieces, I was dreading having to use them.

The rest of the items I kept in the bag and didn't examine at that time. I put the small bundle in the larger bundle, I was already carrying. By now everyone in my group was gone. I was left standing next our trading table. I was now in a city I never stepped foot in before, with no direction. I decided to take the advice of my leader and head to the eating place. I headed back towards the wall entrance and went through the threshold. I still had a few hours before dusk, so I was in no hurry to meet up with the rest of the crew. I was in a new city with thousands of places to see and thousands of people to meet. I had all intentions of checking out the rest of the city that I hadn't seen upon my arrival. However, I was beyond starvation and decided to head to find food. I walked down the trail and reached the fork in the path. I stopped and looked both ways, right and left, I wondered, "Am I really that hungry? Should I go right and site see, or do I go left and eat?" I only stood there for a few seconds, but it should have taken longer. I should have stood there and actually thought about it instead of letting my animal instincts make the decision. It seems like an easy choice though, doesn't it? It's easy if you know the outcome of the choice. It's easy if the consequences of the choice are desirable and don't lead to your untimely demise. In life there is never anyway to exactly tell what the outcome of any choice will be. Some people like to think they can control the outcomes or predict them. They end up just hearing or envisioning what they want to.

Standing at the fork in the road and without thinking about the outcomes of my actions, I headed left to the place my leader suggested. There were countless individuals headed in the same direction up the path, so I figured I should just follow them. Hopefully they would lead me to my destination. I could see a building up ahead to my left. It had a stream of people coming in and out of its arched doorways. As I made my way towards the building, I came to the last fork in the path before my destination. I approached the building that was a single floor structure and very simply shaped. The ceilings were rather high and the entrance of the building had two large archways that were double the size of me. One archway was for incoming and the other for outgoing. Like many of the structures in Uxmal, this building had rich carvings on the outside walls. It looked like a mosaic of square and rectangle shapes with an occasional figure of a God, serpent or animal. The line for this building was larger than any line I ever waited in. Standing there I noticed they were all men standing in line with me. I thought that was a little strange, and wondered why the women and children of the city were not eating here.

After waiting in line for a while, I finally made my way into the building. By now I was desperately in need of food. I walked through the threshold and entered a small room with a man standing behind a table filled with assorted goods of no particular affiliation with each other. It was like a modern day flea market table; a mess. I walked up to the man and just stared at him hoping he would know what I wanted.

"Well boy, what do you want?" The man asked.

He was an older man, with long straggly hair and from where I was standing it looked like he had a fake leg. The table was in the way and the lighting was poor, so I could not tell. A fake leg, you're probably finding that hard to believe right. It wasn't too uncommon, especially with hunters who have been attacked in the wild. It was a primitive false leg, of course. They just took wood, carved it into the shape of a leg and tied it to their thigh with leather straps. It was very pirate-ish, if you know what I mean.

"Um... I need some food." I responded nervously. "This is my first time here and don't really know how this works."

"Well, you give me something and I'll tell you what you can have." He replies nicely.

I reached into my bundle and pulled out the two-headed serpent I just received.

"OK, what can this get me?" I asked the old man.

"Ha, that can get you anything you want. You sure that's what you want to give?" He asked.

I thought about it and in reality that was my least favorite items out of the whole bundle. I cared very little about the item and I'm pretty sure I didn't understand the value of the piece either. I just know I was starving and on the verge of passing out if I didn't get any food in my stomach.

"Sure that sounds good, just give me everything this piece is worth." I told him, now on the border of fainting or maybe killing the man for taking too long.

The man just looked at me for a second.

"You got it son, I'll make sure you get as much as we have to offer." He said with a smile and then he turned his head and whistled.

A man came out of one of the doorways behind the old man. This man was much younger. He looked like an enforcer and a bit larger than I was.

"Yes, father" He said to the older man.

"This young man has been so generous to give us this piece." He paused and showed the son the double serpent figurine.

The son's eyes lit up and I started to realize that the figurine was worth more than I had first figured. At that point I did not care. I had much more where that came from.

"Make sure he gets anything he wants, I mean anything." The old man demanded.

"Yes sir, father." The son replied.

"You go in with my son and he'll get you food, drinks, anything you ask. Don't be shy. If we have it, consider it yours." The old man stated to me.

"Alright, sounds fantastic, thank you." I replied to the old man.

The old man's son had already started to make his way through the doorway behind the table where we once stood. Even though it was still day time, it was unusually hard to see in this building. For some reason or another, they hadn't put any windows in the structure when it was built. The doorway we entered led to a small hallway, which we walked down to the end. In the distance, I could see a doorway with a sheet hung over it. I could now hear the people inside. It sounded like a party and I could smell the food. As soon as the smell hit my nose, I felt a pain in my stomach. It had been way to long since I last ate. We got to the doorway and the man pushed the sheet aside. I finally could see the people. At first sight, nothing seemed unusual. It was a single large room with many tables and chairs. The ceilings were as high as the entry archways were and torches line the walls to provide the much needed light. At the tables sat countless men, feasting on an assortment of foods. All were laughing and telling jokes. The walls of the room were a replica of the outside walls with the mosaics and figures carved into it. I was always fascinated by art, probably because I couldn't do it.

My mind was so fixated on the walls and the food I desperately needed, that I failed to notice one thing that was extremely unusual. As I followed my way in, my attention had not drifted. I continued following the man aimlessly, until I ran directly into someone. The person had been carrying food on a platter and when I hit them it went all over the floor. This caused me to awake from daze and I looked down to the person I had just leveled.

"I'm really sorry, you alright?" I asked.

The person then stood up. It was a younger girl about my age. The first thing I noticed was her hair. She had a large black mane of hair, curly and wild. It was stunning. I looked down and it was then that I noticed she had no clothing on. She was completely naked from head to toe. My eyes followed from her face, down her neck, to her breast which were unbelievable perky for the time. The women had no bras during that time, so most women's beasts were half way to their waist. Not this woman, her beasts were perfect and my eyes followed down to her waist, which was thin and curvy. I then realized what I was doing. I probably looked like a fool in front of these people. I stepped back and looked up to the women's eyes.

"Sorry miss, I should have been watching my step." I said with a nod.

"No worries." She replied, stepping towards me and kissing my cheek.

She collected the rest of her things and went on her way. While I was stopped I turned and took a good look around me. Sure enough I saw a good ten to twenty women walking about serving food, all stark naked. All the women were around my age, some older, but none prettier than the one I ran into. These women were all beautiful picture perfect women. It was like I walked in to the Playboy mansion. My guide had been standing there watching the whole ordeal, and was patiently waiting for me to resume our journey to my table.

"First time here huh?" The man asked me.

"Um... yeah, I wasn't informed about this place." I replied.

"No? How did you know to come then?"

"My trading group leader told me about this place but he didn't tell me about naked women servers."

"They do more than just serve." He said with a wink.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Just eat and we'll worry about that later." He responded.

We continued our walk to the table, which now felt like days away. Besides the main clusters of tables on the floor, there was also a platform lining the back wall. There were about ten tables on the platform. All of which were separated by long silk like cloths that acted like walls. The cloth was airy and light brown in color. A couple of the enclosed rooms were already occupied, but a few others had the front wall pulled back. As we approached, I could see inside. Each room consisted of a table with chairs and plants in each corner. They were long grass plants that stood about two to three feet high. We made our way through the last remaining rows of tables that started at the front door. I didn't realize it, but I was getting my own room. I guess that serpent piece got me more than I thought. My guide pointed to a vacant room and motioned me forward.

"There, climb those stairs and take a seat at the table. I'll have a servant come assist you in a few moments."

"Will I have to pay for the food or is it included?" I asked him.

"No sir, you are all paid for, just enjoy yourself!" he replied and turned to make his leave.

"Wait a second!!" I said.

The man stopped and asked, "What is it?"

I took the bundle from off my shoulder and rummaged through it quickly. I did not want to make the man impatient, but I thought he deserved a little more for the scene I caused. I remembered when I first went through the bundle I saw a particular figurine. Its beauty had caught my eye. After a second or two, I found it at the bottom of the bundle. It was a carving of the God of Luck. It wasn't more than two inches by one inch in size and it was rather light. Like I said, he was so patient with me after my run in with the servant. I felt like a real ass about it and I hoped this would take his mind off it. Plus this was the first time I had so much wealth in my possession. I felt like one of those mobsters in the Mafia movies. I was getting led to my own private room with beautiful women servants and I was handing out gold like it was my job. I thought then that I could really get use to this. I was starting to understand why all the men of the city wanted to go on trading missions.

I retrieved the figurine from the bundle and handed it to the man.

"Here you go sir, something extra. You and your father go out and find yourself something special on my behalf." I stated.

"No, no I can't. Thank you but no." he responded.

"NO? You have to take it. I'm not taking it. If you don't, I'll just leave it right here on the floor. Someone will surely find it." I said, with laughter in my voice.

"I'm really not supposed to..."

"But you have to." I interrupted him.

He took the figurine in his hand and nodded.

"Thank you, sir." He said.

"You're most welcome." I replied.

He turned and retreated back to his father with the item in hand. It made me feel good to do that. I only hoped it would go to good use.
Chapter Six

I now walked up to the platform and climbed the steps in front of the room the man pointed to. I entered the cloth walled room and sat in the chair, which was facing towards the main room. I then realized that everyone must have seen the accident. I was now flooded with embarrassment. I just put my head on the table and shut my eyes.

"You're a goddamn idiot." I thought.

I couldn't believe I had been stupid enough to run into someone. To make matters worse, the bitch was naked. She must have thought I was a moron. I surely felt like one.

As I sat there lightly tapping my head on the table, I heard a voice. It was a soft, delightful and heavenly. Although I was stunned by its gentleness, I realized it was also vaguely familiar. I was too busy smashing my head into the table and cursing myself, to understand what it said. I looked up and there standing in front of me was the young, black curly haired servant, from before. Once again she was naked and just as striking as before. There was no doubting the fact, it was her. I thought I was hallucinating. I just stared at the woman for a few moments as she stared at me with a half confused, half annoyed look on her face. I actually noticed her face this time, unlike the last time. I still caught myself staring at her perfectly rounded breast. Her face was as ideal as her chest. She had blue eyes; ocean blue, like in the Caribbean waters. Her nose was small but in proportion with her small round face. Her skin was smooth and flawless. It was tanned like all of us in the Yucatan, but not as much as most of us. She looked very clean, which was a big deal, considering most people went weeks without bathing. I continued to stare at her until she repeated herself.

"You Ok, sir?" She asked.

"Yeah, yeah fine, I was just deep in thought." I replied as I shook the look of stupidity off my face.

"Alright, what can I get you to eat?" She asked, but I barely understood her.

I started to get lost in my thoughts again. I was now starting to wonder what it would be like to kiss her lips.

"Ah, anything that's meat, no vegetables. Just bring an assortment of whatever you have." I responded, not knowing if I was going about this the right way.

"That sounds fine sir, whatever you like." She replied.

"Good! Thanks." I answered.

She then turned and left the room and as she did I noticed her butt, which was once again picture perfect. I started to wonder why I even asked myself if she had any flaws at all. Obviously she didn't. My animal instinct made me want to have my way with her. Thoughts of the two of us, touching each other's soft skin started to take over my mind. Certain parts of my lower region were making it a little uncomfortable to sit there around so many people. I sat there patiently and waited for my food. The front cloth wall was still open, pulled back and tied with a strap of leather. I had a great view of the whole building and the seating area that I previously walked through to get here. There were countless men sitting at the tables, all eating, drinking and laughing. There were men in one section playing drums and in another, playing games of chance. It was great. I've never seen anything like this and there was surely nothing like this in Chichén Itza. This was the prime of my life and I couldn't feel any better. After a few moments, the lovely servant returned with my food.

"Here you go sir, enjoy. I'll be back in few to serve you." She said in a seductive manner.

She then made her way towards me and kissed my cheek. It sent shiver though me. I wanted to grab her and throw her on the table but I contained myself in fear I would be removed from the building. She then turned towards the doorway and left. I now surveyed my food, trying to decide where to start. There were many different types. They had jag, like usual; anteater, monkey, snake, and something that looked like bird meat. I hadn't eaten in hours and I was quite hungry. I devoured almost all of the food. There was way too much to finish it all, so I resorted to picking small amounts. I sat back in my chair and let out a sigh, letting the food in my stomach settle. As I leaned back in my chair, I heard footsteps. I sat up quickly and looked towards the front wall. Standing there in the doorway was my unbelievable servant. She untied the leather strap from around the bundled up cloth and let the cloth fall into place. The right side of the cloth had already been tied to the right wall and she now tied the left side to the left wall. This completely sealed the room. I'm sure someone could come from underneath the cloth, but this was the most privacy we were going to get.

"I see you have finished your food." She commented.

"Yeah, it was wonderful. You should tell the cook that I was extremely pleased with all of it." I responded.

"Will do, but first I must give you complimentary neck massage."

"Oh no! That is fine." I said shyly.

"It comes with food and you already paid for everything." She said with a sexy smile as she made her way over to my chair.

I just sat there, not knowing what to say or do. I was extremely nervous about women. I had only been with a few back in Chichén Itza. Only one had led to sex, so I was rather poor in the performance section but I could no longer control my hormones. I desperately wanted this woman. She made her way over to me and put her hands on the back of my neck. She started rubbing and it felt heavenly. I had been so stressed by the trip here, so you can imagine.

"How is that?" She asked.

"Um great, wonderful..." I started spitting out compliments nervously.

"Calm down, just lean forward and enjoy." She replied in a playful tune.

I leaned forward so she could better access my back and neck area. Her hands were soft, but she had a firm grip. The massage was perfect, not too soft and not too intense. I felt like I was melting. I started to slump in my chair and had to catch myself before I fell off. This went on for five or ten minutes, until I was on the verge of falling asleep.

"How do you feel now?" She asked.

"Absolutely wonderful!" I replied.

"How does this feel?" She said as she leaned down and kissed my neck.

"That is even better." I replied.

She kissed me again, starting at the base of my neck and kissed up to my ear. I nearly jumped out of my seat as she stuck her hand between my legs.

"You like how that feels?" she whispered in my ear.

I tried to reply but nothing came out. I resorted to nodding, yes. She let out a playful laugh in her sweet voice. It was then that it dawned on me. I had walked into a brothel. I chuckled at the fact that my leader had sent me to a whore house. He must have been rolling with laughter at the thought. She continued kissing my neck from behind me for a few moments. Then she stopped and made her way around me then pulled the table away. She had pulled her hair back into a ponytail and I could now see her face much clearer than before. She was by far the most attractive girl I had ever seen and to think that she would subject herself to the likes of me. It is grand what gold can do! At the same time, I felt bad for her. She was too perfect for this place. Like a beautiful bird in a cage, I wanted to set her free.

Now with the table to the side of the room, I sat in the center with nothing surrounding me. She walked over to me and climbed on my lap. There was enough room on both sides of my legs in the chair, for her legs to fit comfortably. I sat up straight with the women on my lap, once again nervous from my lack of experience. Once in place, she started kissing my neck again starting at my ear and worked her way down. While doing this she pressed her beast up against my chest and I felt her skin up against mine for the first time. It was warm and silky. She was running her fingers through my hair and giving it a slight tug.

She pulled away and started making her way down my chest. She grabbed the string on my linen shorts and attempted to untie them. I quickly grabbed her hand out of embarrassment. She looked at me with an evil eye and threw my hand aside.

"Don't worry. I know what to do with this." She whispered.

Successfully getting her way, she started to slide my shorts down. In return, she slid to the floor. I do not believe I have to tell you what happened next. You have an imagination. It was quite ironic, at first I wanted to ravage this woman. Now I had the chance to and I was scared like a little boy. I didn't know how much more of this I could take. I looked down and her eyes blared up at me. When she saw me take notice, she stopped.

"How is that? Does that feel good?"

All I could make come out of my mouth was "Amazing!"

"Do you want me to stop?" she asked smiling, knowing the answer already.

I just shook my head no. I couldn't make any words come out.

"You want to fuck me, don't you?"

"Yes, please!!" I groaned.

She stood up and walked over to the table and pulled it back over to me. Once in place, she helped pull me up to my feet and walked backwards towards the table. She sat up onto of the table and gave me a look.

"Well, fuck me then!" She demanded.

She lay back on the table and her spread legs, inviting me in. Although I was still rather shock, I gladly accepted the invitation. I had never seen a women take such control.

As I approached, she put one arm around my butt and pulled me into her. She wrapped her legs around me and squeezed. I couldn't be happier about her need for control. I had no idea what I was doing. Yet I was still doing it.

She put her mouth up to my ear and cried out "Harder! Please harder."

I didn't stop to think about it, I simply followed my orders. I let her body fall back and I put out my arms on the table, for better leverage. She grabbed onto my arms and ran her fingers over my biceps and then down my chest, tracing my chest and stomach muscles. She brought her hand to the back of my neck and sank her nails into my flesh. I instantly felt the pain, but it didn't affect me. She dug harder and broke the skin. The harder I went, the harder she dug. I looked down and noticed a few drops of blood had dripped on to her stomach. In the instant I laid eyes on the blood, the urge returned. I would never to this day understand what this urge was, but it always returned. The sight of the blood triggered that childhood memory of Yax Pac. It was that day that this urge was born.

I started to feel dizzy, but I didn't stop. The urge made me go harder and faster than before. My little servant did not seem to mind. The drops of blood started smearing on her stomach and chest. I reached out and grabbed her by the shoulder. Although there was not a lot of blood, it was clearly enough to trigger the urge. I tried to shrug it off, but it kept growing and growing. Why did it have to happen now? I could feel myself on the verge of doing something terrible, yet I couldn't stop. Thoughts of the last time the urge had surfaced filled my brain. All I could think of was sinking my teeth into the throat of that jaguar. While thoroughly disturbed by it, my urge was being satisfied by the act. I thought I might be able to satisfy the urge but at the same time, not harm the girl. I would just take a little bite and cure the craving.

I put my teeth to her neck and bit down lightly. She seemed to like it but I was not fulfilled. I bit down harder until I was fulfilled. She let out a scream and I put my hand over her mouth. This proved to be useless. Her screams still filled the air. I bit through the skin and muscles. She squirmed and cried as I sucked the open wound on her neck. My mouth filled with warm salty blood and I quickly lap up as much as possible. The servant's cries were dulling and I could make out other voices from afar. As before, I had consumed far too much blood for my mouth to hold. I lifted my head and involuntarily spit out a mouth full of blood all over the servant.

Suddenly, I became extremely dizzy and lost my balance. I fell back onto the floor and when I landed, I snapped out of my craze. I looked up and noticed people trying to enter the room, which was closed by the leather strap. I was confused about what exactly had happened. I didn't remember how I got on the floor. From my position on the floor, I could only see the servant's legs hanging off the table. She was completely motionless. I used all of my energy to get up and when I made it to my feet, I looked towards the table. Lying on the table was the naked servant, covered with drops of blood on her chest and a gaping wound was pumping blood from her neck. The table around her head was covered in blood and her ponytail was lying in a puddle. I looked closer at the wound and noticed teeth marks. It was then that I put my hand up to my mouth and realized I was also covered in blood. A horrible feeling filled my body; a mixture of panic and disgust. I questioned if this was even real. I have had dreams this vivid before. Had I killed her? I could not fully remember. The screaming from beyond the room had intensified. I reached down to the servant and picked her up. I held the servant's lifeless body and tears poured down my face.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" I cried in an uncontrollable fit. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, I'm sorry!"

I held her tight. Her body lay limp in my arms, her head slumped back and her arms fell to her side.

"I didn't want for you to die. I just couldn't stop myself." I cried out of control.

I started kissing her face, cheeks and forehead.

"Please don't die!"

The voices were closer than ever. They sounded like they were in the room, right next to my ear but I couldn't make out what they were saying. When I lifted my head to look at the front wall, I was blasted by something in the side of the face. I only felt a minute amount of pain before I blacked out.

I'm not sure how long I was out for, but I started to come out of it slowly. I couldn't see or hear anything at first. I felt a warm sensation on my skin. The last thing I remember was the servant climbing onto the table and everything else was a blank. I didn't remember how I got from the room to where ever I was now. I was lying on some kind of hard surface. I tried to move my arms and legs, but I couldn't. They were restrained by something. I pulled my arms up, but they wouldn't make it more than an inch off the surface. My sight was blurry and my hearing was muffled. In addition to the blurriness, there was also a bright light in my eyes, blinding me. The noises I could hear sounded like a crowd of people. It sounded like hundreds of people screaming and cheering. Almost like the crowd at the Ball Court game. I tried desperately to move my arms and legs again, but I was met with the same resistance. I cocked my head back and forth like a wild animal. Nothing was going to break the hold.

Something suddenly blocked the bright light that blinded my eyes. I peeled my eyelids open from the squint they were in. Standing in front of me was a figure of a man. I looked down at my wrist and my vision cleared enough for me to notice the leather straps wrapped around them. It was these straps that were resisting my arms from movement. I couldn't see my feet from the position I was in, but I figured it was the same as my hands. The wrist straps were coming through a hole in the wood table I laid on and up around my hands. I reached my hand over as far as I could and felt the wood continue up, to form a side. The sidewall of the surface I lay on was only about three inches high. It was similar to a top of a shoebox, long and wide, but shallow. Instead of lying on top of the structure, I laid inside the structure. The noise amplified as my hearing became clearer.

The noise was definitely voices, but I could hardly make out what they were saying. My head throbbed on the side that had taken the blunt of the blow when I was still in the room. The man was still in my view, but I was too occupied with trying to get free, to realize who he was. After a few moments of trying to escape, I became exhausted and I came to terms with the fact that I was not going anywhere. I laid there still and didn't struggle any longer. I turned towards the man standing next to me and at the sight of him, I became aware of who exactly he was. I did not know the man, but from the looks of his elaborate headdress, I knew I was in trouble. The headdress and clothing were consistent with any priest in the Mayan society. He was standing there with a stick in hand and began chanting something before me. I don't remember what he said because the second I heard him I realized I was only moments from death. These were sacrifice chants. I again began to fight with all my might to break loose from the straps, but it was no use. I gave up.

I turned my head and looked in the opposite direct to a more frightening sight. I was looking down at a crowd of thousands of people. They were good distance underneath us. We were on top of the massive pyramid. I was propped up, overlooking the crowd, which was a sea of faces that swayed from side to side. My body was positioned at diagonal from the priest. Outbursts roared from the mass of spectators and as time went by, the screams grew louder. I couldn't help wonder if my trading group was down there watching in horror. I started to sweat and panic swept over me. This was clearly a sacrifice and I wasn't there to watch it. I was the sacrifice. The priest proceeded with his chants, but I had tuned them out. I tuned out the crowd as well. Visions were flashing through my head. I could envision myself on top of the naked servant; the violent sexual encounter, and the flying blood. That's when all my memory returned, but it seemed too unrealistic. It had to be true though. Why else would I be here?

Two of the priest assistants approached as I lay there, still thrashing. I could hear a cluster of screams come from behind me. It sounded similar to the cries of the servant I had murdered. Cheers followed the entry of the assistants and a conversation between the priest and his helpers ensued. It was just another day of work for them. They seem to not give a shit. The two assistants grabbed the sides of the structure I was on and gave it a push. Positioned on axis, the structure spun without a fuss. I was spun about ninety degrees and faced with a rather unsettling sight. The screams I just heard, were coming from a woman, who I could now see vividly. Unlike myself, she was not strapped to a similar structure as I, but she was receiving the treatment I knew was coming my way. The woman was older than I, typical looking Mayan woman, long dark hair, dirty, rugged cloths, etc. The assistants were forcefully holding down the woman, which took little effort due to her size. One man held her feet, one held her hands straight up over her head and a third sat on her waist.

The priest made his way over to the woman and stood above her. He raised his hand, which contained a dagger and turned to face the crowd. Tremendous howling arose from the crowd. It sounded like a thousand wolves during a full moon. He turned back around and looked down at the poor woman who struggled for her life. The priest spoke to her, but his voice was lost under the sound of the pack of wolves. I wanted to put my hands over my ears, but of course, they were strapped down. After the priest finish his speech, he knelt down on both knees. The woman squirmed like a fish as he held out the knife. Since the priest was on the opposite side of the woman than I was so, I had a completely clear view of the event.

He took the dagger and placed it to her neck. With added pressure, the blade began to slice through the flesh. It was like someone lit a fire under the woman. She kicked and screamed more intensely now then I thought was even possible. She whipped her head back and forth, which made it difficult for the priest to make his cut. I could not imagine such a sound coming from a woman. He stopped and turned her head. He lifted the blade and I could see the blood started to drip down her neck. Mixture of sickness and the urge came over me. Luckily, the sickness quickly suppressed the urge. It built up in me and I uncontrollably threw up all down my chest. The priest yelled for another assistant and one ran out faster than he could finish the request. He was ordered to hold the woman's head in place and the cutting resumed. The dullness of the knife made the process unbearably slow. It was like trying to cut through steak with a spoon. I could see the blade enter the skin and blood engulf the blade. The priest was pressing down with all of his weight. The woman's screams went from crisp and clear to muffled and congested. I knew then that the blade had entered the throat and the blood was racing into her lungs. A quick moment after, the woman's scream ceased and her body laid motionless.

The priest had yet to complete the cut and for what seemed like forever, he hacked at the woman's neck. Struggling with the dagger, he hacked and hacked, yet not getting it through. All the while, he had his fingers wrapped in her hair, for greater leverage. He struggled to get the dagger through the spinal cord, but with a little extra pressure the blade broke through and the priest fell forward a bit. His hand was covered with blood and as he grabbed her hair with both hands, it quickly covered the hair as well. With her head in his hand, he rose to his feet. The head was held high and flashed from side to side, so the crowd could get a good view. It was then swung into my view and I got a good look at her. Her eyelids sagged and you could barely see the eye balls through a small opening. How lifeless they were. Her mouth also drooped down and the tongue slightly hung out. She looked like a wax dummy. She went from real to fake the moment her head separated from the body. Maybe it is a defense mechanism we use to deal with this kind of situation. In our brains, a switch gets hit that changes our view from authentic to fantasy. I'm not sure if it helped any. I still was frightened beyond belief. The priest took the head and threw it down the stairs of the pyramid. There it rolled, leaving blood marks with every bounce it took until it was lost from sight.

A minute or so went by and I looked to the priest again. When our eyes met, he raised his hand and waved it from his left to his right. With doing so, the crowd became suddenly quiet. He turned back to me and began to speak.

"I hereby condemn you to die for the death of the servant you killed." He said in a calm voice, like he had done this a hundred times before and was bored by it. "The gods demand sacrifice for the actions you have partaken. In the eye of the gods, your act of murder is an unspeakable act and is grounds for sacrifice. You will die here in front of your peers and the victim's family. Let this event show all who watches, that murder is intolerable and completely forbidden. With the onset of death, your soul will be sent to the underworld, never to return and forever to be damned. Do you have anything you would like to say before we proceed?"

I lay there in complete terror. It was hard enough to grasp on to what was happening and now this man expected me to speak. It seemed only like a few days before I was that fifteen year old who wanted so desperately to become a priest. Now look at me; if only I had chosen that path to travel. I tilted my head back and stared straight up. I looked at the sky with intensity and became conscious of the fact that this was the last time I would lay eyes on it. I thought about my life as a child. When I would lie on the grass and stare at the passing clouds. My friends and I would play a game where we had to come up with the most shapes that we could find in the clouds. At night, I use to bring my mat out on the side of the hut, lay there and stare at the stars. It was always such an amazing sight. When the sky was clear of clouds, you could see hundreds of stars. I would fall asleep outside after I stared at the sky for hours. I would trace lines from one star to another and make pictures in my head. The earth is such a beautiful place. Now moments away from death, I was tormented by the fact that I never really appreciated it. I was about to leave it behind and never see it again. I grew increasingly sorrowful and I started to cry slightly. I took my eyes off the sky for my last time to address the priest.

"I am sorry for what I have done. I did not mean to kill her." I confessed a bit teary. "I could not control the urge, I could not..."

"Enough said!" The priest proclaimed.

I closed my eyes and put my head down. If only it were the 20th century, I might have been able to plead temporary insanity. Instead there was no jury to plead with. I began to cry once again, but held as much of it in as I could. The crowd roared to the height of before and the priest had to silence them again. He lifted his arms to the sky. The mass was brought to an eerie stillness. With silence, the priest spoke again.

"This man suggests that his actions were uncontrollable and caused by inner forces." He said, laughing under his voice. "If this is true, does he deserve to be let go? Will the Gods approve of such things? What do you think?"

With that being said, I heard countless responses ranging from simply 'no' to 'kill him' and many others. This was one big freak show. Now they were getting the audience involved. Were these people determining my fate or was there no answer that mattered? Either way, I was going to die, not even if the crowd said 'live'.

"Just as I thought." The priest replied with a smile. "Buckets, daggers!" He demanded.

From beyond my view point came the servants. Each man held a bucket and a dagger. The men raced out, as to not miss their cue. They came in front of me and placed the buckets under the structure I was strapped too. After placing the buckets someplace near my feet, they stood in front of me. They turned to face the priest, never making eye contact with me. When the priest was ready, he made his command.

"First incision!" He yelled as the crowd began to wail.

The men turned back to me and stood on either side. I started to panic and struggled to move my arms and legs. Each man grabbed a leg and restrained it. As soon as my legs were in place, I felt a tremendous pain behind each of my knees. I looked down but was unable to see anything other than the two men struggling with me. I felt warm fluid stream down my leg. The pain was unbearable to the point of feeling nauseous. One of the men lifted his hand into my field of view and it was covered in blood. I was growing weak, but I still tried to free myself. It was a lost cause. I was going nowhere.

"Second incision!" The priest commanded.

I felt the men spread my legs and once again there was the onset of pain. Now it was both sides of the inner wall of my groin. The blood flowed down my thigh and joined the blood that flowed from the first incision. At this point, I was unable to move. I was losing energy faster than my body could generate it. One of the men walked to the front of me and bent over. He was retrieving the bucket that had been placed in front of me and was now filled with blood. He held the bucket tightly in his hands and with a jolt, propelled the blood through the air and down the stairs...

"Final incision!"

The men returned to my upper half and continued. Each man grabbed an arm and held it firm. The priest stood in front of me, and brought the dagger to my chest. It was the same dagger that severed the women's head, just moments before. By then, I was so powerless that I didn't even try struggling. I looked up and made eye contact with the priest. His eyes were merciless and filled with hate. This wasn't a sacrifice to the Gods. It was a brutal revenge killing. It made no sense to me. I killed a woman, but it wasn't deliberate. It was in the heat of the moment. I never would have planned it in a million years. These men were intentionally trying to kill me and achieve a goal too. What makes them any different? Why didn't they get sacrificed?

The priest began to slice down my chest. I felt no pain. I was beyond pain, but I was now starting to lose consciousness.

I blacked out for what felt like only a short moment and when I came to, I felt a million times better than before. The pain and anguish had diminished. There was an awkward feeling in all my senses. I felt numb almost or like my sensory nerves were all disconnected at once. I couldn't hear the crowd or the priest anymore. I couldn't feel their knives in my flesh. I couldn't smell the stench of their breath, and for a moment, I couldn't see much at all. There was one strange thing that hit me abruptly. I could not even feel the restraints, that I once long to free myself from.

A sudden panic hit me, as if I were a new amputee. I couldn't feel my body. I tried to move my arms and no motion occurred. I strained to focus my eyes, but nothing happened. I tried to look around, but every direction was the same thing. It was like I was frozen in time. I could think but could not act. I thought to myself that I must be dead. Once I came to this conclusion, I realized that there was one thing that seemed real. I could now see in front of me an aerial view of the structure, which I once laid on. There was no movement in the frame, but surely it was the same pyramid. Standing next to my lifeless body was the priest and his assistants, all motionless. It was as if I had taken a picture of the last second of my life and was now dissecting it pixel by pixel. From this angle I could see the crowd clearly. They all had random expression on their faces, frozen in time. Then as quickly as it came, the picture started to fade.

Those pixels, I examined so closely, started to disappear one by one. I was starting to lose the only part of reality I had left. I couldn't understand how all my senses were diminishing, yet I could think and remember. How could this be possible? How could my shut down brain still process thoughts? Even though I was dead, maybe this was the last bit of energy dissipating. I pondered this for the last moments of my existence. More than half of the picture had washed away like sand blown across a black table. All I saw with the absence on my vision was nothingness. This nothingness is as abstract and unexplainable as the concept of the end of time and space. It is like knowing the existence of God. If you are a believer and someone asked you if there is a God, you say yes. If you are asked to explain how you know there is God, you are without explanation. You just know it. You can feel it and know it exists even if you can't explain it. The same is with the nothingness that accompanies death. So if someone asks, "what happens after death?" I can only tell them as I tell you, for the rest is incomprehensive to the living and can only be obtained with hands on experience, so to speak. In other words, you must be dead to know. As my life memories flashed into my thought, the picture passed away with equal speed and I wasn't quite sure what was to come.

I stared at this picture, which was once my final moments. Each pixel drifted away, leaving me with greater amount of nothingness. As more than 90% of the picture had decayed away, I was growing more fearful of what would happen next. I thought that I wanted to cry, but was unable too. In order to cry, one would need his or her living body. This I now lacked. I wanted to look away from the scene, but I couldn't. It was just there, uncontrollable to my rendering. As the last fragments of my life faded away, I came to terms with the facts of my life. I was now at peace with my tragic end and prepared for the nothingness that awaited me at the end of my decaying memory. I embraced it and as the last pixel of my life faded, I said farewell to this world, for what I thought was going to be forever. Blackness was my only friend.
Part Two

Chapter Seven

"The pixels had faded and my life was gone. Blown away with the last fragment of my dying scene." Damon said with a long silence.

It was the only silence I could remember in the last forty- five minutes or so. From the first sentence of his rambled story, I had remained quiet. The only thing I did was the occasional nod of understanding or shuffled in my seat to regain comfort in my ass since the booth seats were rather uncomfortable.

For the most part, I sat with my eyes fixated on this man. This crazed man. My mind had convinced itself that he was in fact crazy and anything he said was a fabrication. I have to admit, I was fascinated by the story. I wondered how someone might know so much about the subject of the story. He didn't look like a complete moron or anything, but at the same time he didn't look like a historian either. I watched Damon, as he lit yet another cigarette. He seemed frigid and emotional. It was the first true sign of life I had seen all morning. I wondered what was up, but figured he was moved by the "memories" he had shared with me. So I left it alone and tried to change the subject slightly.

I noticed that our coffee was about gone. We both had been sipping on it for the past hour. I asked Damon if he wanted more and he just nodded. I motioned to the waitress to bring us more and she rushed over with a new pot of coffee. I put the pot on the table, after filling our cups and I turned my attention back to Damon.

"So, that's the last memory you had before your childhood in this life?" I said him.

"Oh no, that was only one life. As I said earlier, I have had at least four that I can remember."

I started to realize that this could take all day. However on the same hand, I didn't care much since it was more interesting than work. There was also a case to work here.

"What happened after that? Did you go to heaven or hell?" I asked.

"No, I didn't go to heaven or hell. Well, I guess I sort of went to hell if you think of it." He answered hesitantly.

"What do you mean, 'sort of' went to hell?" I asked curiously.

"See, the whole image of hell with the devil, demons and fire are all bullshit. Malevolent dictating Priest made that up in the early centuries after the death of Christ to control their people. They realized that if you threaten an eternity of pain and anguish, it's a better controlling tool than saying when you die you go to heaven no matter what." He said. "People are already afraid of what happens after death. Add in some torture and suffering and you can get a trusting person to do whatever you want. The truth is those priests had no clue. They didn't know heaven from hell. They were just as afraid as those people they preached to. They needed to believe that they were going to heaven and escaping the depth of hell."

"So what did you mean be sort of going to hell?" I interrupted.

"This is the thing. We are in hell right now." He said quietly.

"We're in hell?" I responded hesitantly.

"This is it. This is as close to hell as it comes. Like I said, hell doesn't exist. There is only heaven and earth. Earth is hell. Think of it. With all the death, suffering, disease, complete chaos at all times. This is it. This is hell. You might think that the happiest day of life couldn't get any better, but compared to the grandeur of heaven, this is complete hell. Just think of your life. Do you think you have any control over it? You're wrong. One day you could walk out the door and anything can happen. You could get hit by a car, catch a deadly disease or even board a plane that flies into a skyscraper. You may ask me, if this is hell then why am I ever happy?" He ranted with the most intensity I've seen all morning. "That is simple enough. We are ever changing, ever-evolving creatures and we can adapt to nearly any situation. How do you think anyone ever survives a war? No one can ever be ready for war the first time they enter it. You can train for weeks, months or even years, but you can never really know war until you have seen it eye to eye. The life you live isn't real. Your mind has manipulated it so much that you truly believe you enjoy it."

He just stares at the floor now for a moment.

"I take it since you didn't go to heaven, you must have returned to earth."

"That's right. You know why?" He asked.

With a shake of my head he continued.

"I had a goal to achieve in life. I was taken before that goal was fulfilled. Everyone has a goal. You, the waitress, myself; we all do. That goal, the reason for life, is to achieve complete wisdom. That's all you need to enter heaven, wisdom. It sounds so easy right? I don't know anyone who has. Life is one big lesson. Pass it and you go to heaven. Fail it and you come back here for another try. This leads me to believe that you have failed at least once in the past too. Unless this is your first time, of course."

"Oh, of course, anything is possible." I replied rather uncomfortably.

I think what made me so uncomfortable was that fact that his views had some validity to them. They sounded like complete bullshit, but no one does know. He could be right. I hadn't really thought of it before. I think that was my problem. Most of these subjects I had never thought of before. I was starting to wonder if I should have, but those thoughts scared even the bravest man. It's funny that it took an insane stranger to teach me this. He must be wiser than me, I thought. I was interested in where this story could go.

I turned my attention back to the story.

"What happened after the last pieces of the picture blew away?" I asked.

"I don't quite remember. It was similar to the first life." He claimed.
Chapter Eight

I would love to tell you I could remember everything. I wish I could tell you I remember being in my mother's womb, or the birth process. I simply do not remember being born. I never have and I'm not quite sure why. I do have this splinter of a memory of what I believe was just moments after my birth. The only thing is; I'm not sure if it is a true memory or something I made up as a child during this life. You soon will realize why this is.

The memory starts off in this chaotic state. I'm lying on some kind of surface. I wasn't sure if it was a bed, table or crib, but I was wrapped up in a soft cloth material. Of course, I did not know what these items were called at the time, since I had no recollection of anything. I could not remember my past life or my death, at the time. I was, as John Locke would call it, born with tabular rasa or a clean slate. This added to the intensifying, chaotic sense of the whole memory. I had no clue what was going on or what anything was. It was just like going into a coma and coming out of it with zero memory of anything you previously knew. I recall this memory with the adult knowledge of what these items were to help portray the scene to you.

Like I said, I was lying on some surface wrapped in a cloth. I couldn't get up or hardly move. My head could only move from side to side. I looked all around and could see very little. It seemed especially dark but I could make out the walls and ceiling of the room that contained me. There were little candles around the room, which help to illuminate the darkness. The things I could see were completely alien to me in my few couple minutes of my life. It wasn't the sights, at first, that draw this memory to my mind now and countless times during my life. It was the sound. Most babies at birth cannot see more than a blur anyways. I could hear screams and bangs; all types of commotion. It frightened the hell out of me. I was hopeless to all bodily actions, except crying. With an intensity only possessed by a terrified child, I screamed. I looked to my left and saw a rather large male figure standing over a bed. He was definitely the one who caused most of the noise in the room.

I noticed then a women lying on the bed. The man stood over her, screaming and beating this women repetitively with a stick. He kept hitting this woman and she cried, while trying to fight back. Her voice was desperate and pathetic. The man jumped on top of the women and was now punching her. With her shoulders pinned to the bed, she was helpless. He screamed again and again, as he hit the women.

I figured if I screamed loud enough, I could get him to stop. Upon hearing my shrieks, the man jumped up off the bed and approached me. I could no longer hear the women. He scooped me up violently until I was at eye level with the man. His screams returned to overshadow my petty yelps for help. I closed my eyes as soon as I was lifted up and was unable to see his face clearly. I was now but an inch from his face as he screamed.

I then felt myself falling until an abrupt stop. Then there was darkness. The man must have thrown me to the ground and the impact of the fall knocked me out. I would have this dream countless times throughout my life. As frightening as it was, the dream seemed to carry an important clue about my life.

Years would pass before my next vivid memory. Like the last time I was a child, I remember very irrelevant memories with little or no interest to the story at hand. As before, I will omit them for yours and my sake. Besides this previous memory, I can tell you this. I was reborn in 1774, 18th century after the birth of Christ. This was the year after the Boston Tea Party and the American Revolutionary War. Most important to this story, this was the year King Louis XVI of France, took the throne. The importance of this lays in the setting of my second life. It was France, June 4th 1774, the exact day and place of my birth. It was the day that would haunt me until my death.

France had seen peace and prosperity on and off for the few decades leading to my birth. In the 1750's and 1760's under the rule Louis XV, France had seen a brutal and costly war. The Seven Years war lasted from 1756 to 1763. It can be considered one of the first world wars, with fighting on almost every corner of the Global. France fought the French and Indian war in North America. These overseas battles drained the France finances dry. Fueling the problem further was the fact that diseases such as the plague had vanished and the French population was soaring. The population had grown something like six million people within the previous century. Now with little money and many mouths to feed, there were countless people going hungry.

With this being said, I must add that I grew up like any other child of that time. With a little more bread than some at times and a bit less at other times. My infancy had pass with little ado, not that I can recall. This is the part of the story where I tend to lose people. Hopefully, you can grasp the possibility. Despite my previous or current gender, it was not consistent with this life. I was reincarnated into a female body. I'm not sure why this happened, but I remember not feeling much different. But then again it makes as much sense as anything else in this life.

The next memory I had after the nightmare of my birth had a completely opposite mood. I was sitting on carriage, nothing special, just a wooden box basically. It had four wall, the two sidewalls had doors on them with little windows I could look out to see the beautiful countryside. The back had another small window that I now glance through and saw many men and a few more carriages. These were different carriages though. They weren't transport carriages like mine. They were packed with all of my father's belongings. I must have been about five years old. In the carriage, I sat on the little wooden bench, which was built into walls. I had on a cute little pale green sheer muslin gown. Long blond hair fell over my shoulders. At that moment, the carriage door opened and my father entered.

"Renée, you ready to go?" He asked me joyfully.

"Where are we going papa?" I asked curiously.

"Paris, my love, Paris!" He responded with such enthusiasm. "Better times are coming honey, better times."

This excited me tremendously. For as far back as I could remember we had been through pretty hard times. Like I said before, Louis XV had driven the economy into a hole for the most part and now Louis XVI just couldn't pull us out of it. With the endless amount of money poured into constant war, the common person was truly deprived. To make matters worse for my father, my mother had died, leaving him to take care of me. Since we lived in the country and had little, he couldn't afford a maid. This held him back from working more and making more money. He had saved enough money to move to the city, find more work and a maid to look after the home and me. I was sad to leave the home I grew up in for the last five years. Yet again, I could hardly remember any of it, anyways.

France at this time was at the start of a chaotic period that would plague France for the next decade. July 10th of the same year as our move, Louis XVI declared war on Great Britain. This just prolonged the war. At a time of economic chaos, he poured more money in. It was said that he funded enough to feed and house seven million citizens in a time when thousands were coming hungry. And to top it off the Queen, Marie- Antoinette depleted the country's finances on extortionate hairdos, stage plays and gambling. The nation as a whole was sinking into an abyss. To this, I had no knowledge, until later in life.

My father and I completed the packing and we were on our way. The ride to Paris was long, boring and uncomfortable. Two horses, which were smelly, headed the carriage along the very bumpy road. I had a little doll made of fabric, stuffed with straw, which keep my five year old mind sane for the travel. I was a very lonely child before our move since I had no siblings, cousins, or neighbors to play with on the farm. I hoped this would change in Paris.

After a long period of time in the carriage, we pulled into Paris. I couldn't peel my face from the window of the carriage. The buildings were huge compare to our little farmhouse and there were thousands of them packed house against house. The people were everywhere walking to and fro. It reminds me very much of New York, except it was a mini version. Depending on which part of Paris we were in at the time, there were distinct groups of people. There was what I had known as normal, working men. The women wore simple dresses made of cotton or wool with an apron and usually a mop cap on their heads. Then there were the bourgeoisie men who wore long English- style coats with minor detail. They also wore ties, breeches, tights and shoes with buckles on them. And of course, like any other city, there were the destitute.

Things seemed peaceful and I didn't get the feeling that we should be on guard. The only thing that frightened me was a scene that occurred as we made our way through the city streets. There were a group of men, laborers, who had attacked an older woman. She was walking the opposite direction of the group of men with a basket of bread in her hands. The men, after walking past the women and seeing the bread, turned around, grabbed the women and ripped the basket out of her hands. She simply fell to the ground and the men ran off. This wasn't a very common scene in France at the time but in the years to come, it became much too common. When I was older, I heard stories of mobs of people lynching those who stock piled bread and kept it from other starving people. The mob would roam the towns looking for bread. If you had too much, you were ripped out of your house, beaten and hanged in a tree. I never saw these acts of brutality, but they were rampant in the end of the 1780's. You may think this is a bit extreme, but we now live in a time where bread cost us next to nothing.

When we arrived in Paris in August of 1779, my father had bought a two-story building for us to live in. It was nothing fancy, just an apartment on top and a workshop on the ground level. Besides being a farmer, my father was very good with leather. He was also great with people and loved politics. I believe he had it in mind to accelerate himself to a political level someday. For now, we settled into our apartment and my father got to work. Back on the farm where my father had to work in the barn and large fields, he could not watch me and work. This led him to end the workday early and therefore lost out on that extra money. This wasn't the case anymore. Beside the fact that the workshop had countless things for me to get into and hurt myself with, there was no reason I couldn't stay there the whole day. The workshop wasn't anything special. It had two rooms, the front and the back. The front was where my father would sit and talk with the customers. The back was the actual workshop. There were a few tables and on the wall would be countless tools used in leather making. Most of which I had no clue what their purpose was. I would sit in the front room with my doll and play in the corner my father had made for me. I would always see the people come in and they would comment on how cute or beautiful I was. My father used me to attract customers. Pathetic, I know.

Everything was going great for the first couple months after our arrival. My father's business sprung up rather fast and even though the economy was bad, there still were the nobles and the bourgeoisie. They always had money. This introduced another interesting factor. These people my father did business with were largely into politics and that's all they talked about.

My father became popular in that first year of our new life. The bourgeoisie men, despite my father's social status, loved him and constantly returned for all their leather needs and good conversation. My father got invited to parties all the time, but was not able to attend, because of me of course. He let me know what a burden I was to his social life usually on a daily basis. He usually cursed my mother for leaving me with him and referred to me as his ball and chain. This continued until one day when someone new entered my life. It was late September of 1780, when I came down to the workshop from the upstairs apartment. I entered the front of the shop to see my father talking to a younger woman, around the age of twenty or so. I hid behind the doorway in between the two rooms to see what they were talking about.

"She's a well behaved little girl. All she does all day is play with those stupid dolls." My father told this young woman. "But whatever keeps her happy and out of my hair."

She was a typical laborer woman of the time. She was wearing one of the simple dresses I spoke of before. Her black hair was straggly and she kept it in a ponytail. Her beauty wasn't overwhelming, but her sincerity made up for it.

"What's her name?" She asked my father.

"Renée, she is six years old."

"Aw, what a pretty name." She replied.

"Yes, she is beautiful." He responded happily, as if he were proud.

That was the first time I had heard my father speak highly of me. Now that I think of it, he was probably putting on a show for the woman. Either way, at the time I didn't know any better. I was thrilled to hear him say that.

"I've been invited to countless parties, by very important people, but of course I have to stay home and watch little Renée." He said in dismay. "I'm not going to lie, the pay is not going to be the best, but it's all I can afford..."

I stood up and ran into the part of the room they were talking. I jumped and hugged my father. Standing at my father's feet, I now faced the woman.

"Renée, this is Aimée, she is going to help take care of you." He said in that annoying little voice that parents use to their children. "OK?"

I replied in the only way I could. I nodded, smiled and put out my hand. Trying to impress the woman, I mimicked the other women I had seen in the shop. She shook it and returned a smile.

From that day on, Aimée was like the mother I never had. My father dumped me on her every chance he could get. Not tied down by any real formal work, Aimee and I were free to do whatever we chose. She also had plenty of time to teach me things that my father never cared to teach; such as how to read and write. She even introduced me to philosophy; the new craze of the time. It was Aimee who exposed me to "The Enlightenment", for the first time. This would have been to the dismay of my father, had he known about it. My father, by this time, was growing increasingly apart from me. He spent most of his day in the workshop and most of his night at parties. He was very popular with the upper class people even though he himself was not upper class. I believe they liked him so much for the fact that he was a brilliant rhetoric conversationalist. He could convince almost anyone and that is what I believe helped him so much in his business and social life.

Aimée and I became the best of friends, regardless of the age difference. We played with my dolls, we went on walks through the city and every day was an adventure. My father on the other hand, was becoming more and more engulfed in the party scene. Night after night, he would come home with wine on his breath. He would no longer come in and say good night to me as I slept. Instead, he would come in and pass out anywhere he would fall. Worst of all, his temper had escalated and he became hostile in his voice towards me.

By this time, it was mid March of 1781 and I was nearly seven years old. As I think back to it, I realized my father had a double life. There was the sober father and then there was the drunken father. The sober father was loving, care and sweet, but when he got drunk he was completely the opposite. He was the original Jekyll and Hyde. He started coming home and harassing Aimée about the condition of the house or the food that she made for him. In the beginning, he would wait for me to go to bed then he would start in on her. I could hear them from my room as I tried to fall asleep. It was these days that a seed of hatred started to grow in me towards my father. Even at the tender age of nearly seven, I still understood what was going on. I hated him simply for the fact that he was never around. When he was around, he belittled the only friend I had. That was until his behavior had reached his climax in an early May night.

My father had come home from his typical night of drunken stupor. I was still up since it wasn't extremely late. Aimée and I had been up reading when he came in. As we sat there, the front door slammed open. Of course it was my father, this wasn't an unusual scene. Standing there with a bottle of wine in his hand, he stood staring at us with an immoral look on his face.

"What the hell are you doing up?" He said in a nasty voice.

"Monsieur, we were just reading a goodnight story. It was almost finished." Aimée replied in a gentle voice trying not to upset him.

"I thought I told you she is to be sleeping by the time I come home. What in hell do I have to do to get you to follow my rules?"

"Well sir, I wasn't expecting you home for another half hour."

"You're lying. You stupid bitch." He yelled as he slammed his bottle of wine to the floor.

I grab onto Aimée tightly and started to cry. Seeing this, my father came over and pulled me from her arms.

"You think this is your child. You act like she is. She is my daughter not yours."

He threw me to the ground. I quickly stood up and ran to my room. I could hear them fighting as I tried to listen from behind my door. He yelled about her "quality of work". I heard a loud smacking noise, followed by a loud cry from Aimee, and the sound of the front door slamming again. I remember praying for it to have been my father leaving. I hoped he had stormed out and left us alone. Still too afraid to return to the living room, I climbed into my bed, put the covers over me and began to cry.

I heard the door of my bedroom open and lifted the covers off of my face. I was hoping to see Aimée standing there, but instead it was my father. Slamming the door behind him, he approached me with anger in his voice...

"Sit up! " He yelled "Get out from under the cover!"

Being as scared as I was, I listened.

"You can never learn can you?"

"But we were just reading papa..."

"Shut the hell up!" He screamed and smacked me across the face with his hand. "You shut up! You need to be taught a lesson."

He pushed me back down on the bed. I fell backwards and hit my head on the wall. I nearly passed out from the pain. I wish I had, at least I could have forgotten the lesson he had in mind for me. He tore off the nightgown I wore for bed. Laying there naked, my father got on top of me. I could smell the wine on his breath, which was nauseating and I almost became sick. I tried to fight him off me, but at the age of seven, I could hardly budge him. He had me pinned to the bed and all that I could do was scream and cry.

"Please don't hurt me. I love you!!" I cried at the top of my lungs.

"Shut your mouth!!" He roared. "You want to be like that whore Aimée? I'll treat you like a whore!!"

Having me in position, he thrust my legs apart. Everything was moving too fast. All I can remember is the immense pain I felt. I continued to cry and scream. I tried to fight him off, but I simply was too little to overpower him. I felt utterly helpless as I lay on my back, smothered by the body of a grown man. My father put his hand over my mouth to get me to shut up. The combination of pain, crying and loss of air, knocked me out and I don't remember anything else until the following morning.

I woke up thinking it was all a bad dream, but I was still naked and had blood on my thighs. My head hurt from hitting it on the wall and my groin area hurt from the ravaging. I stayed in bed all morning. At that age, I didn't even know what sex was. I hadn't understood what my father had done. I just realized that it hurt and he did it out of hatred. It was the night of death, so to speak. My sweet, loving father died along with the innocent little child inside me. The actions of that night gave birth to an immoral, drunken father and intolerable, revengeful daughter. It was as if I had no parents now; both dead to me, by the time I was seven. As much as I wanted to believe he was dead, he was not. I still had to live by his rules. My father never came into my room the whole morning. I could hear the people down stairs, which led me to believe that he went to work. He simply went on like nothing had happened. After I lay there for a few hours crying in my own filth, I heard the front door open and shut. Footstep approached my door and I instinctively put the covers over my head. There was a gentle tap on the down and an angelic voice followed.

"Renée, you in here?"

It was Aimée. She had come back, which thoroughly surprise me. At least I thought my father had fired her, but apparently he had not. The happiness overwhelmed me for a moment and I could hardly feel any pain. I was so excited, I wanted to jump and give her a hug, but again the pain came back. I resorted to laying there on my bed and trying to express my happiness though words. She came over and lay next to me on my little bed, which her legs hung off of. She put her arms around me and held me tight. Aw, what a feeling. I was overcome by the feeling of love that came from Aimée and I started to cry hysterically.

"What is it honey?" She questioned in a soothing voice.

By this point, she hadn't fully seen me, since I was covered with my blanket. I didn't want to come out of those covers. I was humiliated by the fact that I had been so bad that my father had to do this to me. I believed that it was entirely my fault. If only I had just been a good little girl like he wanted me to, he wouldn't have hurt me. She continued to rub my head and back from the other side of the covers.

"Come on hon, let's get up." She stated trying to encourage me to get out of bed.

I lifted my head from out of the cover and it was then that I realized that things were really wrong.

"Oh my god, Renée!! What happened to your face?"

She pointed at the bruises covering my face. Mostly on the right side and I had a huge bump on the back of my head. She pulled the covers off me to find my naked body. Since I always slept in a nightgown, this was an unusual sight. I had more bruises on my chest where he had held me down and there was the blood on my inner thighs and private area.

"How did this happen? Was it your father?" She fired question after question, not quite waiting long enough in between them for me to answer.

The look on her face frightened me. I think it was then that I realized the seriousness of the incident. I told her all that happened from the time I heard the front door slam until I passed out. I tried to explain that it was my entire fault. If I had been good, he wouldn't have done it. After my rant, she insured me that it was completely not my fault. She explained to me exactly what he had done. Like I said, up to that point, I had no knowledge of sex or rape. It was fucked up that I had to learn from such a malevolent act by someone I loved and once admired. After the conversation with Aimée, two things were evident. For one, a piece inside my innocent soul had disappeared, rendering me forever. The second being that any shred of love I had for my father before had completely vanished. I completely despised him and everything he stood for. The only good thing to come out of this was that it intensified the relationship between Aimée and me.

She had stayed with my father and me for one simple reason, she loved me. I loved her equally and it was to my father's dismay. My father loathed our relationship and envied Aimée's ability to control me. This was the reason why he hadn't fired her. She was the only one I would listen too. It would have been hell if she was fired and he knew it. Since that fatal night, I hadn't even talked to my father unless he forced it. I didn't hug him, kiss him or tell him I loved him, like I use to. Now my days were spent solely with Aimée. Except for his jealousy, he didn't care. In fact, it worked out to his advantage greatly. It was as if he had no child to hold him back at all. He worked as much as he wanted and he partied as much as he wanted. There was no inclination that he cared about what he did. From now on, I could care less about him equally. He could have died and I would have been happy.

Ironically, it seemed like everyone had what they wanted now. My father got to work and party at will, Aimée got a steady job and loving child, and I got the mother I always wanted. Up to the day of my death, she was there for me. Even after I grew out of my need for a babysitter and my father cut off her funds, she was still there. The next couple years passed in the same fashion. I rebelled against my father, endlessly. Aimée mothered me as if I were her own. My father partied and came home drunk as usual. He still mentally, physically and sexually abused me, but all the while not lifting a finger against Aimee. He knew she was the only one who could control me, and he was afraid to lose her, just yet. After the first dozen or so beatings, I started getting use to it and as I grew older, I started fighting back. Of course this only made the matter worse. Much of the rest of 1781 through 1783 went by similarly. There wasn't much of a change through those years. I learned to read and write more from Aimée and my father built political ties with his many new friends. What a fake he was, acting as if he believed in these men. He didn't care. He only wanted to make it to the top.

What if these men knew my father's private life? What if they knew he beat his little girl for no reason other than being in the way? What if they knew he raped his daughter for staying up too late reading a book? I think these men would see him in a different light than the character he portrays in the daily movie he calls life. Who knows, they all probably did the same to their children. He probably would have fit right in. They could have sat around and discussed personal techniques. Who knows?

Around the same time, the American Revolution was drawing to a close. The Americans, with the help of France, had overthrown the British. Who the hell would have thought that was going to happen? The Americans had won and the treaty was signed right here in Paris. The city celebrated as if it were their own country that had beaten the Brits. I think the view was "at least someone beat them". Plus we had helped it all happen. It was a wonderful day for Paris. Among this celebration, there was still the realization that many French citizens were starving to death. In retrospect, one could say that the American Revolution in one way or another sparked our desire to rebel. The suppressed, hungry, third class saw this as a victory for their kind. This was not a victory for any organized government, but for the common man. This caused them to stop and think. As the situation in France started to fester, some started to wonder if they too could take control of their own deteriorating country. In the early days, people believed more or less that France would come up out of it slumbers. No one could believe that within only ten years France would be rocked with one of the most devastating social and governmental disaster seen up to that point in history.

I was nearly ten years old, at the time, and knew nothing of our impending doom. I was simply a little girl growing up in a time of hardship, like every other little girl of the time in most parts of the world. One thing that I did know was that my father was taking a keen interest in the affairs of the royal class. This was also the time my animosity started to build for the King and the top two upper classes. There were many reasons for me to despise them. They treated the third class as slaves and they wouldn't even address you as a human being. The worst thing was as Robespierre, a famous orator stated, "Their luxurious existence devours in one day the substance of a thousand men." This was not the only reason to despise them. A child I was and as a child I acted. I hated them simply because my father loved them. Anything my father praised, I loathed. If he liked the color blue, I hated it so much I couldn't look to the sky. I merely hated everything he stood for.

I think if it wasn't for Aimée in those early years, I would have gone mad. One day, I found a great weapon to infuriate my father with. By the summer of 1784, I was officially ten and more rebellious than ever. Aimée and I had just returned from our walk through the city and we entered the front room of my father's shop. Like always, he was standing behind the counter, which was parallel to the wall that separated the front and back rooms. Also in the front room, my father had placed two tables with four chairs each. It was here that my father and his high-class friends would sit. It was quite an ironic sight to see these men with their embroidered coats, the buckled shoes and white wigs, sitting with a third class man, in a grungy workshop. One whose only assets were the words that came out of his mouth.

We strolled in through the front door during peak discussion time. This alone enraged my father, since I was not allowed to disturb him while he was with his friends. I had been known to be irrational and unpredictable in the presences of his friends. I really wanted to be a little brat and make a fool out of him, but instead I decided to be the opposite just to spite him. I know my father whined about my attitude to his friends and I didn't want him to be able to prove his point. Upon our entrance, everyone turned to see who it was.

"Renée, what are you doing here?" My father asked trying not to sound too much like a prick.

"Nothing father. We just come back from our walk. It's a beautiful day outside." I spoke as if I were the golden child. "You should really get out there."

"Honey, you know daddy doesn't like when you disrupt our conversation. If you needed to get upstairs you should have used the side door instead of coming through here." My father ranted to me trying to sound like a loving father.

What a show he puts on. I wasn't even listening to him. As soon as he finished, I started talking to his friends.

"Hello, monsieur LeClair, how are you?"

I could see the rage building in my father. Not only was I not to disturb him and his friends, I was surely not supposed to talk to them.

"Very well madam Renée, who is this with you?" Monsieur LeClair replied, referring to Aimée who now stood by my side, trying so hard not to laugh.

I could tell she was as amused as I was with this spectacle. It was then that the weapon became clear in my mind. Before I could think about the repercussions of it, the words just slipped out of my mouth.

"This is my mother, Madam Aimée." I looked at Aimée and I could see that this baffled her just as much as everyone in the room, especially my father.

All attention had now shifted to my father as they looked for an answer.

"I was under the impression that your mother was deceased." LeClair responded with a puzzling look towards my father.

"Aimée is not her mother. Her mother died during birth. Please dismiss her. She only dreams to have a real mother. You know how little girls are. They like to make things up."

I could hear the anger in his voice. He was pissed that I put him on the spot like that in front of his peers and I was livid for the fact that he told them to dismiss me.

"She is more of a mother, than you are a father. At least she acts the part." I grabbed Aimée's arm and stormed out the front door.

We ran down the street, laughing the whole way.

"I can't believe you said that." Aimée chuckled through her laughter. "He is going to kill you later."

"Probably, but it will be worth every second of it. Did you see their faces?" I was still unable to control myself.

Aimée on the other hand, was slightly worried about what my father might do. She was right. My father had beaten me for less and this was serious. I had made his friends question the validity of my father. For that moment, it had looked as if he lied because of the fact that Aimée was a servant. They would have thought he was trying to hide it. He could not afford any such taint to his image. His goal was to gain the privileges of the upper class. Any slight discrepancy in his character could push him further into disgrace. How I wish he would fail. I would give my life to see him fail.

My father beat me that night, as expected. This time it was with the most intensity that I could remember. As I think back at it, I'm glad he beat me. With every beating, he ripped a piece of himself out of my heart. It made it much easier to hate him when I was older. It made the future easier to live and made my choices, as a young adult, justifiable. From then on, I would refer to Aimée as my mother. This enraged my father more than anything in the world. Every person I saw that knew my father, I told them she was my mother. Soon everyone would think my father was married to a servant.

That night, after the punishment was finished, I went to my room to get some sleep. After getting in my nightgown, I lay in my bed. My room was dark and gloomy at night. The only source of light was a few candles that, by the time I went to bed, had to be put out. Light from the moon shined through the lone window of room and illuminated shadows on my wall. I stared at the ceiling and all I could think about was my mother. I hadn't seen her or known her in the slightest bit. I wondered what she looked like. How she lived her life and even if she would have loved me, if she hadn't died.

There was a constant ache in my heart for her. I think that is why I clench on to Aimée so much. She helped fill the void in my heart that neither my father nor my dead mother could fill. I wanted to know what kind of person my mother was. Was she loving and kind or was she the same as my father, evil and manipulative? I always believed she was loving and caring. Every time I would bring her up in front of my father, he would become irate. I could never get anything about her out of him. Since we had no family in Paris with us, he was my only source of information. There was still one flicker of thought left. It always came in the form of a dream. A dream I've had many times in my life, but before tonight I was never actually able to piece it all together. I could hardly make out any of the figures or their actions. I couldn't make out the words they spoke. They were all like pieces of a puzzle. I had them all from the beginning, but was unable to find the right places; until tonight.
Chapter Nine

I don't remember how old I was when I first had the dream. The frequency of dream, however, escalated as the years passed. Truthfully, this wasn't a dream as much as it was a memory relived through a dream. It was the dream of my birth. That night I was born into such chaos. That night when the flood gates were opened and all came pouring out.

There were two people in the dream, a man and a woman. The woman was on the bed, slightly out of my field of view. She was lying on the bed with covers up to her chest. The bed she lay on was nothing more than a straw mat, lying on a wooden box. It had hardly any support and no headboard.

Besides the bed, the only other thing I could see was a table, which held the candles which lit up the room. I could see her now if I forced my head to the side. Her face filled with such agony. Her brown curly hair was plastered to her face with sweat. Even without ample light, I could see her face was flushed red and she cried endlessly. She looked frightened and her eyes were fixed towards the opposite side of the room. I turned my head to see what she looked at but all I could see was darkness. Not knowing what to expect I looked back to the woman who was just as before. She cried and cried. I looked back to the darkness and this time there was a figure standing there. He had stepped out towards the light and there was a loud bang. Something smashed against a wall behind me. The man was rather large man, and strikingly resembling to someone I had known. Making his way over to the bed, he stood there and screamed at the crying woman.

"It's a girl!! You stupid whore!! A boy!! We need a boy!!"

He beat her over and over again with a stick and all she could do was cry. The woman squirmed from side to side trying to escape the blows. All she repeated was the same phase over and over.

"Please don't hurt me! I love you!"

The man didn't let up. He just continued and the woman cried in her same fashion. The only thing she did was cry "I love you! I love you!"

This only seemed to aggravate the man further and he now jumped on top of her. Fist after fist, he laid waste to this helpless woman. She still uttered the same phase as before, through the pain.

"Shut your damn mouth". He demanded. "Or I'll shut it for you... Forever!"

I cried the entire time the beating occurred. I felt helpless since I couldn't stop it. I was starting to agree with the man. Please just stop talking! It was then that the man jumped off the bed and came over to me. The woman was now motionless and quiet. Blood was pouring from her nose and mouth. One side of her head had swelled from the blows and the other side rested on the pillow. Her eyes stayed wide open, yet she did not move. There was hollowness in her eyes that only dead people possess. This blank stare said more than a thousand words. The man scooped me up ruthlessly and brought me to his eye level. I closed my eyes in fright as the man shook and bellowed.

"Shut your mouth!!"

I opened my eyes to a baffling sight. The brutal man was in fact my father. I could see his face clearly now and I believe it was him without a doubt in my heart. He yelled once more to shut my mouth before throwing me to the ground. I felt myself fall for what seemed like forever until I smacked the floor. Upon impact, I awoke from the dream, screaming. Sitting there holding me was Aimée. We were on my straw mat, in my little room.

"Honey, honey, it's just me." She said in a soothing voice trying to calm me.

I ripped my body around trying to escape before realizing it was only her.

"It was a dream Renée, a bad dream."

I came to and realized who it was. Relieved, I immediately broke into tears. She held me for a few minutes as I cried in her lap. She ran her hands through my hair, which always calmed me down.

"Are you OK now sweetie?" She asked, as I nodded my head while trying to wipe the tears off my face. "I heard you screaming from the living room and ran in and found you flopping about on your bed."

Still slightly frantic I uttered, "He killed her! He killed my mother!"

"Shhhh, your father will hear you." She demanded since I was on the verge of shrieking. "Who did? Who killed you mother?"

"My father did. He killed her, I saw it." I whispered.

"Oh, that's nonsense. It was all a bad dream. Your mother died giving birth, it's a common occurrence."

"No, I saw it, in my dream. It's the same dream I have all the time except this time I saw it all. He killed her."

I told her the whole dream beginning to end. I explained how I hadn't seen the whole thing until now. I wanted her to believe me badly, but of course she put it off as a nightmare. I knew it was real. I could feel that it wasn't just a dream. It was the real thing. But how could I believe it? If I did believe it, that would mean my existence was a mistake. I wasn't supposed to be alive. They had not wanted a girl. They wanted a boy. It all started to make sense to me now. My father had passed my mother's death off as an accident. It would have been easy to do so at that time. No one cared about my mother's life. Women died during childbirth all the time. So many that no one could investigate every incident. My father could have simply paid off a poor, small town doctor to "over look" the obvious signs of a struggle. He would certify it as a death due to child birth and my father could have quickly buried her in the back yard and told everyone the lie. The only people who would have even seen the body would have been my father and the easily bribed doctor.

The violence in my father didn't surprise me at all. I had been living with that exact violence my whole life. Furthermore, it makes sense why we had to move to Paris. My father had expected a son to help him on the farm and instead he got me, an extreme disadvantage. After losing control and killing my mother, he couldn't try for another child. He could have tried to married another woman, but where we lived there was not an abundance of woman.

I didn't care what Aimée or anyone else said, he killed her and I know it. This new revelation into my life all but sent me over the edge. I could no longer look my father in the eyes without wanting to kill him myself. It was then that I demanded my revenge. I would achieve it before the day of my death, if I had my way. The only problem I had at the time was that I was only ten years old and I needed his financial support if I wanted to admit it or not. For the time being, I had to live my life as an actress constantly in character. This doesn't mean that I acted in a fashion that pleased my father. It just means I wasn't starting a conspiracy to kill him. Not yet, at least. In reality, there was little that changed since I had the dream. It just gave my claims justification.

The rest of 1784 and 1785 were filled with a tremendous amount of dullness. I still studied reading and writing with Aimée. I think she took me in as her own child because she realized she was never going to have her own. She wasn't very attractive and in a city with as many people as Paris, no one would just settle for her. There were too many beautiful women and plenty enough men. I didn't care about her appearance. The only thing I cared about was if she loved me as her child. This I felt she did.

To my dismay, I wasn't allowed to attend school, because I was too poor. I was lucky enough to have Aimée who knew how to read and write. I guess I did miss out on the childhood friendships, I would have made in school. This didn't matter since I had Aimée. Even if my father had the money to send me to school, he probably would have declined. I am sure the thought of my intelligence, surpassing his, terrified him. He had spent the first twelve years of my life trying to make sure I ended up the typical 18th century woman. He wanted me to be an ignorant servant to him and my future husband. And of course, I would take my own life before that happened. The fact of the matter is my father couldn't afford to educate me even if he wanted to. He only made enough money to keep the shop running, feed us, clothe us and pay Aimée. On occasion, he had to take loans from his upper class buddies. The cause of my father's financial distress in 1786 was still the condition of the French economy.

By 1786, someone thought it was a good idea to let King Louis XVI, an enormously unqualified king, to take the financial matters into his own hands. Not knowing too much about the matter, most people say Louis just took advice from whoever would give it. These people were the Clergy and the Nobility. So the King's reforms did everything to help these two classes and nothing for the third class. The third class made up about three fourths of the population. In his reform, Louis raised taxes on the third class even though he was well aware that the third class could hardly pay the existing taxes. This mattered very little to the inexperienced King. At the same time, the top two classes paid close to nothing in taxes and they were the only ones who could afford to pay them. Needless to say, this didn't make the King favorable in the people's eyes. It was the start of a steep decline in the French Monarchy. Nearly five years before now, France had helped the Americans win their independence from Great Britain. In doing so, the country dug themselves into a debt of colossal proportions. This meant heavy taxes on bread, the heart of the diet, to help pay these debts.

You could feel the tension building in the streets of Paris in 1787. My father would have meetings in his shop daily and I could hear them downstairs yelling about the condition of the country. In the streets, large groups of men would stand on barrels or boxes and recite enlightenment speeches about how we the people needed to use our own minds and take back our country. When we would walk past saloons, we could see people pouring in and out. It seemed like everyone was in a fury over the current situation. The Age of Enlightenment was in full swing and people were all around, ranting about liberty, equality and fraternity. It was exciting, even at the age of thirteen. It was everything my father never stood for and I fell in love with it.

The works of Rousseau, Locke, Voltaire and Immanuel Kant flowed through the streets of Paris like a flash flood, engulfing all who were open minded enough to accept it. Philosophers like Rousseau dictated that the purpose of the government was to secure the freedom, equality and justice of its people, regardless of what the majority thinks. He made statements that hit close to home such as "Man is born free, but everywhere is in chains". This was the exact feeling of the day among the third class. We were chained in everything we did, but where were the upper classes chains; they had none. At the same time, Kant, challenged us to act as though our actions could represent a universal model. In plain English, or French for that matter, follow the Golden Rule. The great Voltaire defended our right to expression with this quote; "I disagree with what you say, but I'll defend to the death your right to say it". These were the three principles most of us lived by, freedom, brotherhood and the right to express ourselves. In those last years of the 1780's, a new seed was planted in me. It was a seed of hope. The feeling of the times was very similar to that of the 1960's. With drafts and wars abroad, the hippies still preached love and happiness. They protested for equality and made their presence felt. Up until then, I had only known chaos and despair, other than the existence of Aimée. Now it was like a whole new world formed and this world was laying siege to all of Paris. This was very much to the dismay of the upper class citizens.

The whole of 1787 was spent in these areas of town where the enlightenment ran rampant. At my age, I did love those days even though I didn't really understand all of it. I think the reason I loved it so much was for the previous reason of its polarity to my father. The other reason, with an equal significance, was because Aimée loved it. She enjoyed these speeches more so than I did. The only thing that could stand in the way of our enlightenment was my father. He hadn't known that we attended these speeches and spent countless hours in the saloons. He was too caught up in himself to even care. Surprisingly, I was glad that he was. Our lives, at this time, were filled with happiness, Aimée, my father and I. We were happy for separate reasons though. My father was happy because I was hardly around to interfere with his business. Aimée and I were happy because we had finally found a purpose. This purpose was in the enlightenment. We truly believed that something good was going to come out of it. In the midst of all this positive energy the enlightenment brought, there still lurked that fact that France was diving head first into chaos. To top off the chaos in my little brain, the end of 1787, I started to receive vivid dreams at night. They seemed to be more like memories. I had already grown used to my frequent dreams but in these dreams, things were foreign to me. It started in December of 1787, one night as I slept.

Since it was December at the time, it was extremely cool like most winters in Paris tend to be. Aimée came in with the warming pan and heated my sheets up for me. By this time, Aimée had moved in with us and slept in my room on a bed she brought with her. After both beds were warmed and the candles were blown out, we would climb into bed. I usually would lie in bed for a long while before I could get to sleep. Aimée, on the other hand, was usually out within seconds. My usual routine was to stare out the window, which was on the wall parallel to my bed. Outside this window was a perfect view of the stars in the sky, on a clear night. I could look at them for hours, if I had the energy, but eventually I would give into sleep and tonight was no different. I passed out faster than usual.

The next thing I remember is laying on a hard surface. I thought maybe I had fallen off my bed and landed on the ground. This was until I realized something I hadn't experienced before. It was the heat. It was so hot, too hot for that matter. Being that it was in the middle of winter, there was no way it could get this hot. I could feel the sweat on my body, but before I could look around clearly, I was taken aback by something else. I could hear voices, loud voices that seemed to intensify as the seconds progressed. I looked at the ground, which was some type of cement slab, nothing fancy. When I looked up a little, I could see that there were walls. I remembered thinking I must have been in a room. The walls were a silky cloth material with a little brownish color. I noticed plants in each corner of the room. They were about waist height. I could still hear the voices, which seemed to be getting closer. On the corners of the wall, there were what looked like leather straps connecting the cloth walls. I could now hear the voice right outside the wall and it sounded like the voices were coming in. As I turned to the wall wwere the voices came from, I could see a table with a pair of legs hanging over the edge. They were completely motionless.

I used all of my energy to get up off the floor. Once I did, I looked towards the table to find a women laying on it. The first thing I noticed was her beauty. She had this black curly hair, which was gorgeous. Plus she was completely nude. It wasn't her beauty or her nakedness that startled me though. It was the fact that she was covered in what looked like blood. I approached the table and surveyed what I found to be the source of the blood. She had what appeared to be teeth marks on her neck. The wounds pierced deeper than anything I have ever seen before. The sight of the blood, from the wound, made me feel sick. I remember thinking the dream was so intense that I could taste the blood. I reached my hand to my mouth and whipped it off with the back of my hand. Looking down at my hand, I notice it was also covered in blood. This is why I could taste it. My mouth was full of it. The table was covered in blood and I remember seeing her ponytail lying in the puddle, soaking it up. It was then that I realized what had taken place.

Upon this epiphany, I burst in to tears. I grabbed the women and with strength I never before possessed, I held her in my arms. Once again my attention was drawn back to the voices. They sounded like they were right next to my head, but I didn't care. I started screaming, what sounded to me to be nonsense. Nothing I spoke sounded like anything I had ever heard. But the amazing thing was I knew what I was saying. Not because I understood the language, but because I could feel the emotion in my speech. I felt the pain and anguish in my heart, and I could sense the sorrow in my voice. I had only felt this once before in my childhood life and it was in the dream of my mother's death.

I brushed my hands through her blood soaked hair as I cried out to her. I showered her with kisses from her forehead to her neck. It was all too late. She was dead. I lifted my head to see if the voices had entered the room yet. It was then that I was smashed with a blunt object and I woke up to Aimée shaking me rather violently.

"What is it? What is it for God's sake?" She pleaded.

"Nothing, just another stupid nightmare." I replied trying to get her to go back to bed.

"You and those nightmares, you're the only kid I know that has so many nightmares." She responded jokingly. "Are you OK?"

"Yeah, fine, just a little shook up."

"Well, you were screaming like someone lit a fire under you and I couldn't understand anything you were saying. You sounded like your father when he comes home drunk." She said with a smile, and then she tried to impersonate him.

I, of course, thought it was hilarious. Anything making fun of my father was funny. So it made me feel slightly better.

"Did you want to tell me about it? Would it make you feel better?"

"No, I am fine really." I replied, which was a blatant lie.

"Do you want me to come and sleep in your bed with you?" She asked in her motherly voice.

I just nodded and she pushed back the covers and slid in. I cuddled up against her and placed my head on her chest. She put her arm around my neck and ran her hands though my hair.

"I love you, Renée." She said sincerely.

"I love you too, Aim."

This wasn't the first time we said that to each other, but I still never could get use to it. I knew I loved her like a mother and I cared for her far more than my father. I had gone the first ten or so years of my life without anyone telling me that they loved me. When Aimée started, I was afraid to say it back. It made me feel uncomfortable saying it. I'm not sure why. It's not that big of a deal, but I had to force myself to say it the first couple time. I think the problem was that I didn't truly know what love was. I knew that I cared for her and that I never wanted her to leave, but is that what love truly is? Would I die for her? No. Would I die for anyone? Most likely not, maybe if I had a child someday, but for Aimée I would have to say no. On the other hand, I wouldn't want or expect her to die for me. I don't think if you love someone, you should have to die for them. It is bullshit when people say I love them so much I would die for them, because more than likely, they are empty promises.

So if I truly knew what love was or not can be debated. All I knew was, if Aimée left me, I would be crushed and I would probably want to die. For now and for the foreseeable future, she was going nowhere. The rest of the night we both slept peacefully, holding each other like mother and daughter. A peaceful night it was, but the horizon looked gloomy and a dark cloud seemed to arrive over Paris. I hadn't known it at the time, but December 1787 would be one of my last peaceful months, for the rest of my life. With the coming of the New Year, everyone hoped for a new positive beginning, but it wasn't coming. The economy had hit an all time low and food was becoming scarce in the poorer sections of Paris and the countryside.

Every night following the dream of the dead woman, I had even more dreams of unfamiliar people, places and events. They seemed to be otherworldly. I couldn't recognize anything, but the people had the same form as my body just darker skin color. Like I said before, the things I remember the most were the warmth and the colossal surrounding jungle. I would tell Aimée of these dreams when they occurred. She dismissed them as childhood imagination. The reality was that they weren't dreams. They were memories, but I didn't realize this the whole time I was alive. I regarded them, as dreams so vividly perceived, that they burrowed holes into my brain. Especially, the dreams where there was death. They seemed endless, these dreams of death. There were crowds of men being chopped up and set aflame, a little girl being ripped apart by a beast or a men cutting a head off a women and throwing it off a staircase. Among these horrific memories there were wonderful memories of a loving family and devoted community, all of which my present life lacked. The combination of the dreams and the hellish state of Paris, it seemed as if I were heading towards a mental breakdown. On the other hand, I think everyone in Paris during the first few months of 1788 was feeling the same way.

The economy, which had been tanking for that past few years, was still no closer to recovery. And it was reaching its boiling point by the summer of 1788. The food shortage situation was becoming more than anyone could handle. Bread prices rose to a price never seen before. It was now almost a full month worth of wages for a single loaf of bread. This is what caused the riots I talked about earlier where people were being hanged for stock piling. Animosity was building towards the ever-extravagant King Louis and the hated Marie Antoinette. The only ironic factor that kept food in my mouth was the fact that my father had upper class friends who loaned him food money. These were the same people I hated, but it was either swallow my pride or die. I wasn't about to die and please my father.

Still as everyday for the past year, Aimée and I would go hear speeches downtown in the saloons. Even though these were small, crowded rooms that were rather dark and filthy, we loved them and we loved the people in them. It usually smelled of tobacco smoke and stale wine. Some of the people there you wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of an argument with. All this didn't matter however, we had a place in life and we had friends. No one wanted to harm each other in the saloons. There was a positive vibe in every one there. We were brothers and sisters and more important we were all citizens. In our eyes, we were all on the same level. Outside these doors, however, was a whole other story.

It wasn't uncommon to see drunken men laid out in the alleyways. Streams of filth flowed passed them, saturating what little clothing they had on with human waste. If they were lucky, they hadn't thrown up on themselves, making matters worse. This was usually not the case. The sight of some of them frightened me. I prayed I would never end up in that condition. If we were lucky, they were completely passed out. This way the horny, drunken, slobs wouldn't try to reach out and grab Aimée. They didn't care for me too much. I was still only fourteen years old. Conditions in the poor sections of Paris were now reaching deadly proportions. Starvation was much more common now than ever. The death rate increased dramatically, due to the starvation and civil unrest. On July 6th, the King dispatched ten thousand royal troops through the poor section of Paris to try and regain order. The presence of the royal troops just made matters worse. It started to resemble a dictatorship in France and the people wouldn't stand for that. Clashes between the third class and the royal troops were frequent.

The country was falling apart and everyone knew it, even the King. The King's need to reduce national debt at any cost in turn increased the people of the third class's need for bread. Without bread the Parisians were dying, but without raising taxes the King couldn't get out of debt. It was a ruthless cycle. Of course, there was one solution to this dilemma. All the King had to do was tax the upper classes more than the third class. Instead, they taxed the hell out of the people who couldn't afford it and let the people who could afford it be exempt. The King couldn't fathom a concept like this. His entire family had done this for hundreds of years. Most of all, I think the King had no clue what he was doing when it came to money. Money never mattered to him. He always had it. So, spending millions on the American Revolution meant nothing to him. He only wanted revenge and whatever he wanted, he got. This soon enough would change.

Among all this social desolation, there was a day in which all the third class thought was the redemption day. The day was August 27, 1788. Aimée and I had made our way down to the saloons like any other day. Except it wasn't quite like other days. There seemed to be at least a hundred people in the street, cheering and dancing.

"Aimée what's going on?" I asked her curiously.

"I'm not sure honey, let's go check it out."

We pushed our way through the crowd, trying to make it to our saloon. These people in the crowd were all jumping around and yelling, "Long live France". I couldn't tell what they were so happy about. It was only yesterday that these same people were cursing France and its present condition. Once we made it through the crowd and towards the entrance of the saloon, we noticed that traffic going in and out of the saloon was enormous. Lines of people were trying to enter the saloon, none of which seemed to succeed. Finally, we spotted a saloon regular that Aimée frequently had conversations with. He was a young man by the name of Antoine.

"Aimée, Renée have you heard the news?" He had to shout over the voices of the crowd.

The sound was almost deafening. I had no clue what he was talking about and neither did Aimée.

"No, what is it? What are these people doing here?" Aimée asked.

"It's Necker! He was just reinstated." Antoine replied. "We finally have our voice back."

"What is he talking about?" I asked Aimée, feeling rather stupid for not knowing already.

"Come on, let's go inside. I'll tell you all about it." He answered, rubbing my head.

Antoine grabbed Aimée's hand and Aimée held mine and together we all made our way through the immense crowd. It was much easier for us to make our way inside with Antoine at the head of convoy. He was a little over 6 foot and weighed about a hundred and ninety pounds. Other than the fact that he looked like he killed people for fun, he was an extremely nice and gentle man. He had long dirty brown hair, which he keeps in a ponytail like most men of the time. His face is covered with what looked like small chicken pox scars. His teeth were only slightly less decayed compared to a lot of the people at the time. From first glance at him, he was scary and people had no problem moving out of his way.

When we made it inside, it seemed to me that we would never get a table to sit at. There were so many people in the saloon that no one could move. There were women on the tables singing with their cups of wine swaying to and fro. It was quite a sight. We made our way past many tables full of people all the way to the back of the saloon. At the back of the saloon there was the bar. Antoine approached it and spoke to the bartender. He was out of hearing range from me, so I couldn't hear what was said. Even if I was close enough, it looked as if they were whispering. After a moment, I saw the bartender nod to Antoine and turn to a man standing next to a door a few feet away. He nodded to him as well. Antoine came back to us and brought us over to the door. Once at the door, Antoine reached out and embraced the man standing guard. The man was larger than Antoine, which was hard to believe. He was no doubt a bouncer. After a hand shake and a hug, the man opened the door for us, which led to a staircase.

"Come on, were going upstairs. No sense being crammed down here, right?" He asked rhetorically.

Without waiting for our answer, he grabbed Aimée's hand again and led us up the stairs. It was only a two-story building, but the second floor was far different than the first. When we entered the upstairs, I was stunned by the splendor of the room compared to the first floor. The first thing I noticed was an area rug at the entrance of the room. It was huge, maybe three foot by six foot. We didn't have things like this at my home, it was elegant. It had dark red diamond shapes with smaller brownish inner diamond shapes. The colors crossed each other making a mosaic of sorts. There was too much going on in the design to remember it all. My attention quickly shifted to other voguish designs in the room. I was suddenly taken by its emptiness. There was about a fourth of the amount of people compared to downstairs. The tables and chairs were extremely well kept compared to the bar. These were polished tables with extravagant carvings down the legs. There were windows along all the walls, but the shutters all remained shut. Instead of natural lights, oil lamps and candles illuminated the room. The final thing that struck me was on the wall parallel to the entrance. It was an enormous painting. It was about the size of the rug at the entrance.

The painting was of a group of men in a room, which resembles a dungeon. There were shackles on the ground and metal hoops which the shackles are connected to. But there were no prisoners. There was a large archway made of cement bricks and a man was leaning up against the archway with his face buried in his arms. He appears to be mourning and it seems the feeling was mutual with all the other men in the group. One man sat on the left side of the painting with his face down to the ground, while others seem to be crying. A man in the center of the painting faced the opposite direction. He had one hand covering his eyes and in his other hand he holds a chalice. This man was handing the chalice to the only man in the group who doesn't seem to be in emotional anguish. The man seems to be in the complete opposite state of mind. He sat on a bed with one hand accepting the cup and the other in the air, with triumph.

I had no clue what the painting was of, or what it stood for. I had never seen it before in my life. You could feel the emotion in the painting when you looked at it. The clothing of the men in the painting was exotic. They wore long sheets like suits that were just kind of thrown where ever. There didn't seem to be any structure in the clothing. It sure was fascinating though. I stopped Antoine and asked him about the painting.

"It's the death of Socrates, painted by Jacques-Louis David. It's only about a year old. Isn't it brilliant?" He asked as he marveled.

"Death of Socrates? Who is Socrates?"

"He is the father of our enlightenment. He challenged people to use their minds instead of being spoon fed by the government and church. He challenged us to question everything. In the end, he died for his beliefs, like any real man would." Antoine spoke with such energy and enthusiasm.

He smiled as he said this and upon conclusion he chuckled and rubbed my head like he always did. He then turned and continued onwards. I wasn't really sure what he meant at the time, but today I know. He was a philosopher in Greece four hundred and some odd years before the birth of Christ. Socrates taught the youth to question everything. This included their parents, church and even government. The government arrested Socrates for denying the Gods and corrupting the youth. He was given two choices, renounce his teachings or be put to death. He refused to renounce his beliefs and drank the hemlock. He died in doing so but his teaching lived on.

After we walked through the upstairs room, we finally made it to our table. We sat and waiters brought out a small amount of bread and wine. Of course, I could only eat the bread. I was too young for wine. I hadn't noticed it before, but there was some energy building between Antoine and Aimée. It seemed impossible that Aimée could find someone to be compatible. Like I said, she wasn't all that great looking. Then again Antoine wasn't a looker either. I could tell by the way he looked at her; he was undeniably drawn. I was so happy for them. We made pointless small talk for a while until I broke into the topic at hand.

"Who is Necker?"

"Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Jacques Necker was the finance minister to the King a few months back. But the King fired him."

"I thought it was the King's fault the economy is falling apart. If he was the finance minister, isn't it partly his fault?" Aimée asked.

I didn't even know what a finance minister was, but I pretended like I did, hoping they would tell me, without me having to ask.

"Well, not really." Antoine replied. "The economy has been deteriorating since long before Necker came about. He is our only true hope."

"Then why doesn't the King want him anymore?" I asked.

"The King found out something he hadn't known before. Necker is a third class sympathizer. He believes that the third party has the same rights as the upper classes do. The moment the King heard about this he fired him. Messed up huh?"

"So, what does this mean?" Aimée questioned.

"It means two important things... One, France might actually be pulled from the hole it dug for itself. Two, the third class has a voice in Versailles. He's an enlightened thinker. He believes in us and there is word that he trying to call up the Estate- General."

Antoine and the other men went into detail on the subject for the rest of the night. They spoke about the fact that Necker could get us the rights we always wanted. He could make it so the upper classes are not exempt from the taxes that plague us. They spoke of the Estate- General, which vaguely resembled the American House of Representatives. The only difference that mattered was the Estate- General had representatives from each of the three classes, unlike the House, which has representatives from each state all on an equal social level. It would be a place where the third class could voice their opinions. The reason why it was such a big deal to us was because it was to be the first time a King had reinstated it in over a hundred years. It seemed the government was now heading in the direction of democracy. This is what we all wanted dearly. We all celebrated like the war had been won, while in reality it was starting to show much different. In fact, it was only one of many battles in the war for the third class. By the spring of 1789, rumors about the Estate- General ran rampant, but the truth was only the diplomats truly knew the makeup of it. It was a good thing my father had so many friends in high places. I would sneak downstairs and listen into his conversations with his bourgeois friends. This information I leaked to my saloon friends.

The Estate- General was set up so each class had a one third vote. This meant that the two upper classes could always out vote the third. It was only an illusion of equality. Either way, it gave us an avenue to speak our concerns. No one in Paris knew at the time that this assembly, which gave France such hope, would be the catalyst to start the French Revolution.

Before that would happen, the streets were bustling with hope and controversy. You couldn't go anyway without hearing about the new assembly. People now took to the streets to voice their opinions, hoping it would make a difference. By March of 1789, it had been about five months since royal decree announced the restoration of the Estate- General and people flooded Paris looked for lodging and other goods. This new influx of consumers helped my father's business out greatly and with the increase of people in Paris, came the increased need to party. This my father did gracefully, at least that's how he saw it.

I was too busy with Aimée, Antoine and the rest of our third class sympathizers to take any notice of him. He hadn't laid a finger on me in months, mainly because I was never home. I spent every waking moment absorbing the social and moral movement that so desperately fought for freedom, equality and fraternity. The ironic thing was, this was the same movement that would, in only a few months, cast France into it darkest hours. A failed cry for freedom leads to the death of a nation.
Chapter Ten

The Estate- General was now in full swing as of May 5th, 1789. It was now a month since then and rumors spread throughout France about the whole process. No one who took part in it ever talked about the turmoil that was taking place. The two upper classes were trying to overpower the third, and further suppress them. They feared the worst; all citizens equal. The upper two estates wanted nothing to do with the third.

Not making the matter any better was the persistence of people like Robespierre in the Estate- General. Robespierre was well-educated and profound orator. When the Estates- General met for the first time, it was apparent that he was going to be a force to reckon with. In the first few days, Robespierre was standing before the assembly demanding that the clergy and the nobility pay the same taxes as the third estate. This is exactly the opposite of what the upper classes and the King wanted. They knew if the third class gained more freedoms, they would lose the leverage they had on them.

As the rest of May went by and the beginning of June expired as well, it was apparent to many that the Estate- General was not going to work out. Controversy over the representation of the third class formed a rift between the classes. On June 17th, the rift had become so vast that the third estate found it necessary to form its own party. They were no longer known as the third estate in the Estate- General. They were now known as the National Constituent Assembly. This new assembly was demanding that France have a new constitution and was relentless in their pursuit. The King felt he had no choice, but to lock the National Constituent Assembly out of the meeting hall, where they had been meeting for over a month. When the assembly arrived at the meeting hall to see they were no longer welcome, they simply moved next-door. In a tennis court, all five hundred and seventy eight members of the National assembly were present. They all made an oath to continue the efforts until the constitution was adopted.

Shortly after hearing of this event, the King would announce that the Estate- General was being dissolved. He then dispatched the royal military throughout Paris to suppress citizen riots. Ironically, many of the troops sympathized with the third class and changed sides. The first two weeks of July 1789, were filled with riots, so much so that Aimée and I, were afraid to leave our home at times. From our window, we could see men fighting in the streets and there was a constant howl coming from street speakers. My father was now forced to close the shop at certain times of the day, because of the fear of the rioters. He had been a well known royalist and feared the National Assembly would take their frustration on him, for being a traitor. Another fearful thought for me was I just turned fifteen years old, which meant I was almost old enough to take care of myself. This would no doubt take only a year or so. With money running out and the hatred of my father towards Aimée, I was quite certain that it would happen before I expected. To make matters worse, July 14th 1789 brought the downfall of everyone in France.

It was early in the morning, when we heard heavy, loud footsteps pounding up the steps to our apartment. The door flung open and Antoine appeared.

"Come! Hurry!" He yelled at the two of us.

We were too stunned to act accordingly.

"Calm down, what is it?" Aimée replied, as she walked over to comfort him.

"No, we must go, come on!" He repeated, while he gasps for air.

His face was dripping with sweat. His sudden appearance startled me, and his eagerness frightening. We have been on edge lately, with the fear of rioters ransacking our home due to my father's royalist views. The moment I saw Antoine so passionately trying to get us to take part in whatever it was he had in mind, I became extremely excited.

"OK, we'll come, but start explaining. What is going now?" Aimée demanded, as we gathered our things together.

"It's Necker, he has been dismissed again." Antoine explained.

"What? When did this happen? Right now?" Aimée replied.

I just stayed out of this conversation. I knew my role.

"No, it happened about three days ago, but people are livid. They are forming a National Guard, because they think this is the end of the National Assembly. There is talk of raiding the Bastille."

"You think it is a smart idea for us to take part in this?"

"We have to. It is our duty as citizens. Won't you come?"

"Of course, we will. Come on, Renée." She demanded.

Antoine pulled at Aimee who in returned pulled at me and we made our way out the door.

My blood was racing. I was excited and frightened all at the same time. Even at my age, I knew what the Bastille was. Everyone in France knew what the Bastille was. The large fortress like structure was a prison were the royal government tortured people found guilty of crimes, they more than likely never committed. It was the symbol of everything we hated in the Royal government. It was a symbol of the suppression, we citizens of Paris faced. Prisoners in the Bastille were chained to walls and beaten to the edge of life.

We ran down the street towards the Bastille, which was only about a ten minute run from my home. There seemed to be thousands of people running in the same direction as us. It was like a stampede. Men, women, and children all raced towards the Bastille to catch a glimpse. People were hanging out of their upstairs windows screaming, "Freedom, liberty, fraternity" or "Long live France". There was an undeniable energy in the crowd, which was radiant. The stream of people charging towards the Bastille was unstoppable.

When we approached the Bastille, I could see the mob ahead of us. All of which were holding guns, pikes, shovels, etc... When I saw all these armed people, I became petrified. I could only imagine the situation if it got out of hand. I grabbed tight to Aimée. I had always put my trust in Aimée to keep me safe. The noise of the rowdy crowd was thunderous. The only problem was we had no clue what was really going on. After roaming through the crowd for about an hour, Antoine found a friend who could fill us in.

The crowd had sent a negotiator into the Bastille to demand the release the prisoners and forfeit their guns and gunpowder. The Bastille had the largest stockpile of gunpowder in the city. The crowd, who had by now declared themselves as the French National Guard, needed these commodities. Many of the rioters had already raided the Hotel de Ville and ransacked the guns there, but there was no gunpowder. The sounding of the tocsin in the Hotel de Ville was no doubt the rioter's doing. The negotiators were in the Bastille for an hour or so and the crowd was growing intolerant. At about mid-day, things started to get frantic.

Even though we were somewhat far away from the Bastille, you could still see all that was going on. The long wait for the negotiating process had obviously exceeded the mob's patience. They stormed the large unguarded courtyard, which led to the Bastille entrance. After cutting the chains on the drawbridge, which fell and crushed one of the rioters, it was then that gunshots were first fired. No one could tell where the first shot came from, but the crowd where we were immediately dispersed. Some ran back to their homes, some ran towards the Bastille, and some, like me, just found somewhere to hide. The three of us ran to an alleyway where we could stay out of sight, yet still see the action.

Once we were in the alleyway safe from gunfire, Antoine proceeded to return to the action.

"Wait!!" Aimée yelled, grabbing his arms. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I have to go, let me go!"

"No, you can't. Please, stay with me." She said.

I could see the fear in her eyes.

"I can't, I have to go. They need my help." He tried desperately to get loose, but she wouldn't allow it.

"What if you get hurt or killed?"

"I'll never let that happen. I love you, now let me go." He pulled her close and embraced her.

She let him go and he turned at once and ran towards the gunfire. We remained in the alley, huddled up with each other, trying to catch a peek without getting shot. I could stick my head out around the side of the building and see most of the Bastille. The sight was not pretty. Smoke from the muskets was now everywhere you looked. The visibility level was close to nothing. When a gust of wind came and blew the smoke away, the sight became gruesome. I could see men, lying on the ground, screaming in agony. There was gunfire coming for all directions. The fight seemed to last forever and we sat in that alley, fixated on the scene. I was just a curious child, but Aimée was scared to death for Antoine and she wouldn't leave without him.

Around 3 o' clock, I saw a large group of men marching towards the Bastille. The men were all armed with weapons, as well as two groups of men who pulled cannons behind them. The men all opened fire on the Bastille and the fight continued as before. This went on for two more hours, with no cease. Then for some reason, which I did not know at the time, the gates to the Bastille opened wide. The rioters poured in, like metal pulled to a magnet. The mass streamed forward with no control. Apparently, the Bastille guards had realized the situation they were in. They opened the gates in hopes of defusing the situation. The gunfire continued and soon increased as the mob made their way inside. Then all of a sudden, the firing stopped. The feeling of security returned as the gunfire had ceased. Aimée and I ran out of the alleyway to find Antoine.

We ran through the crowd, mostly women and children by this point since all the men were in the Bastille. Aimée held my hand tight as we weaved in and out of the crowd. At first, we could not find anyone we knew. We surely had not seen Antoine anywhere. There were men and women lying on the ground with bullet holes ripped through every part of their bodies. Some people had been stampeded from the surge toward the Bastille. There were dead, dying and wounded as far as the eyes can see. Compared to the amount of people present, few were dead. For this we were lucky. We continued closer to the building and yet there was no sign of Antoine.

I could see women tending to their husbands, brothers, children etc... They all had bullets in their legs, chest and arms. The women used whatever they could to try and stop the bleeding. The men cried in agony from the pain and all the women could do, was hold them. As we strolled by, stepping over their bodies, I realized, this was the first time I had seen a man cry. My father never did. Whenever he got upset, he got violent. I tried not to pay any attention to the dead and wounded. We had a mission here. We had to find Antoine. We raced through the seemingly, never ending crowd. I listened for Antoine, but I couldn't make out anyone's voice over the countless cries. As I looked at Aimée, I could tell that she was getting frantic and if we did not find Antoine soon, she might have a meltdown. Then by some freak chance, I heard Antoine calling.

Aimée had not heard the call, but I did. I yanked on her arm, trying to get her to stop. She had been in full motion and took tremendous force to grab her attention. Once I got her to stop, we had to turn around and tried to find him again. We pushed through the crowd and out of the sea of people Antoine appeared; as if he was always there, awaiting our arrival. He was sitting on the ground, holding his lower leg. Aimée, upon seeing him, let go of my hand and ran towards him. She never even looked back to see if I was coming. If I wasn't so happy for her, I probably would have been hurt that she seemed to care so little.

She grabbed Antoine and held him tight. They kissed each other and embraced for a few moments. She squeezed him and in doing so pressed on the leg, he was still holding. He let out a small shriek and slightly pushed her away. In doing so, he exposed his leg to us. His pantaloons were covered in blood. Aimée let out a cry.

"Oh dear God, what happened?"

"I'm ok, really!" He said trying to hold back his pain. "I don't think it entered."

"You were shot! Oh God, we need to get you to a doctor."

"No, I'm fine really." He demanded.

He ripped open his pantaloons and showed us the wound. He was in fact shot by one of the gunmen. The bullet had hit him in the back of the calf. Luckily the bullet had only grazed him. Aimée ripped the bottom of her dress off and wrapped the cloth around the wound. It didn't completely cease the bleeding, but it would have to do until we could get him back home. After he was all bandaged up, Aimée and I helped him to his feet. We each took an arm around our necks and supported him as we walked. There was a lot of commotion behind us, while we were helping Antoine. Once we got him to his feet, I could finally see what was going on. People were funneling out of the Bastille, the stampede was returning.

A few men rushed out of the Bastille with another man, dragging him behind them. He was well dressed and clearly not from "our side". He looked like he was somewhat important. They dragged him down the street to the Hotel de Ville. Antoine insisted we follow to see the spectacle. I wish he hadn't.

"Who is that man?" I asked naively.

"Governor De Launay, he is the one who prevented us from entering all day. Bastard!"

"Antoine!" Aimée yelled, as if his mother and smacked him across the arm.

"What? He is a bastard. He is lucky I don't go kill him myself." He replied.

You could still hear the pain in his voice.

"Like you could do anything in your condition now." She ridiculed him.

"What's going on here?" I asked.

"I don't know honey, let's go find out." Aimée replied in her motherly voice.

We walked as fast as Antoine could stumble. When we got to the Hotel de Ville we saw the Governor and the rioters standing there. The rioters were all yelling insults at the Governor and demanded that action be taken against him. They spoke with such obscenities that Aimée tried to cover my ears, but I pushed her hands away. The Governor was clearly in rough shape. He had been kicked and punched all over his body. The mob must have had their way with him on the way over here. The mob quarreled over what to do with the Governor until the Governor lifted his head and made a demand. I still to this day do not know why he said it, but it was the beginning of his end.

"Enough, kill me already!" Governor de Launay demanded.

Faster than Governor de Launay could get the words out of his mouth, the mob descended on him stabbing him numberless times. The Governor fell to the ground and Aimée shocked at the sight, tried to cover my eyes and take me away. I wouldn't allow her to, however. I pulled myself away from her grip and turned back to the scene. I saw a man cutting into the governor's neck. The crowd cheered him on in normal barbaric fashion that accompanies these kinds of events. Once the head was severed, it was impaled on a pike. The barbaric leaders of mayhem paraded the pike all through the streets.

As the mass made its way down the main street, following the severed head, Aimée demanded that we go back to my house immediately. She feared there would be a backlash, by the government. She figured the King would send out his troops to revenge the Governor's death. On our way back to my house, people in the streets had the same thought. Men, women and children were all out building barricades and collecting stashes of guns in preparation of a royal counter-attack. She knew that Antoine and I couldn't take anymore of the chaos.

We arrived at my home and we quickly went upstairs, slipping past my father with ease. All three of us went to my room where we laid Antoine on the bed. The dress bandage wasn't holding the blood in sufficiently. We need more cloth than just a strip of dress. Aimée, after finding the right materials, fixed up the wound on Antoine's calf. I stood at the window of my room and watched, waiting for the King's cavalry to roll in. I sat in the windowsill for hours. The cavalry never came. The backlash never happened. People were at the Bastille all day and night, tearing the building down, brick by brick. That night Aimée and I sat up late watching Antoine sleep.

"How is he?" I asked her.

"Oh, he'll be just fine." She said confidently. "He just needs some rest."

"Thank God!" I replied.

"What about you?" She asked. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine." I answered, with little confidence.

"I tried to get you out of there. I knew something bad was going to happen, but you didn't want to leave."

"I know, I know. I'm not really sure why I didn't want to leave, but I felt like I needed to see it."

"Well, I am glad we are safe." She said.

"So am I!" I replied, with a smile.

It was late, so we both lay down to sleep. The following day brought more surprises. For one, there was still no counter attack from the royal troops. Also the King had announced that he was recalling Necker back to the finance minister position. We had won. The rebellion had won. Now we had our inside man back and everyone was hoping that things were going to get better. However, fear was starting to emerge. There was a scene of panic and paranoia, which now spread like wild fire. In the following week or so, the fear swept across all of France and anyone who was on the wrong side of the revolution caught it.

Everyone in Paris was on edge in the weeks following the Bastille storming. No one could believe that the King had just let it slip past. Everyone was waiting for the next attack, but the King was in no position to do so. His powers were diminishing with every second that passed. Now there were rumors that the National Assembly was going to draft their own constitution, in hopes that the King would have no choice but to sign it. This further intensified the fear, since the upper classes were going to lose much of their status. Worst of all for some, even the third class citizens, like my father, were going to lose all ties from the upper classes. My father too caught the fear. A majority of his sales were to the upper estates and he even received loans from some of his bourgeois friends. These men could in fact come to my father anytime and demand the money. So, if these men were to look down at him for his status, they could indeed insist immediate payment. This my father could not afford. He was poor. Even with the loans, he was still poor. My father was being forced into desperate measures.

By August 7th of 1789, the Fear had not dissipated. People were still up in arms about the whole Bastille incident. However, they were more positive about what the outcome would be. In the Providences, it was a slightly different story. The Great Fear had hit them especially hard. The peasant farmers thought the government had it in mind to seize their land and crops. Surprisingly, no attacks on them came from the government. In Paris, the National Guard, headed by Marquis de Lafayette, took to the streets. The presence of the National Guard was met with mixed emotions. The revolutionaries, as we called ourselves, felt the National Guards presence was justifiable and necessary. The upper estates men thought the complete opposite. They believed they were now becoming prisoners in their own city.

As feared, The National Assembly did vote to eliminate the special rights of the nobility. Now the two upper classes had to pay taxes just as we did. This caused a grave problem for my father. Now having to pay taxes as well, my father's friends came calling for their loan payments. My father didn't have money to pay them back. Not only was he defaulting on his loans, his friends were now looking down at him. They also knew that Aimée and I favored the revolutionaries over the king.

It was on this day, August 7th, when I realized the full effect the National Assembly's decision had on my father. Aimée and I had just come back for our afternoon walk and we entered the side door to go upstairs. It was like any other time we came home. We wanted nothing to do with my father or his friends. That day was different though. We entered the side door and tried to make a mad dash upstairs, but my father had been waiting for me. As soon as we entered, he called out my name. Aimée insisted that we go to him and find out what he wanted. I agreed, as I always did when she demanded something. We walked into the shop where my father and his friends would sit around the tables and converse. I noticed when I walked in that everyone seemed overly happy about something. I could tell this wasn't going to be fun.

"Aimée, Renée, please sit." My father asked, politely.

I knew this was something major. He was never this nice to either of us. Not even in front of his usual friends. At the table, there sat a man, about my father's age. He was dressed in the typical upper class attire. He also had a white wig on and heavy beard. He spoke sophisticatedly and firmly. He held a shinny wooden cane in one hand and the other held his mug of wine. In the chair next to him, there sat a younger man. He was probably no older than nineteen, I thought. He was dressed as his father and eerily resembled him. He seemed to be a miniature version of the old man, minus the beard and the speech. He was a rather cute man, but I never remember being highly attracted to him. We sat in the chairs next to each other. I couldn't help, but to think how bizarre this all felt.

"I want to introduce you to someone." He said, as if I cared. "This is Monsieur Andre Mallory and his son Monsieur Marc Mallory."

"How do you do?" I asked politely. Then I looked at my father and rudely asked. "Can I ask what this is all about? You never introduce me to your friends."

"Haha, little women, you got to love them." My father replied trying to rebound the conversation from my rude comment. "She's always over reacting."

I wanted to lash out at him for this comment, but Aimée had grabbed my arm, implying that I should calm down. I hated him so much I could slice his throat right there and then. When I became upset with my father, memories of the first night he raped me as a child flashed in my head. This in turn enrages me further. At this point, those memories came back and I was in fact ready to pounce. Instead, I just sat back in the chair and prayed for this conversation to be over.

"Monsieur Mallory and I have been talking and we have come up with a great proposal." He said as he smiled, like he had just won a lifetime of free bread or something. "We have decided that you and Marc are going to be married in the fall."

My jaw nearly fell off when I heard this comment and Aimée seemed equally as shocked. This couldn't be happening. I couldn't let this happen.

"Excuse me. What did you just say?" I asked.

"Come on Renée, you know exactly what I said. You and Marc are to be married this fall."

"Over my dead body, am I marrying him." I shouted and stormed out of the shop.

I ran down the street about a hundred yards to an alleyway. Once in the alleyway, I collapsed and began crying hysterically. I must be dreaming, I thought. I tried slapping myself in the face to wake myself up, but it was happening. I was already awake. I wasn't upset about having to marry this man. If anything it would get me out of my father's house. I had plans to marry someone I loved. I refused to be like my father, who seemed to completely forget about my mother since her death. I wanted true love, not a marriage of convenience. Most of all, this brought about the realization that none of my dreams would ever become true. If I were to marry this man, there would be no use for Aimée. I would have a guardian, my husband. I would more than likely lose her forever, just as I lost my mother and I didn't know if I could handle that. I just sat there in the filthy alleyway with my head in my lap as I cried. I then felt a hand on my shoulder and heard a voice.

"Hey baby, you alright?" Aimée asked.

She had left the shop and followed when I ran out.

"I can't believe him." I shouted in-between my crying. "Does he actually think I'd go along with this?"

"I'm sorry to say this honey, but you don't have any choice." She said, gently trying not to further upset me. "Come here. It's not the end of the world."

"I know, but what about you? What are you going to do?"

"I'll be fine. I'm always going to be there. Don't think this is the end of us. I'll stop by as much as I can."

"I love you, Aimée!" I cried to her.

"And I love you too honey. I always will. You're my little girl."

Aimée grabbed me and hugged tight. It made me feel a little better, but I was still distraught by the whole scene. I knew my father and I knew his friends. They wouldn't let Aimée come visit me. I would probably never see her again. They all know our beliefs and connections. The first thing they would do was probably a brainwashing session. I could just imagine them now, sitting around a table drilling my brain with royalist bullshit. Next would be to dress me in nice clothing and parade me all around town with all but a sign saying "Look at my property". That's all I would be to this bourgeois types. I was a piece of property and a birth machine. The revolutionaries at least saw me as a human. I might not have the same rights as them either way, but they don't look down at me.

We sat on the ground of that alley way for about half an hour, until I calmed down. We didn't even speak for most of the time. We just sat there as I cried and Aimée tried to comfort me. Once I was finished and I pulled myself together, we went back to my house. I decided we needed to go back to the shop and talk with my father. I expected that the Mallory's would still be there, but they had already left. My father was still in the shop, however. He sat in a chair with his head on the table. His head lay on one of his arms, while his other hand grasped a mug of wine. As the door to the shop opened, he turned and glared at us as we entered. I could tell by the look on his face, that this wasn't going to be good.

"Leave." He said in a calm, but hostile voice.

We just stood there for a second not knowing what to do. Aimée turned to leave and I followed suit.

"No, not you. You can leave Aimée, but Renée stays here."

"I'm not staying here with you in this condition." I replied.

"What gives the right to disrespect me like this, huh?"

"Because you're a drunken bastard!" I yelled.

I was pissed now and lost my control. I could tell by the flames shooting out of his ears, that he was equally pissed now.

"Why should I listen to you?" I continued. "You do nothing, but disrespect me. You have done nothing for me, ever."

"Excuse me?" He replied. He was now up on his feet and approaching me. He stood inches from my face as he yelled. "I have done nothing for you. You call this home, the food I give and your security, nothing? I do everything for you!"

"Yeah like what? Kill my mother!" I realized what I had said and was surprised it came out of my mouth. I have never brought this up before, ever. He just stood there with a shocked look on his face. "Yes I know. I know you killed my mother, you son of a bitch."

"You are delusional. You stupid little girl." He turned around trying to get away.

"You don't think I know, do you?" I was walking towards him as he now tried to escape my presence. Aimée was trying to hold me back. She was successful, since I was much weaker than she was. "Where you going? Walking away like you always do."

"You are just a stupid little girl. You know nothing."

"You don't think I know that you beat her to death. You think I don't know that you were furious that I wasn't the boy you wanted." I was now screaming and crying, still trying to get out of Aimée's grasp. "You think I don't know that she cried out for you to stop hitting her, because she loved you. She screamed I love you, over and over. You must remember this."

My father just stood there, with a look of utter confusion on his face.

"I'm not even going to go into the fact that you raped me when I was only seven years old."

I collapsed on the floor after my last outburst. I sat on the ground with my knees up to my face and I cried into my dress. I wanted to kill him, but I knew that was impossible. I think that's why I was crying. I was so helpless; so hurt. I wanted my mother to be alive. I was missing that part of my heart, which was designated for her. Aimée stood behind me, rubbing my head. She was always there to comfort me. In this way, she was the closest thing to a mother I had. My father was just standing there like a statue. I hadn't heard a single noise come from him. I couldn't even tell if he was breathing. Sitting on that floor, I realized something. I had no choice in any matter. I was a little girl destined to be a woman, the same woman as every other French woman. I would never have a choice in my life. I was no better than a slave. I looked up to my father. My hair matted over my face and tears poured down.

"I'll do what you want." I told him in a calm voice; as calm as I could get it. "I'll marry Marc, but if I end up with the same respect from him or his family as I do from you, I'll tell everyone. Don't think I won't. I would give up my life just to ruin yours, you bastard."

He still stood there in the same statue position. No words or emotions came from him. I couldn't see Aimée, since she was behind me, but I could feel her rubbing my back gently.

"Do you understand, DAD?" I said in an irritated voice and still he stood there with his eyes staring, fixated on the ground. "Do you understand?" I shrieked.

"Yes, I do." He said calmly.

He then turned around and walked through the front door, leaving Aimée and I in the shop.

I turned and jumped in to Aimée's arms. She held me tight, just like any mother would. I cried with my head on her shoulder. After a few moments, I calmed down enough to sit in the chair calmly. Aimée and I never said a word. We each sat there trying to soak in what happened. Had I finally beat my father? Was this the victory I had been waiting for, for so long? It sure didn't feel like it. I imagined my victory feeling much more splendid than the suffering I felt now. Had my father admitted to killing my mother? He surely didn't deny it. I realized right then, as I sat in that chair, I had my father by the balls now. What would his friends think if I went around telling them he was a murderer? It wouldn't matter if it were true or not. My father was third class. His upper class friends would believe that he was capable of it. He couldn't afford to look bad. Even if it were false, it would still make him look terrible that I, his own daughter, would spread such rumors. What kind of a father could he be, if his own daughter would do such things?

This was the exact point of my life when I started to feel a shred of hope for the future. I now had one less thing to worry about. I had a feeling my father was not going to be a problem anymore. Especially now that I agreed to marry Marc Mallory, this meant he was getting what he wanted. So was I, in a way. I would rather live with anyone else in the world than my father. So I guess, in the end, we both won. I just hoped that the Mallory family would treat me better than my father. I wished this great hope would last, but as great as it was, it would be challenged endlessly, for the rest of my life. The first challenge was just around the corner.
Chapter Eleven

You know what is funny about my father? It doesn't matter what kind of argument we get into, he always pretends like nothing ever happened. Just like when he molested me when I was a child, he just pretended I had imagined it. It was no different this time. I don't think I saw him for the rest of that day, but the days that followed seemed as if the whole conversation had been a dream. There was no mention of the arrangement that had been made between the Mallory's and my father. No mention of the obviousness of my mother's death. There was one thing that had changed though. It seemed as if my father was more polite towards me, even if it was only a minute amount. I noticed this change a few weeks after our heated argument.

I had come in from my walk like so many times before. Of course, I had to walk past my father's workshop to reach the staircase, which led upstairs. Aimée and I always made it a point to sneak past as quietly as possible, like usual. This time we were not so lucky. We seemed to be getting worse at sneaking or he was just waiting for us.

"Renée, honey, come here." He yelled as he heard us enter.

I rolled my eyes thinking, why did God curse me with such an annoying father? I couldn't stand it when he called me honey.

"What?" I stormed through the doorway, leading into the shop. "You know I hate when you call me that."

"What? A father can't call his little girl honey?"

"Are you drunk?" I asked. "It's only nearly noon. You shouldn't be drinking this early; people will think you have a problem."

"No, I'm not drunk. I'm just in a cheerful mood." He was smiling ear to ear. It made me sick. I couldn't stand looking at his face. "Look what I got you."

He walked over to a box, which was sitting on top of one of the shop tables. It was a rather large box. It stood about a foot high and two feet wide. He lifted the lid and started pulling items out and placing them on the table. He actually looked like a dad might look on Christmas as he handed out the gifts. I wasn't fooled. He wasn't a normal father. He couldn't ever be. In order to be a loving caring father, you have to actually love and care. Those two words did not exist in his dictionary. I looked at Aimée, who stood there as dumbfounded as I. We had walked into the twilight zone. I remember telling myself to wake up, but I was not dreaming...

He retrieved a dress from the box, made of linen with flower embroideries on it. It was beautiful and for a second I was taken aback by it. For that second, I had almost fallen into my father trap. I had almost given in. Quickly, I suppressed the feelings, but they keep coming back. For the first time, I felt complete gratitude towards my father. However, my personal wall was stronger than this. He could not break it down with a dress. This was a bribe and I realized he was trying to buy my love.

He pulled a doll out of the box next. It was equally as beautiful as the dress and strangely it had on the same dress on and vividly resembled me. As much as I wanted to deny that I liked the gifts, I couldn't. They were beautiful. My father stood there with the stupid grin on his face, like he had just saved his fatherhood. He stared at me waiting for a response, but I was too bewildered to speak.

"What do you think?" He asked joyfully.

"They're both beautiful, but may I ask why you got them?"

"What, a father can't get his daughter something nice every once and a while?"

"Don't give me that crap, dad." I replied.

"Watch your mouth. Don't think I won't take these back."

"Oh! Is that what this is?" I questioned. "You're going to use this as leverage against me aren't you? You buy something nice and threaten to take back if I disobey."

"You know, you are just like your mother!"

"Oh, let's not go there, dad." I said irritably.

"You both drive me crazy!" He said with a grunt.

He grabbed the dress and doll and shoved them in the box. He picked the box up and walked towards me. Shoving the box into my arms, he turned and walked out the front door into the street. I stood there in utter confusion. Aimée seemed to be in the same state of mind. I couldn't help wondering what he was up to. Could it be that he had in fact, changed his ways? I seriously doubted it, but I couldn't doubt that it was a possibility. Maybe our conversation the other night had awakened him. All I could think was that he was just trying to buy my love so I didn't destroy him.

Once again, the following days were as if the whole thing never happened to my father. He was like a goldfish with a memory span of 24 hours. The only difference now was that I didn't try to stop him. I just let him buy me nice dresses and toys. So be it, if it made him feel more secure. I even pretended like I cared, I figured it was the least I could do. I just couldn't let him think I had forgotten about the night he decided to marry me off.

The next few months were filled with endless wedding planning. My father devoted 100% of his time it to. How sweet, you're thinking, right? No, it wasn't sweet. Maybe if he cared about me, it would be sweet. He just wanted me out of his hair and most of all he wanted to upgrade his social status. I might have been a young woman, but I wasn't brain-dead. I knew what was going on. I didn't try to spoil any of it though. Aimée had a talk with me about it and she thought that this was a perfect chance for me to make something out of myself. Well, as much of something that I could have for the times. Also, the Mallory's didn't live in a run down, insect infested apartment like we did. They had their own home, and I heard it was beautiful. When I got to thinking about it, I thought that moving in with them couldn't be any worse than living with my father. There would always be food, someone there to care for me and new people to meet. In a way, I was rather thrilled about the move. The only thing that hindered my enthusiasm was the fact that the Mallory's would not let Aimée live with us. I would be lucky if they even let me visit her or vice versa. Aimée reinforced to me that no one could permanently separate us.

Around the same time in France, the National Assembly had fixed up a new constitution, which somewhat resembled the American Constitution. This was a huge victory for the revolutionaries. The article ensured the men of France the right to life, liberty, property, security, and resistance against oppression. All men were now born free and were to remain free, unless they did something that directly harmed someone else or society. It also entitled two of the most important rights to people during the time. We now would have the right to practice whichever religion we choose and freedom of the press was established. There were many more important rights and privileges that are noteworthy, but these two seemed to be the most important.

The whole of September 1789 was yet again the high times of my life. However, you know how the saying goes, what goes up, must come down. I had started to spend time with Marc Mallory, which Aimée told me would be good, since we were to be married. We would go on walks through the streets of Paris and like the strangers we were, we would say little to nothing. I found out the unimportant facts about him quite fast. How old he was? What his hobbies were? I asked those types of things. He told me he was eighteen years old. I figured the age difference wasn't too bad considering my father could have married me off to one of his friends. It wasn't that uncommon for the times. He had a love for writing, which I could obviously agree with. He told me about the poems and stories he had written. He had been lucky enough to have a special tutor that taught him how to read and write. I'm sure he was far more intelligent than I. I could only read and write, very little.

After spending more time with Marc, I realized that he was actually a great guy. There was still one problem. I didn't find him attractive and I couldn't figure out why. He would have been attractive to nearly any other female, but I thought of him as many think of their brothers. I couldn't put my finger on it, but with every passing day, I was becoming drawn to him as a friend. I figured we could be great companions. The best part of it all was that he treated me like a lady. This was far from my norm, except by the people Aimée hung out with. It felt good and as September expired, I started spending all my time with Marc. He even let Aimée come with us on some of our walks. He didn't seem to discriminate against her "social beliefs". This was a surprise to me that he didn't seem to care. I thought he was either naïve or he cared too much about trying to make our newfound relationship work. I was soon shown to be wrong, although I'm sure he was a little of both. I, as it turned out, was the naïve one.

One day, Marc had come over to my house for our daily walk through Paris. While we walked, I was talking about how much I enjoyed reading. Reading and writing was about the only thing we had in common. We would talk about it endlessly. In mid sentence, he interrupted me and pulled something out of his jacket pocket.

"I brought this for you." He said and he handed me small book, bound in ribbon. "I know you like to read and as much as you think I don't realize your beliefs, I do."

The book was only a few pages in length. It was bound along the left side of the sheets of paper, with red pieces of ribbon. The cover read, "What is Enlightenment?" by Immanuel Kant. I couldn't believe my eyes. Where had he found this? I had heard some of Aimée's friends talking about it in the saloons, but I had never actually seen it. What made it more significant was that it was translated into French. I couldn't wait to show it to Aimée. I had that feeling of gratitude again, but this was actual, pure generosity. I couldn't help myself. I turned, hugged him tight and planted a kiss right on his cheek.

"You like it?" He asked with a face filled of smiles.

"Of course!" I replied, cradling the book against my chest.

"I know that your beliefs are not what my father would have them be." He stated. "At the same time, my beliefs are not what my father would want them to be either. How can I criticize you, when I myself am faulty too?"

He grinned and winked his eye. I returned with a smile and we continued to walk. No longer did I think he was simply trying to fulfill his obligation. I had the sense that he truly cared about me. After our walk, I immediately tracked down Aimee and showed her the book. She was as astonished by it as I was. That night we took it to the saloons with us, so we could show it off to our friends. Since I still couldn't read like a pro yet, I had to have Aimée read it to me. In fact, that night at the saloon, she read it out loud for everyone to hear. She stood on a chair at the front of the bar and recited the book. One hand was holding the book, the other hand swaying about, as if she were a conductor of an orchestra. All eyes were fixated on her throughout the entire performance and at the conclusion, the drunken customers cheered.

Between the Bastille storming and the end of September 1789, not much had happened in the ways of the revolution. The National Assembly had established the Rights of Man, which was to be our new constitution. Other than that, there was not too much to worry about. The Great Fear still spread throughout the countryside, but the city had simmered down to a livable state. That was until the beginning of October. That's when signs of the anger towards the King surfaced once more. Everyone knew that the King ate enough food in one day to feed a hundred people and drank like a fish. This was a fact! The extravagant life style of the King and Queen drove us citizens mad. A group of women in France decided to put an end to their starvation and the King's excess. They were going to bring the King to his knees. Even the men on our side had to laugh. Their laughter only further motivated them.

The first few days of October were filled with conspiracy. There were rumors that the women of Paris would boycott their responsibilities until the men were fed up enough to force the King to hear their cries. Others wanted to storm every bakery or anywhere else there was bread and ransack the goods. I guess neither of these suggestions worked though, because on October 5th, 1789 the women of Paris unleashed their plan and it was far more effective then the previously stated. The night of October 5th, Aimée and I stayed home since I felt a little under the weather. At this point, I was still living with my father, until further notice. We decided to stay indoors and she would read the book that Marc had given to me again. After that we just sat and talked. Marc also gave me some materials to write with, you know, paper, ink etc... I tried to write some poems and I had Aimée edit them for me. I felt intelligent and powerful when I wrote. I didn't care what it was, writing anything made me fill like I had a purpose.

That night while we sat in my cramped bedroom at my father's apartment, little did we know that the women of Paris were about to unleash fury. At about nightfall, we heard footsteps running up the stairs. I knew it could only be one person.

Antoine's large, clunky feet made an unmistakable noise as he charged up the steps. The door bursted open, without even a single knock, and he rushed in. Once the door was open and he knew he had found us, he stood there slouched over, hanging on the door. He sounded as if he had just run a marathon, but then again, he always sounded this way when he came here. I think it was the flight of steps he always had to ascend. He was sweating and huffing and I thought he might pass out. After a second or two, he finally found the breath to mutter his words.

"The women..." He said in-between breaths. "They're going to storm Versailles."

"What? Where did you hear this from?" Aimée questioned in amazement.

"It's all over the city... Hundreds of women are marching there as we speak."

"Who would be crazy enough to try that?"

"The fish women." He simply answered.

I knew who the fish women were. Everyone knew who the fish women were. No one called them fish women to their faces, in fear of an ass whipping. They got their name from the jobs they did. Many of them would carry and load large boxes of fish. Hence, the name fish women. These were the women of the city that even the men did not want to mess with. They were the brutish, fearless, muscular women who actually did work for a living. They could compare to the biker chicks now a days. They were the type of women that you would see in the saloons, out-drinking the men and fist fighting each other. If there were any group of women that could get this job done, it would be them.

"Oh, my God." Aimée gasped. "What do they plan to do?"

"I don't know. Your guess is as good as mine. I doubt they even know." He was calmer now than before and easier to understand. "I heard they plan to kill the Queen, ransack the palace and force the King to hear our demands."

"We should go!" I said enthusiastically.

"Absolutely not." Aimée demanded. "You are sick. Don't you remember?"

"But Aimée..." I said like a child.

"But nothing. You're not going anywhere!" She replied like a mother.

"She is right Renée. If you are sick, you do not want to be there." He tried to ensure me. "It is a twelve mile walk. In your condition, you shouldn't even try to make it."

"I don't really want to go there anyways." Aimée tried to convince me. "With the fish women there, no one knows what might happen."

"I'm going back out to see if I can find out some more gossip. I will return to keep you informed."

He walked over to Aimée and gave her a kiss on the cheek. After they embraced, he came to speak me.

"Get some rest. I hope you feel better." He said with a smile as he rubbed head, causing my hair to go every which way. "I'll be back, if not tonight, then the first thing in the morning."

We said our goodbyes and he left the apartment, as quickly as he came. I walked to the window of my bedroom and looked out over the buildings. I remember thinking, right then people were making history only twelve miles from where I stood. Little did I know how profound our action would be on history! In hindsight, it was truly amazing.

"Do you think what we are doing is right?" I asked Aimée as I stood with my back to her, staring out the window.

"Yes!" She replied without a second thought. "This is our duty Renée. The Americans kicked Britain out of their colonies, because they knew it was the right thing to do. We must do the same. Kick out our oppression."

I stood there, staring out the window, wondering if this was indeed the right thing to do. I knew that we all have the right to life and liberty, but people were dying and I couldn't justify that in my head. I felt torn between my feelings of hope and anxiety that we were doing wrong. Either way, I knew that, I myself could not have stopped them if I wanted to.

"This is out of my control." I thought. "Whatever happens; will happen."

I stepped away from the window and went back to sit with Aimée. We continued our reading and writing until nightfall. I continued to think about what could possibly be happening in Versailles, at that moment. Antoine had not returned with any news and I hoped no news was good news. He had said right before he left, that he might not be able to return until morning, so we were not too concerned. He must have had a good reason. The night expired and we settled down for sleep. Sleep was not effortless that night. Antoine's words about the women occupied my mind. As every other night though, I seemed to manage. I was only asleep for a moment, when I suddenly awoke, in the middle of a forest. Snow was falling all about. I was panic-stricken and thrown off by the unfamiliarity of my surroundings. Frantically, I spun around in each direction like a petrified rabbit, looking for an escape route.

There was a horrid taste in my mouth and disturbing voices surrounded me. Alien voices, in the form of cries, were wailing just beyond the forest edge. It is almost impossible to not recognize the agony in any person's voice. The voices intensified and I couldn't help but become uneasy. Something in me told me to follow the voices. Without a second thought or concern for my well being, I listened. It was not long before I found them. How I wish I didn't.

I pushed my way through the dense trees and through the branches I could see an opening. I assumed that the voices must have been coming from out there and I continued my way through. With all my might I broke through the edge of the trees, where the clearing began. Unaware of my own strength, I broke through the tree limbs and fell forward. I laid face down on the ground and when I looked up, I came eye to eye with the voices.

There was a group of about four men standing around the edge of a pit, in the ground. They all stood there gazing into the ditch. From my position, I couldn't see what it contained, but I had a good clue. I managed to regain my composure and returned to my feet. I walked through the deep snow towards the group of men. As the edge of the pit receded, it revealed its contents. The trench contained a group of about twenty something people, whose cries had led me to them. They were mostly women and little children. The thing that struck me was they were completely nude. There were a few men lying in the pit. From what I could tell, they were dead, soaked in blood and riddled with little holes all over their bodies. They looked like little musket ball holes. The others, who remained on their feet, huddled together in fear as their screams filled the air. I wanted to help them, but I knew I couldn't. The fear I felt for the other men, on the edge of the pit, was substantial.

I watched in horror as the men poured a liquid onto the women and children. I couldn't think of what the liquid could possibly be, but at the sight of it, the women's screams intensified. For that reason, I knew it could not be good. I could feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up. There was a man holding a torch, which I didn't think twice about. Except for the fact it was daytime, but I didn't question it at the time. It just never clicked. Those who filled the pit were cover in filth; bloody and dying. Mothers held their dead children in their arms crying as they looked upward for God. If I had known what was going to happen next, I may have tried to intervene. It is still hard to even fathom it, now.

The man holding the torch launched it into the air far enough to land directly in the middle of the pit. I watched the torch flip end over end through the air as it arched its way down. My heart dropped to my feet. I was terrified for the person who was going to get hit by it. I was ignorant to their real worries. When the torch hit the crowd, there was a large explosion. Startled, I stumbled backwards and lost my footing. Once again, I fell to the ground. I think it was more the shock and fear that caused me to stumble backwards. The burst wasn't that dramatic. I had just never seen something like that before. I could hear the women and children's horrid cries as the flames burnt their flesh off. I couldn't force myself to look. I felt a stinging need to, but I just couldn't bring myself to it. Instead I lay face down on the ground, with my head in my arms. As I started to cry, someone came up from behind me and shook my shoulder violently.

"Renée, wake up!" I heard the voice yell.

I looked over my shoulder and realized it was Aimée. I was back in my room. I was lying on my stomach on the bed, flopping around like a dying fish.

"Renée, wake up!" She yelled again. "It's the fish women. They are on their way back, get up!"

I rolled over and Aimée grabbed me, forcing me to my feet.

"What? What is going on?" I asked.

"I'll tell you on the way there, just get dressed." She demanded.

"Where are we going?"

"Damnit, just get dressed!"

I quickly shut my mouth after I realized that I was on the verge of seriously pissing Aimée off. I got up and threw on the same dress I wore most of the days. We headed down the steps of the apartment entrance and made our way to the street. The street was hectic with people flowing every which way. It was the exact scene, on the city streets, as it was on the day they stormed the Bastille. People were everywhere. Aimee nearly pulled me behind her as we forged our way to our destination. Where? I hadn't found that out yet.

"Where in God's name are you dragging me too?" I asked.

"I'm not sure exactly where yet, but I heard that the fish women are on their way back from Versailles." She replied. "Antoine came back this morning and told me the news."

"Which would be what? What happened?"

"They did it. Those crazy bastards did it." She laughed. "They marched all the way to Versailles. They stood outside of the gates and demanded that the King let them in. After many hours, I guess, the King had no choice and the women made their way inside. Rumor is that some of the women planned to kill the Queen, but she fled before the women could get a hold of her. Somehow or another, the women got the King to leave Versailles and move to Paris. They are on their way back now."

"What about the Queen? Did they kill her?"

"I do not think so. I heard that both the King and Queen were on their way here."

We walked on looking for the King's escort. It didn't take very long; we just followed the flow of traffic. Eventually, we came across the escort and the carriage carrying the King and Queen. To my amazement, a group of at least a hundred Parisians surrounded the carriage. People were cheering and crying. I couldn't really sense if there was a happy or sad vibe. We made our way through the crowd until we were only about twenty yards away. It was then that I noticed something repugnant. The fish women were escorting the carriage through the streets of Paris and the leaders of the group were holding spikes with human heads on them. The sights of the heads triggered a flash of memory of a woman's severed head, rolling down a flight of stairs, but it was gone as fast as it came. The faces of the victims were painted like women and jokers. The fish women danced as they made their way down the street. Carriages full of wheat and bread followed the carriage of the King. Women on the food carriages passed the goods to the people in the crowd.

The two things I remember vividly are the sight of the severed heads and the noises of the crowd. The noise was thunderous and I had the sense that I had been in the presence of that noise before. I couldn't quite put my finger on it. As I tried to pin point the origin of the noise, I could feel my head starting to drift. I looked towards Aimée and grabbed on to her arm, to keep myself from falling. My body fell into her and she kept me on my feet.

"Renée honey, what is wrong?" She asked.

"We need to go, I don't feel well." I replied sluggishly. "We really need to go."

"Ok, let's go home then. I don't need to carry you, do I?" She asked jokingly.

I simply rolled my eyes, not justifying her with an answer.

We made our way home and I immediately went straight to bed. I woke up the next morning refreshed and free of gruesome images. For a moment, I had completely forgotten about what happen the previous day. I got dress and headed out to find Aimée, since she was nowhere to be found. I checked the entire apartment and couldn't find her. As I checked the apartment, I heard voices coming from my father's workshop. I figured it might be my father and Aimée talking about God knows what. I opened the door to head down stairs, and heard the voices once again. It was my name in the conversation, and it seemed intense. I decided to sneak down the stairs to get a closer look. From the bottom of the stairs, I could see my father and Mr. Mallory, Marc's father. From the tension in their voices and the look on my father's face, I knew things couldn't be going well.

"This isn't good you know." Mr. Mallory pronounced angrily.

"I know, I know." My father answered. "Those damn women. Can you believe the nerve?"

"I never thought it was possible either." Mr. Mallory responds. "That is the least of our worries now. With every act of defiance against the King, the gap between us grows deeper."

"I know, but there has to be something we can do, right?"

"If things continue the way that they are going, then no." Mr. Mallory answered. "I will be forced to go to the authorities and demand that they seize all your belongings in order to repay your debt to me."

"No, there has to be another way." My father pleaded. "What would I do then? I have a daughter I have to look after. What would become of her?"

The room was silent for a moment and the words of my father rung in my head. Had he actually displayed an ounce of compassion towards me or was he just using me as leverage. I always hated him for doing that. He always used me to get his way and it pissed me off. I would love nothing more than to see the authorities come and seize his belongs, except for the fact that I would be out on the street. It dawned on me right then, I could either live with my father, who will have nothing, or I can live with the Mallory's, who have nearly everything. I could see my chance to escape my father was becoming slimmer. I decided I had to do something about it. I stepped into the workshop and made my presence known.

"That doesn't need to happen."

"Renée, what are you doing? Were you listening in on us?" My father asked.

"Matter a fact I was, it's not too hard when you speak so loud." I replied. "Now do you want to hear me out or not?"

"Go ahead, darling." Mr. Mallory answered, before my father could say something rude.

"Thank you." I said in a sweet voice. "I do not see any reason why Marc and I cannot still get married. If we do it now, before things get any worse, then it can all work out."

"I think we might be past that now, Renée." My father replied.

"No, I don't think so." Mr. Mallory interrupted. "My son has taken a liking to Renée, and I would hate to disappoint him. I think if we move quickly, this can all work out."

"Good!" I said.

"Now let's go for a walk and discuss your wedding plans." Mr. Mallory commanded to me. "We'll be right back."

We walked out the front door onto the street and on we went. My father was left in his workshop to wonder, how the hell I pulled something like that off. As we walked out the door, I looked back to my father, with a look of victory on my face. I could see the confusion in his eyes. I had betrayed him, but at the same time, I had saved him. My words must have been picking holes in his brains. I loved that feeling. Mr. Mallory and I walked the streets of Paris for nearly an hour, discussing the wedding. I could really care less how it was held. I didn't even love the man, but Mr. Mallory wanted a spectacle for his beloved son. I didn't protest to anything he suggested and I even offered some of my own ideas, to make it look like I cared.

The speed at which the wedding was put together was incredible. In a week's time, all the arrangements were made and Marc and I were at the altar, ready to be wed. It surely was a spectacle. I would go into detail but I've dealt with the boredom once already. That is enough for me. The only thing that is worthy of stating is that fact that everyone was happy at the end of the day. My father got me out of his hair and his debts paid off. I got out of that wretched house and away from my wretched father. Most of all, the Mallory's got what they wanted, a beloved new daughter and wife. It was to Marc's surprise though that his new beloved wife wanted nothing to do with him when it came to bedtime. Most men would want to crucify their new wife if she refused to give it up on the night of their wedding. Not Marc, he completely understood about the whole situation. Even though, he thought it was for different reasons. I couldn't find the heart to tell him it wasn't just my nerves that kept me from my duties. I simply wanted nothing to do with him. The thought simply revolted me.

By October 20th, 1789 I was moved in with my new family and I had no obligations to see my father ever. In fact, he hardly ever came to visit me. The only times were when he needed something from Mr. Mallory. Such a vulture, my father was. I prayed that I would never end up like him. Not in a million years. Luckily, he was absent from my life, for the most part. I spent nearly every free, waking moment, in the study of the Mallory home. Marc hadn't forgotten about my love for poetry and philosophy and he made sure I always had new material to read. As for Aimée, like I thought, there was no use for her in anyone's eyes except my own. I only saw her when I could sneak down to the saloons. That was whenever I could get away from my new family. They didn't like her coming around the house, since she was a slave girl, in their eyes. For the most part, Aimée's and my relationship didn't change that much. We just didn't visit as frequently as before.

I had told Marc that I wanted to learn how to write as well as the people in the books he feed me. At first, like every man of the time, he was hesitant. Then I found a tool that I never knew I could use for my advantage. After the first couple months of our marriage, Marc started to get edgy about the fact that we never "made love". I soon realized that I could get him to do whatever I wanted, with the promise of sex. I ensured him that I would "make love" with him, whenever he so pleased, if he would just hire me a reading and writing tutor. Sure enough, we had one of the best from Paris in our study the very next day. It's funny how easy men are manipulated. It's no wonder, why us women do it every chance we get.
Chapter Twelve

France was now in some of its most peaceful times, since the beginning of the conflict. The entire year of 1790 was not nearly as horrid as the previous. Nothing happened that could compare to the storming of the Bastille or raid on Versailles. It was a time in which I enjoyed all the fruits of my new life. Most of all, the studying consumed me. Even my tutor was ashamed to admit the wealth of knowledge I had attained. This seems kind of like an oxymoron to me, considering he was my teacher. Don't you think he would take pride in my brilliance? The only thing I cared about was the fact that I could read and write better than most men, after a few months of studying.

The thing I liked the most about my newfound abilities was writing poetry. I didn't care for reading as much as writing. I felt I could really express myself through words. At the same time, I loved to listen to other people read their poetry out loud. That was something I could not do. Reading out loud was like being stabbed in the face with a pick axe. I had the utmost respect for anyone with the balls to do it. One thing I could not enjoy was the richy bullshit of the upper class "poets". It all lacked power and feeling.

So if I wanted to get my poetic fix, I had to sneak down to the saloons and hope someone was drunk enough to get in front of everyone and make an ass out of themselves. There was never a shortage of drunken assholes that were starving for attention. Maybe if I were lucky, I would catch one or two good ones out of ten to fifteen. This bothered me very little, since even the stupid drunks were entertaining. With some effort, I could get word to Aimée and have her meet up with me. It was actually easier than I thought it was going to be, getting to together with Aimée. Marc had no problem giving me as much money as I pleased and I could easily pay a hobo to go send her word.

The second week of March 1791 was no different. Marc had supplied me with the adequate amount of money to pay the nearest drifter to send Aimée word. Being nearly seventeen years of age, and since it was still daytime, I was allowed to come and go as I pleased. Even if I were not, I would just nag Marc until he allowed me. I was good at that. The end of winter was nearing, but not fast enough. Walking down the snow-covered streets of Paris was not an easy task. Especially, at this time of the season, when the warm afternoon sun came out and slightly melted the snow, turning it into a slush of mud and unspeakable filth. I walked to the nearby saloon, the one in which Aimée and I frequently visited. The current time was a peaceful time in Paris. We had not seen anything very drastic occur in months, maybe even a year. Don't get me wrong, there was still an undeniable energy in the air. People were still pissed and still demanded change. There just wasn't that spark, like the one that ignited the Bastille.

I finally arrive at my destination after a mere fifteen to twenty minute walk. I entered at the front of the saloon and was immediately greeted with warm welcomes.

"Renée, my love, how have you been?" Aimée questioned.

"Fantastic, life couldn't be much better!"

She knew that was a lie, but I am sure she didn't expect me to tell the truth. No one ever wants to know the truth when they ask you such things. What am I suppose to say? 'Well, I am married to man I don't love... My father is an asshole, who doesn't bother with me unless it benefits him in some way.' No, you don't say these things. You just lie and say, 'Great! Never better!' Aimée was only one of the many who came to greet and kiss my hand.

"Oh Renée, you grow more and more beautiful with every passing day!" Antoine commented with a kiss on the back of my hand.

"Watch your tongue." I said with a smile. "Aimée will have none of that."

The group of drunken men and women, burst into laughter. Many of them I had not known and some only from a brief encounter.

"Especially, now with her mood swings." Antoine replied with a rub on Aimée's belly.

I shot an amazed eye to Aimée.

"That's right, we're pregnant!" He stated.

"NO?" I replied, as I picked my jaw up off the ground. I looked to Aimée, and she merely smiled and nodded. "Oh my sweet Aimée, I am so happy!"

I flung myself at her and hugged her to the point where I thought I might hurt her or myself.

"When are you due?" I asked.

"Not sure, maybe around August or September." She said with a smile.

We went on to discuss the baby plans and other girly things, I am sure. Something I am sure you care nothing about and I care not to waste my time explaining.

They led me to the table, which they were sitting and we all engaged in the typical small talk. We spoke of the news of the day, the condition of the country, the hatred towards the monarchy, etc... It was quite nonsense really, but that was what we did. For the most part, I sat there quiet, hardly saying a word, unless I was directly spoken too. This was actually considered the norm. The women usually didn't speak. Not because it was frowned abound, but because the men yelled so loud at each other that we women found it ridiculous to even bother.

An hour had passed and yet there was no poetry. I figured it was because the men were too busy yelling at each other or people were not drunk enough. I started growing anxious and impatient, but luckily for me I didn't have to wait much longer. Out of apparently nowhere, this awkward looking man jumped onto a table. At the sight of this old man, my blood started to race. He only stood about 5'3" and looked almost like a hermit. Just the sight of him was entertaining enough for me. He struggled just to keep his balance on top of the table and his words were barely audible. What a sight. I was glad that if I wasn't going to hear some actual poetry, some drunken fool could at least entertain me. The man swayed to and fro as he blurted out his nonsense. After a minute or two, the man was shoved off the table by one of his drunken friends, who in turn, took his place and mustered up his own drunken nonsense. This process repeated for a good hour. One man would ramble until he was booed off and someone, equally as untalented, would replace him.

At first, it was at least funny, but by now I was growing rather annoyed by the whole process. I could take one hour, but we were now venturing into hour two. I started to question if I was going to have to get up and try to direct this gibberish to a productive level. It seemed that there was no other way, but I was too chicken. We eventually ran out of willing drunks and the saloon fell quiet. People now went back to their previous activities of debating the current condition of the nation. My heart sank at this. I was so hoping to get my fix tonight, but it wasn't looking hopeful now. I sat there, as the depression of my childish greed kicked in. I now wanted to return home, but I didn't want to disappoint Aimée or Antoine. As I sat there staring at the ceiling, I could hear some commotion coming from behind us. In my curiosity, I turned to see a group of men huddled in a circle, cheering about something I couldn't completely make out. I seemed as if they were encouraging someone to get on the table and recite.

My heart sank again. I couldn't put up with much more drunken fools tonight. I watched the men and prayed the sorry bastard they were trying to coax didn't have the balls to give in. To my dismay, the men roared in victory as they hoisted the person up onto the table. I almost fainted when I saw the individual standing there in front of me. It was not the hermit, fowl looking man I expected to be standing there. It wasn't even a man at all. Instead, it was young girl not much older than I. She stood there nearly motionless in her innocent shyness. Her face was red from embarrassment and her voice could barely break through her lips, which acted like a fortress, not allowing anything to come in nor out. I remember thinking she might explode if she didn't take a good, deep breath. She was wearing a dress, which resembled nearly every other woman's dress in the room. Her hair was dirty blonde, straggly and half put up in a ponytail. Her hair, pulled away from her face, fell over her shoulders, half way covering her breast. Her face was round, perfect nose, perfect lips, but all of these paled in comparison to the one attribute I had failed to notice thus far.

As my eyes traveled up her body, tracing her petite figure up to her neck, there was a flash of green. I was set aback by the eyes of this newfound beauty. They were large beautiful eyes, the color of jade. They were so clear and flawless. She had long eyelashes, curled at the most perfect angle and her eyebrows were immaculate. They were thin, short and stunning. It seemed as if the room froze as I stared at the woman who was now reciting some sort of poetry. I was too dumbfounded to make out what exactly she was saying. She still hesitated in letting the words flow from her. Her face was still flushed with embarrassment and it was probably the cutest thing I had ever seen.

For a few minutes, I was entranced in this new beauty. I doubt I even moved an inch. The crowd of men, who coaxed her to speak, now sat around the table and cheered for her in between each poem. There were no drunken men trying to rid her of her limelight. No one intervened and absolutely no one was rude enough to boo. For it was obvious that she had the crowd in the palm of her hand. She started to loosen up and become more genuine. I couldn't help the feeling I had for this woman. Something happened to me when I looked at her. Something that was normal in a certain sense, but completely abnormal in another. I had always wondered how I was supposed to feel towards Marc. In a societal sense, I was supposed to feel a certain way toward him, since he was my husband. This feeling was always absent in me. I was never introduced to it, but in this woman, the feeling greeted my heart.

I had a longing to know this woman. I wanted to talk to her. I want to find out every minute characteristic of her being. Something inside of me was pushing me to go and introduce myself. Then it dawned on me. These feelings were wrong. They were not "supposed" to exist. She was a woman, as was I. Even if I could muster up the courage to go talk to her, she would think I was absolutely insane if I ever told her how I felt. What would I say? What if when I tried, nothing came out of my mouth? I couldn't let this stop me though. Could I? The impulse was too prevalent to ignore and I made the decision to take that step. All I had to do was wait until she was finished and casually approach her. I figured I could compliment her on her poetic abilities, but then it dawned on me. I hadn't truly heard a word she said. I was too transfixed on her beauty. Luckily enough, she had not finished her recital yet, so I pulled myself together and focused my mind on her words, instead of her body.

To my wonderful surprise, she was an actual poet. She actually had talent, which all of the previous men utterly lacked. I shut my eyes and listened to her voice. Her voice was that of any young woman and while desirable, it couldn't compare to her beauty. By now, her words flowed from her mouth, as if she had been doing this for years. The shy, innocent body language, I once adored was completely absent and now only pure confidence existed. My heart pounded at that thought of our encounter. My nerves made me nauseous, but it was strangely pleasuring. I downed my wine, hoping that it would help settle my nervous. It had only been about fifteen minutes since my eyes first made contact with this woman. It felt much longer, however. After I drank one cup of wine, I grabbed the pitcher and filled my cup. I quickly downed another one. I noticed the look on Aimée's face, which showed a mixture of concern and confusion. I just shrugged my shoulders and she turned away to continue her conversation.

I sat there and drank my wine. The alcohol was starting to set in and I just waiting for my moment. The woman finished up one of her poems and stated that she was done. The group of drunken men cheered for an encore, but she was not willing. She had enough, which pleased me, since that meant I was closer to taking that step. The men helped her off the table and once firmly on the ground, she made her way over to the bar. At the sight of her leaving the company of the drunken men, I immediately arose to my feet and followed her to the bar.

"Excuse me?" I uttered nervously.

"Yes?" She replied as she turned around. Her eyes were just as brilliantly colored, at this distance. I almost forgot what to say. "Do I know you?"

"No, no, actually you don't." I replied.

I could think about what I wanted to say, but the words just wouldn't fucking come out. So instead, I said the first thing that came to my mind.

"I thought your poems were beautiful."

I felt like such a moron. 'Your poems were beautiful' what a cliché. I could feel my face and ears starting to burn. I was surely turning beet red. To my surprise, her face also became flushed, like when she first got onto the table only moments before. This helped ease my tension and I suddenly remember what I wanted to say.

"My name is Renée." I said with a smile, as I reached my hand out to her.

"Mine is Elisa." She replied as she shook my hand. "I have never seen you here before. You come here often?"

"Well... I use to come here quite often, but not so much recently." I responded. My nerves were starting to ease, now that the ice was broken. "I really did enjoy your poetry though."

"Oh thank you! I really appreciate it." She stated. "That means a lot to me. I am so used to all these inebriated men, who would tell me anything just to flatter me. If you know what I mean."

"Oh I know too well." I replied, even though it never happened to me, really.

I think Aimée scared all the men away, which was just fine with me.

We stood at the bar talking for a while. She explained to me her love for reading and writing. We discussed philosophy, religion and current situation of the nation. It was the typical conversation that people in our social positions discussed. I explained to her that we should get together some time, so she could show me more of her poems. Thankfully, she agreed that we should. I tried to explain to her where I lived and in doing so revealed my actual social status. I didn't want the fact that I lived in a "rich" part of the city, hinder our newfound relationship. I knew how some people felt about us upper class citizens. I hated the fact that it mattered so much, but after I explained to her my situation, she didn't seem to mind.

As the night expired, we said our goodbyes and made plans to meet up in a day or two. I returned to my friends, said goodnight and made my way home. I hadn't realized how long Elisa and I had actually talked. It was definitely later than I wanted it to be, since I had to walk home by myself. Fortunately, I made it home with no difficulty. Marc was waiting up for me when I entered the house. I was convinced that I was going to catch hell for being out so late by myself, but he was more worried than angery. I was downright pleased by this, since the night had been far too wonderful to spoil now. I made up some convincing lie, which of course he bought, and I made my way to my room. I was glad that the confrontation had ended so easily, since after downing all the wine, I was a bit too drunk. All I could think of was my bed. Once in my bed, all I could think of was Elisa. Those vibrant eyes were the only things I could see as I lay there; those eyes of jade.

As planned, Elisa and I met up two days later. I sent a servant to pick her up and we spent most of the day going through her poems. This continued the next day and almost every day for a few weeks. Most of the time, we discussed poetry and I even let her read some of mine. Luckily, she told me she loved them and she actually thought they were much better than hers. This I found completely absurd, but I let her flatter me, since like anyone else, I enjoyed it. Neither of us knew it at the time, but our freak encounter had sealed the fate of the rest of my life. Had I known what it was going to amount to, I would have jumped ship before we even met. How easy life would be if you could recognize that defining moment in your life, when you hit your peak and have nowhere to go but straight down. In retrospect, it is quite easy to pick that defining moment. It started one night, in my study, when Elisa and I were reading through some of my writings.

"You have such good sentence structure." Elisa complimented. "Where did you learn to write like this?"

"I forced Marc to get me a tutor." I replied jokingly.

"One advantage to being rich, right?"

"I guess it makes up for the fact that I was far too poor for schooling as a child." I replied.

If I had to pick an exact moment, to the minute, to label as defining, it would have to be what Elisa said to me next.

"You know, you should try writing for a living." She stated as I blatantly laughed at her. "No really! I know a guy who is always looking for good writers to write for his newspaper."

I was stunned and thrilled by this notion. I had always wanted to be an actual writer, but no man in his right mind would allow a woman to print her opinion in a paper. Hundreds of Parisians read the newspapers; none of which contained female writers. I could only think of one man crazy enough. Part of me prayed his name would not come out of her mouth. At the same time, part of me craved for it to be this man.

"Oh, how I would love that." I replied. "Who in their right mind would employ a female writer?"

"Yeah... that's the thing." She said hesitantly.

"Oh god, it's Marat, isn't it?"

She was silent for a moment, with this grin on her face. I could tell she didn't want to actually admit to it.

"You've heard of him before?" She asked.

"Have I heard of him?" I said mockingly. "Of course I have heard of him. My entire family would love to have his head on a silver platter."

"As would many!"

Of course, I knew who Marat was. He was a household name, at the time. If you were a revolutionary, you loved him, but if you were still loyal to the throne, you loathed him. He was actually an interesting character. Rumor had it, a few years prior; he was forced to live in the sewers of Paris. In doing so, he contracted a weird skin disease that forced him to soak in a bath for hours on end. He was the voice of the people and his paper, Ami du peuple (The People's Friend), was the most controversial paper in all of France. It consisted of endless plots against the revolution and suggested that the only way to win was to kill Loyalist at will. You could see how this might anger the Loyalist, at least a little bit. All I knew was, Aimée loved him and my father hated him. This was enough for me to inquire about the position.

"How would we go about it?" I asked.

"Well, tomorrow we can go down to meet him if you like." She answered. "He pretty much has an open door policy at his home, as long as you don't feel weird about meeting him as he bathes."

"No, no, I have heard all about it." I snickered. "While being a little strange, I guess it is necessary for someone in his condition."

"So you will come?"

"Of course." I answered. "I just have to figure out how to keep it a secret from Marc. I do not know how he would react to me meeting with the family's enemy."

We both shared a little laugh and quickly changed the subject.

We sat for the rest of the night, contemplating how we could pull the meeting off without letting anyone know. I don't think that Marc would actually have that big of a problem with it. I just couldn't chance his father finding out. It was a very daring move, but needless to say, the following day, Elisa and I made our way to Marat's home. The trip only took about thirty minutes on foot. We made our way to the steps of Marat's house. It was a typical two-floor home that almost anyone in the third class society would live in. It was nicer than my father's home, but not quite as nice as the Mallory's. Elisa knocked on the door, using the big iron knocker, and within seconds we heard a voice inviting us in.

"Now, Renée let me do all the talking." Elisa requested. "Marat is a good man, but he is a paranoid man too. I would hate to see something bad happen to you on my accord."

I just nodded my head and before I could say anything, the person whose voice we just heard, opened the door. Elisa hugged the man at the door, who didn't look like what I expected Marat to look like. This man was short and bulky, with light hair. I was under the impression that he looked much different. After their embrace, Elisa turned and introduced me to the man. Elisa didn't explain this man role, but I was guessing he was either a bodyguard or a servant. After climbing the steps, we were again led to another hallway and finally a door, which was ajar a few inches. Through the crack I could see a figure, lying in a bathtub. I immediately assumed it was Marat.

"Please stay right here until I tell you otherwise." The man told me and Elisa.

We agreed, as the man entered the room, shutting the door behind him. I was nervous for some reason, at that exact moment. I realized this feeling was completely unwarranted but I could feel that my life was dramatically changing, at a rate that I was uncomfortable with.

"What was I getting myself into?" I thought.

I think Elisa could tell I was uncomfortable, because right then she grabbed my hand.

"It will be ok, honey." She said, with a smile as she held my hand. "Don't be so nervous."

I had no time to reply, since before I could, the man had returned and requested our entry. We entered the room to find a typical bathroom for mostly anyone of the time. You had a tub, a latrine and a structure that resembled a sink, but could not qualify as one for the lack of running water. Those latrines of the time were disgusting inventions. Since the modern toilet had not been invented yet, we were forced to use latrines, which resemble hospital bedpans. It was basically a bucket with a lid on it. The disgusting part of the latrine was not actually the structure itself, but how people dealt with the waste after the latrine was used. It wasn't too uncommon for people to simply open their windows and dump the waste onto the street. If the window was positioned over an alleyway, it wasn't so bad, but if it was over a main street sidewalk, you could get this waste dumped onto your head if you were not careful.

The bathroom also had racks to hang clothing and other things such as plants and what not. The room was a mess. There seemed to be papers all over the floor. Some in piles and others simply scattered about. Also the smell was a little nauseating. It was a mixture of mildew and a wet dog. I imagined it was from the extensive bathing Marat was forced to partake in. Household cleaning products were not as readily available then, as they are now. My attention was now shifted from the layout of the room to Marat, submerged in his bathtub. He lay there with a table positioned over him, which held even more papers, ink and a pen. Thankfully, the table covered Marat from his waist down. It was awkward enough looking at this bare-chested man.

"Welcome." Marat greeted us. "It's always a pleasure, Elisa."

Elisa reached out her hand and Marat received it with a kiss. Marat had looked exactly like what I thought it would. He had thick, dark, bushy hair, a few inches in length. It was messed up in a fro of confusion. His face was long and well defined. He had protruding cheek bones, pointy chin and a slightly monstrous nose. His skin was like that of an old man, from his skin disease.

"Likewise, Marat." Elisa replied. "This is my friend, Renée."

I stuck out my hand, as Elisa did before me. He received my hand in the same fashion.

"Where does a beautiful woman like you, Elisa, find yet another equally beautiful woman?" Marat stated trying to flatter the both of us in the same breath. We both simply smiled and Marat quickly changed the subject. "What can I contribute to your visit today? I am sure it is not out of sheer boredom."

"Well, actually I did have an ulterior reason for coming here today." Elisa responded. "I was wondering if you were looking for anymore writers for Ami du peuple."

"Of course, I would take you in, in a heartbeat." Marat said, not completely understanding what Elisa was saying. "I have told you that before."

"Well, the thing is..." Elisa said hesitantly. "I am not talking about me. I am talking about Renée."

"Oh, is that right?" He replied, sitting up a little straighter in the bath. "Renée can write, can she?"

"I have read countless poems and short stories that she has written. I personally believe she has what you are looking for." She stated with confidence.

"Did you happen to bring anything along with you?" He questioned.

Elisa retrieved a packet of papers from her bag and handed them Marat. Marat combed through them, while whispering the contents under his breath. He added an occasional "nice" and/or a nod. I could sense that Marat was interested in my writings. His posture completely changed from relaxed to attentive.

"You wrote all of these?" Marat questioned. "How is it you learned to write so well?"

This was the dreaded question I hope would never come up. Now I had to figure out how to explain how a poor, third class, female came to such intellect.

"It's really a long story..." I replied before being intruded by Elisa.

"What does it really matter anyways?" Elisa questioned. "She is fantastic. That is all that matters, right?"

"She is fantastic." Marat replied with a lengthy pause. "I could take you in as an intern for right now. If you prove to me that you have what I am looking for, then we'll talk about pay."

"That sounds great." I replied franticly in my nervous excitement. "Thank you very much."

"It's my pleasure." He replied. "If Elisa has faith in you, I don't see any reason to deny you my faith. Come back here in two days and we'll talk more about it"

"Thank you again Marat."

"Yes, thank you Marat." Elisa said. "I owe you one."

"No problem, whatsoever." He replied.

We said our goodbyes and headed toward the door. I was so relieved that the whole meeting was over, but at the same time, I was now extremely anxious about my new responsibilities. In 1791, women were not allowed to be smart, let alone do anything that took intelligence. Ami du peuple could be the first newspaper, in all of France, to employ a female. If there were any before, it was through an alias of a male. I also was starting to think that I might need to have an alias. I never thought about the fact that printing Renée Mallory in the Ami du peuple could and more than likely would, destroy Marc's family name. Part of me wanted to use my father's last name in hopes of destroying him, but people might connect the dots and I could inadvertently destroy the Mallory name still.

I was like a kid on Christmas and I so wanted to share my fabulous news with Marc, but I knew I couldn't. I could never tell him, in fear that he might demand I drop all ties with Marat, Ami du peuple and worst of all, Elisa. In the following days, after the visit to Marat, I had noticed an ever-present emotion. I tried so desperately to suppress it, but it reared its ugly head with an unstoppable force. My feelings for Elisa had reached an unethical level. Well, unethical for the times. I felt for Elisa, the feelings that I always imagined women felt for men. However, I never felt these feelings for any man. I couldn't hold back any longer, but I had to. The reason was really two-fold. For one, if Marc found out about my feelings for Elisa he would banish me from seeing her for good. For two, I was extremely afraid of scaring Elisa away from me. So for now, I continued to hold them back.

Within a few days time, I had returned to Marat to start my career. I was beside myself with bliss by the fact that I could now actually use my brain for a productive reason, other than nonsense pages of dribble. I could now actually voice my opinion, for all of France to read. It was an exhilarating time of my life. The first couple of assignments Marat sent me on were to evaluate the condition of the decay of our nation. By this time, May 1791, the National Constituent Assembly had more or less taken control of the King's power. Revolt, poverty and starvation were still running rampant, and the people demanded change. My job as a writer was to find anything I could to stir up emotion in the hearts of the Parisian people.

Marat's philosophy for the paper was this, the people were already on the edge of drastic measures and it was our job to kick them over that edge. Was everything we printed true? Probably not, but it was everything I stood for as a seventeen year old, rebellious girl. I could just imagine my father reading my articles, not knowing that it was his beloved daughter who wrote it. I could hear him telling his friends, how much he would love to get his hands around the author's throat. Life is so ironic sometimes.

All of May, and most of June passed and I started to wonder if I would be able to cover something as dramatic the Bastille. It didn't look likely but at the same time, there was this feeling of imminent doom in the streets of Paris. Paris was the vortex of chaos, and at any moment, the shit could hit the fan. Usually there was at least a build up to the mayhem, but on June 20th 1791 when I went to sleep, there was no such build up. No such inclination that anything was around the corner waiting for us. Just as my defining moment was meeting Elisa, Paris's defining moment was the midnight hours of that fatal night. It was like France was walking down the path of life and came to a fork in the road. One path decorated with flowers, bright lights and signs of peace and happiness. The other path had flames, the smell of death, complete destruction and big ass sign that read "DO NOT ENTER MORON". Of course, our King, the moron, obviously couldn't read that sign. Instead, he drove France head first down the wrong path.

That night I was awakened by one of my servants. I didn't know the exact hour, but it was later than anyone should be stopping by.

"Madam, madam" The servant spoke as she poked my shoulder. "Madam! Elisa is outside and she demands your presence."

Still half drunk from the night, I fought to open my eyes. They might as well have been stitched closed. The servant repeated herself once more, realizing I probably hadn't heard her. She was correct, but the second she said Elisa was here, I jump up like I had a spring underneath me.

"Where is she?" I asked as I frantically threw on my clothing and tried to straighten my appearance.

"She is waiting outside. She told me to get you up immediately."

I briskly walked down the halls trying to make my way outside, but at the same time, trying not to awake Marc. There would be no need to have to explain Elisa's extremely late night visit. Also I was in no mood for an argument. I stumbled my way outside to find Elisa standing on the walkway, facing the road. She heard me approaching and turned to face me. She looked just as awful as I did, but the look on her face was more concerning.

"What is it?" I asked her. "Is everything OK?"

"It's the King, we have to go." She replied as she grabbed my hand and pulled me away.

"Wait a second." I demanded, not knowing exactly what was going on. "What happened? Is he dead?"

"HA!" Elisa laughed. "I wish! Marat sent me down here to get you because something has happened and he requested that you be the one to report it."

"He requested me?" I asked in astonishment. "Why me?"

"Who cares? You should be happy." She snapped at me.

"Oh, but I am." I tried to explain. I could hear the tension in her voice. "I was just wondering. I'm sorry."

"It's OK, I am just tried." She said. "I'm sorry for snapping at you, but we have to get to Marat's, as soon as possible."

Just from walking down the street, you could tell that something had happened. I could see the light from burning candles in a majority of the windows. The street was flowing ramped with people, for being so late. Everyone seemed to know very little, but we all knew something was going on. Finally, we made it to Marat's house and entered the front door, which was guarded by three bodyguards. The man immediately let us in, without hesitation, having expected our arrival. One of the three bodyguards accompanied us through the house, leading us to the room that contained Marat. We reached the door to the room and I could hear many voices coming from beyond it.

Our entry was greeted with complete silence from the voices I once heard. The room was filled with men all sitting around a table. The table was covered with candles and papers sprawled out in no particular order; the usual fashion for Marat. I had never seen any of the men before, except Marat. The awkward tension was finally broke, when Marat noticed our arrival and quickly stood to introduce us to the men.

"Gentlemen, I give you Elisa Talbot and Renée Mallory." He said in his grand manner of speech. "Renée is my new journalist and inside girl."

Inside girl, I thought to myself. I had never heard that phrase before. I didn't even know if it was a compliment or not. I let the comment slide since I had no idea what it meant and would have felt stupid asking. Luckily enough for me, one of the men was equally as stupid as I.

"Inside girl, what do you mean?" The man with a crooked face and obvious lack of intelligence asked.

"Inside girl..." Marat just repeated. "You do not know what an inside person is?"

The man just shrugged his shoulders and the crowd of men burst into laughter. How stupid did I feel at that moment?

"She is going to be our eyes and ears in places where we men cannot travel." He calmly explained to the mentally obtuse man, who looked like God beat him with an ugly stick. "You all remember the Bastille. I lost three men that day in the riots. I have a feeling that things are going to get chaotic again soon."

"So you want to send out a woman to do the same job?" A voice stated from the opposite side of the room.

Sarcastic was his comment and the room once more broken into laughter.

"Actually, yes!" Marat replied, halting the laughter in one breath. "Have you guys forgotten the one simple, unwritten law?"

Marat paused for a moment then slammed his hand to the table, in disbelief. The candles all shook, but luckily did not fall.

No one in the room had a clue what he was talking about, including me. I was starting to worry about the task Marat had planned for me. We all just looked at each other and shook our heads.

"You can't kill women." Marat said as if explaining a simple question to a child. "It is not socially acceptable to kill women, no matter what. So I purpose that we send Renée to all those places, in which our men could be in harm's way. No one would dare harm a woman, nor would they expect her to be working for me. She could stay off to the side and record the event as it happens. No more second source information."

The entire room erupted into debate; the noise was deafening. A few of the men were appalled about the suggestion and they were the ones making the most noise. All I could hear was, 'No way, not a woman' or 'she'll get herself killed' etc. The other men simply sat back and laughed at the stupidity of the chauvinistic members. Marat, who was still standing, put an end to the debate with a simple slam of a stick against the table.

"Quiet!" He demanded. "Did I ask for any of your opinions? Have you forgotten who is in charge here?"

The room went completely silent, except for a few apologies from the chauvinists.

"Now, that we are all here and all know our purposes in life..." Marat commented giving an evil eye to the disrupters. "...I can now explain to you the purpose of this meeting. Sources have told me that the King was recently caught trying to flee the country."

Gasps came from all the men in the room and the looks on their faces could only portray the oncoming mayhem.

"Apparently, the King has been planning his escape for months; conspiring with traitors from Austria." Marat continued. "The entire royal family fled Paris heading east on the road heading for the Austria border. Rumor has it that the King was going to Austria, where he was going to team up with the Austrian troops and deploy a counter-revolution, in order to take back his powers. Luckily enough for us, the Kings carriage was spotted in Varennes and National Guards troop recognized that the King was indeed trying to escape. The entire royal family was arrested. This is what I need from you all. Head down to the Tuileries and spread out. Talk to as many people as possible and find out the whole story. Any information you have I want brought back here and given to Renée. She is going to be in control of writing the article."

I couldn't imagine why Marat picked me to write the article since I was still only an intern. I figured it was for two possible reasons. If I failed to write an enticing article, I would be thrown out. And that is also how they weeded out the traitors, since speaking out against the government could still kill a person's reputation. Wanting so desperately not to fail, I immediately got to work by forming a timeline of the event. Within an hour's time, people started returning to the office with news. Most of it was information I had already received. The rest I added to my timeline.

I spent the rest of the night and the following morning penning a perfect article. Elisa stayed up with me to help proof read the article, scanning for errors. When completed, I had my finest piece of work ever comducted. I drew upon the emotions of anger and betrayal, felt by the Parisians, and used them to dramatize the event. Making the King's minimal and probably rightfully sought escape, look like a personal treason upon every Parisian, young and old. I entitled the article, Our Father in Treason. A brilliant and persuasive title. After Elisa and I scanned the article with a fine toothcomb, beginning to end, we then submitted it to Marat.

"Hmmm..." Marat responded upon reading the article. "Catchy title."

I began to blush. I hated watching people dissect my work right in front of me.

"Thank you!" I replied not trying to seem rude.

"I think it is exceptional." He said as he finished the article, handing it to his assistant to read. "Tell me what you think."

His assistant read through it, nodding and grinning at certain sections and upon completion he replied, "Priceless".

"Good" Marat replied. "We'll go ahead and start printing it out now and it should be on the streets no later than tomorrow morning. You're free to go now."

With a smile Marat reached out to hug both of us and we said our goodbyes. Elisa and I made our way through the streets on our way home. All I could think about was the article and how excited I was to see it in printed form. I had no doubt in my mind that my family would see it, as well. Thankfully, I didn't have to sign it by my real name. I could feel the buzz creeping upon the streets of Paris. I knew something big was going to happen. I just didn't know how big or when it would strike.
Chapter Thirteen

Just as Marat promised, my article was in the paper the very following morning. I could not help but smile as I read it. I was almost brought to tears. It was complete bliss. The happiest I have been, in a while. Paris, on the other hand, was not so tranquil. The Parisians were up in arms over the King's disgraceful fleeing attempt. This attempt had broken the already fragile bond between Louis and his subjects. He was shamefully dragged back to the Tuileries and jailed. Louis was dissolved of his powers, until the National Assembly could draft a constitution that the King would accept.

The next few weeks were filled with resentment towards the royal family. On any given street in Paris, one could find countless revolutionaries handing out anti- monarchy pamphlets. Never in the history of Louis's rein had the gap between master and servant been so enormous. We all, in Paris, thought that the end was near. Surprisingly, it proved to be a longer process than anyone expected. Months passed without a sign of the avoidable doom, we all waited for. The King was still hesitant to bite the bullet and agree to sign anything. A power struggle ensued between the voice of the King and the voice of the people. We all patiently waited to see whose voice would be louder.

It was not until about August of 1792, that Paris becomes a battle ground again. Within a matter of the next two months, two large riots would result in the death of nearly two thousand people. I personally reported on both events, since it was believed that no one would hurt a woman. The first event was the Storming of the Tuileries Palace, where roughly six hundred guards were killed. This event resulted in the further detainment of the King and his family. They were now at the mercy of the revolutionist. A disaster this event was, yes, but it paled in comparison to the second event that occurred less than a month later. The second riot, I covered for Marat's paper, was dubbed the September Massacres.

Back on April 20th, France had declared war on Austria. Prussia quickly joined the side of Austria in hopes to tag team France into submission. The past four months had seen fighting abroad, but none within the border of France. This was true until September 2nd, when the Prussian army invaded France and sacked a border city. Word got back to Paris and the city erupted. Everyone feared Paris would be next. For almost an entire week, large mobs invaded prisons across Paris, killing prisoners, priest, women and child alike. By the time the chaos ceased, an estimated twelve hundred people were killed. Days and weeks passed, but no invasion of Paris occurred.

By September 19th, violence in the streets of Paris had returned to a minimum. I embraced this time of peace with open arms. The prior two months had been far too busy and far to bloody for me. Instead of wandering the streets in search of almost certain death, I was ready to retreat to my favorite saloon for some wine and good company. Naturally, I would invite Elisa along with me. I had sent her word, via my servant, to meet me outside our saloon at sun down. When I arrived, I was pleasantly surprised to find Elisa already standing outside with a group of men, chit chatting. I approached the group and made my presence known.

"Hello boys!" I said, in a temping voice.

I was warmly welcomed by the men, who had clearly already started to drink. One of the men draped his arm around my shoulder and turned his head to say hi. The smell of wine on his breath was revolting.

"How is it that two beautiful women always come here not escorted by a man?" The drunken man slurred. "Don't you like boys?"

"Well for one, Renee is married, you moron!" Elisa interjected. "And two, then we wouldn't have drunk fools like you to buy us wine."

Elisa smiled, at the man and softly tapped the side of his face, just to show him she was only playing. His friends, at this point burst into laughter, mocking the man for being shut down.

"Come baby." Elisa said grabbing my hand and leading me in, leaving the men outside to further bash their drunk, embarrassed friend.

We turned and headed toward the first door. Before we were out of view of the men, I turned my head, blew them a kiss and held my hand near Elisa's butt, simulating a grabbing motion. This, of course, caused an out-roar from the men. Elisa turned to question.

"What? What happened?"

"Oh nothing. Nothing important." I replied and I grabbed her hand, pulling her through the front door.

That was the great thing about the saloons. I could get away with acting like that. If I had done so in the presence of my family, I would have surely been shunned. Not here, however. Here you could act like your true self. Not the character you made up or in many cases, someone made up for you.

We entered the saloon, which was no different from any other time. Over the past few years of coming here, it has always remained the same. The only thing that changed was the faces. It was same old cramped, smoky room, the same old stale bread and bitter wine, and most definitely, the same old conversation. None-the-less, I loved it there. Luckily, it was not too crowded and we easily got a table to sit at. Upon sitting, Elisa decided to cut right through the typical poetry or government, small talk and questioned.

"Guess what next Tuesday is?" She said with a childish smile.

My mind raced. I couldn't remember, nor could I even take a guess. Worst part about it, I could tell by the way she said it, I should have known, but I didn't. I just sat there with a blank, dumbfounded stare. Her excited childish smile turned to look of disappointment.

"It's my birthday, damnit." She replied with a slight slap against my arm. "I have only been talking about it for the last two months."

"Oh I'm sorry! Damn, I am no good at this game." I stated with a little giggle, in which Elisa join in on.

"It's ok." She protested. "Really, it is."

"Well, that's only five days away. What do you want for your birthday?"

"Oh nothing." She quickly objected. "That's not why I brought it up. I was just making conversation."

"Oh nonsense. I didn't think you were trying to get something from me." I replied. "I just want to get you something. You're my best friend!"

"Aww, you're sweet Renee." She said. "Well... well there is this symphony coming here in about a week, but I don't know how much it cost to get in."

"Well money is nothing to worry about." I said, with a chuckle.

"It is too me." Elisa replied.

"It wouldn't be too hard to suck it out of Marc." I stated with a little raise of my eyebrow. "If you know what I mean."

"Oh that's gross Renee." She replied, seemingly repulsed.

"Oh you love it." I said in return. "I'll go home tonight and ask him about it. If we are lucky, we can take a carriage there too."

"Well... If you insist." She replied, simply with a smile. "So tell me what you have been writing about lately."

We sat at that table for a good two hours discussing the work I have been doing. The events I have covered. The hundreds of people I had seen beaten to death in the streets. The women raped and children killed. So much for the unwritten law Marat spoke of. It was all thrown out the window now.

Soon others would come over to join. Fueled by wine and emotion, the conversation was intense, needless to say. After a long while, like always, we departed the saloon and went our separate ways. When I got home, I immediately went to find Marc. After a brief discussion and some "extra" convincing, he agreed to give me as much as I needed to take a carriage to the symphony and whatever expenses we would need. As Tuesday came, I went to the saloon to celebrate Elisa's birthday. It was a typical drunken night. I excitedly told her that Marc had given in and agree to give me all I needed for her Elisa's birthday gift. Now we would only have to wait a few days until show time.

Luckily for us, the night of the show was beautiful. I had instructed Elisa where and when to be ready. I gave us plenty of time to get to the music hall, get inside, find some seats and get comfortable before the show actually started. I arrived at Elisa's home only slightly behind schedule. She had been standing outside already awaiting my arrival. The look on her face, when she saw the carriage, had made the night worth it already. She had not been use to such lavish things.

When we finally made it to our destination, the coach had dropped us off right in front of the main door. There were countless other carriages lined up in front and behind us. Some carriages were nicer than ours, some were not. The individuals that came out of the cars were all dressed in the similar fashion to Elisa and me. We wore satin dresses that were long and heavy since it was well into the fall season. The sleeves came down to my hands and flared out, consuming my hands. The men wore the typical suits of the upper class. Everyone looked amazing, but no one could compare to the sight of Elisa. She was undeniably beautiful.

The music hall was massive. Maybe four stories tall, beautiful gothic architecture and relatively new looking compared to many of the ancient buildings in Paris. Everyone filed through the front door with their guest in hand. Once in the building, we entered a grand lobby with many tables and couches. On either wall, there was a bar, lined with stools. Just like any saloon I've ever been in, people swarmed all over. Everyone had different agendas, yet all with a final goal.

"Well, it's not nearly starting time." I muttered. "You think we should get a drink?"

"Mmm, wine sounds good" Elisa replied.

"Yeah and I bet it is not that crap we get in the saloon." I said with a chuckle. "They don't mess around in these places."

"This place is amazing, isn't it?" Elisa questioned, looking up at the chandelier hanging from the ceiling, which was lined with countless candles and oil lamps.

"Absolutely!" I answered. "And we definitely have the time and money, for a few drinks."

Elisa just smiled and we made our way to the bar. We each drank about four glasses of wine, in the short time we had. Not very lady like, but we did not care what anyone there thought of us. Many of them wouldn't expect anything less from us, if they really knew who we were. By our fourth drink, we were both starting to feel it and were ready for the show. We made our way through the lobby traffic and up a staircase heading to the balcony level. Once at the top of the staircase, we entered a threshold where two large wooden doors would have been, if they hadn't been tied open.

The concert had not yet started, but the noise was already deafening. The combination of hundreds of conversations and the sound of the orchestra tuning their instruments filled the air. It was too dark to see everything perfect. The only light in the room was from torches surrounding the stage. In addition, some torches and oil lamps lined the two most outer walls to my right and left. I could smell something that smelt like smoke from a fire, but it was sweeter and more pleasant to breathe in. It must have come from the burning incense or the tobacco in the pipes of the men patiently awaiting the start of the show. The room had a ceiling more than thirty feet high. There were elaborate pictures on the walls and ceiling. Some were pictures of angels or men on gorgeous horses and other exotic creatures that I have only seen in paintings.

We all sat in rows and the floor was slightly angled so that the last row could see over the heads of the row in front of them. Then that row could see over the heads of the row in front of them. It repeated in this fashion until it reached the end of the balcony. Standing at the cliff of the balcony, you could see rows of men and women standing underneath. This was the section for the less prosperous people, who were forced to stand the entire show. The scattered rows of lower level, led straight up to the stage.

"Oh, Oh!" Elisa excitedly cried out. "Right here! These seats are perfect."

"Hmm, that they are." I replied with a simple smile.

Now in our seats, Elisa was getting eager. She fidgeted all about like a school girl at her desk; five minutes shy of summer vacation. She was the most adorable thing I ever laid eyes on. She noticed me taking notice of her impatience. She simply smiled and grabbed my hand.

"God, I can't wait much longer!" Elisa proclaimed.

"It shouldn't be much longer now." I replied, with a little giggle.

Just as those words left my mouth, the orchestra let out a single note burst, which lasted only for about five seconds. This signaled the beginning of the show and everyone immediately went quite. My attention was now focused on the stage. There were rows of people on the stage facing the crowd. I'd say six or seven rows of men, all seated. The men held a variety of instruments ranging from violins to flutes. The acoustics in the room were amazing. The sound was bouncing off every wall and I was engulfed, by the sounds from every direction. The conductor stood in front of the orchestra, with his back to the crowd. He flung his arms about in the air, with a little stick in one hand. The noise was bringing me into a trance. It was smooth and soft; airy and very relaxing. The sounds were long and gradually changing. I closed my eyes and a feeling I never knew came over me. I felt like I was flying and the hairs on my neck stood up. It felt like I had been missing this feeling and after searching for it for many years, I had now found it. It was the feeling I got every time I looked at Elisa. It was the feeling of fullness and complete happiness. I tried to stop myself from crying, but it was impossible.

Shortly after the music began, I started to feel light headed. Tears started to stream down my cheek. With every sound that entered my ears, I cried harder and harder. I put my hands over my face, trying to hide the tears from anyone that might be watching. I reached into the bag that I had carried my belongings in and retrieved a handkerchief. By this point, I was on the verge of passing out. I wiped the tears from my eyes and took a deep breath. I had almost completely forgotten where I was. Just then, I felt something touch my leg. I quickly looked up and saw Elisa staring at me. Her beautiful jade colored eyes were fully fixated on me."You ok?" She asked.

I attempted to answer her, but the words that came out of my mouth were gibberish. I didn't even try to explain myself again. I just put my head on Elisa's shoulder. There Elisa ran her fingers through my hair, which helped me to calm down. After about ten minutes, I had completely regain my composure and spent the rest of the show like nothing had happened. I am not sure if it was out of concern, pity or maybe she felt something for me, but she spent the rest of the show holding my hand. This simple gesture meant the world to me.

As the night expired, we all gave our appreciation in the form of cheers and whistles. The performers stood and took their bow, and as quickly as the show started, it ended. We filed out of the music hall, only to stop for a drink or two in the lobby before exiting the building. By that point, I hoped that Elisa had all but shrugged off my little breakdown, at the beginning of the show. It might have been the amount of wine we drank in the lobby, but it seemed that she had. Also, the wine seemed to loosen her up, because by the time we walked up to our carriage, we were all but stumbling. She draped her arm around my neck, like the drunken man she humiliated outside our saloon. We finally made it to our carriage and were swiftly on our way home.

"Oh my god, Renee, this was the best gift ever." Elisa slurred.

"No, no, it's nothing." I replied trying not blush too much.

"The music was so breathtaking. Have you ever heard anything like that?"

"Absolutely not!" I quickly answered.

I had never heard anything that beautiful before in my life.

"Were you feeling alright, tonight?"

"Oh yeah." I answered, trying to play it off like nothing happened. "It was just the wine, heat and emotion. It was too much for me at first. You made me feel a lot better, though."

I reached out for her hand and smile. She accepted it without hesitation. The look in her eyes gave me hope that this might be the chance I was looking for.

"Can I ask you something, Elisa?" The words came out of my mouth before I could stop them.

"Of course..." she replied curiously.

"Do you like me more than a friend?" I questioned timidly.

"Umm... I don't know..." she replied.

We sat there for a second, curiously giving each other the eye.

"Do you need some help finding out?" I asked quickly.

She just stared at me with confused look on her face. Before she could answer me, I grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her towards me. She never put up a fight. I brushed the hair out of her face and pressed my lips against hers. Her lips were soft and sweet from the wine. I rubbed the side of her face with my hand and brought my mouth to her ear.

"I think I am in love with you." I whispered.

"I think I am too." She whispered back.

The rest of the ride consisted of similar behaviors. Fueled by wine and emotions, once more, we let loose of expectation and gave into our animal instincts. I am not going to lie, it felt damn good. I had waited for this moment for a very long time. To my surprise, Elisa never objected. Finally, the carriage came to a halt. We quickly separated and returned back to our alter-egos; the women society expected us to be. We had reached Elisa's home and the door quickly swung open and our driver reached for her hand to help her out. With her childish smile, she simply said good night and was gone.

The door swung shut and again the carriage continued down the road. All I could do was sit back and reflect on what had just happened. My heart was pounding and I almost felt sick, but it was amazing at the same time. Our conversation repeated in my head over and over. My nerves were shot. I felt like I just ran a marathon. I could hardly move. The entire ride, I just thought of the look on her face when I pulled her towards me. The rest of the night was the same as most nights. Nothing out of the ordinary occurred. I simply went home, lay in my bed and thought about Elisa's soft, sweet lips, until I fell asleep.

The following days were a little shy with Elisa. I am not sure if she knew how to handle the situation. I have never known her to be interested in women, but then again I don't think anyone knew I was either. We continued to hang out as usual, slipping into a dark corner to sneak a kiss here and there. I would go to her house to spend the night. Here we could make love without fear of capture. Elisa's parents were not very well off and they were more worried about staying alive than if their daughter had a friend sleep over. They never bothered us, leaving us plenty of time to indulge in our new found love.

Just days after the show, one of the most important events in French history occurred. It was now December, and the King of France was brought before the National Convention to face charges of treason, neglect and many others. For days the convention debated on what to do with the King. If you remembered back, the King was suspected of trying to flee the country in hopes of returning with foreign troops. In doing so, he planned to take back his country from the Revolutionist. Many suggested imprisonment, dethronement, or even exile, but this didn't satisfy the hunger of the impoverished third party. With Robespierre as our voice, we demanded "Louis must die, so that the country may live". The National Convention was eager to grant us our wish and sentence him to death by guillotine on January 21st, mere weeks away. Things were moving very fast.

Of course, Marat wanted me there to cover the story since it was possibly the most important story of our lifetime. The spectacle took place on the streets of Paris, in the middle of a court yard of sorts; if I remember it correctly. Like any other event as this, there was a mob of people surrounding the scaffold, where the King was to be executed. The mob held guns, pitch forks and a wide array of other weapons. As expected, it was nearly chaos as the King's carriage pulled up. The carriage pulled up parallel to the scaffold and on the left hand side. In front of the carriage, there was a drummer who sounded the arrival of the King. At the first drum beat, the crowd went wild, screaming insults and demands for death. The King was taken from the back of the carriage and led to the steps of the scaffold. Before ascending its steps, he was taken by two guards, who forced him to remove his tie and shirt, leaving him bare-chested.

The guards led the King up the stairs and over to the guillotine. Standing next to the death device, the King had a few seconds to look out at the crowd and soak in the realization of what was about to happen. From the coward, he seemed strangely brave in his last few minutes. The guards then bound his arms behind his back.

The executioner asked, "Have you anything to say before we proceed."

"Yes!" Louis proclaimed. "I die an innocent man. I forgive those who accuse me and hope that France never receives the same fate as I."

With saying this, the crowd erupted and once again the demands for death returned. Louis was laid on the bench of the guillotine, face down. The blade of the guillotine was then raised and his head was positioned, awaiting the strike. The drums now wailed as the blade was rising. The sound was tremendous. Then all at once, silence fell upon everyone within view of the scaffold. As soon as the drums ceased, the blade was dropped. Moving at an unimaginable speed, it severed the King's head with a single strike. One of the guards, a young man no older than nineteen, grabbed the head and in a gruesome gesture, held it for all in the crowd to see. The man, holding the head straight in front of him at eye level, walked from one end of the scaffold to the other. The crowd was dead silent for a good thirty seconds. With a single exclamation, "Long live the Republic", from a random crowd member, the mob again burst into chaos. The body and severed head where loaded into the carriage and carried off to an unknown destination. Everyone left and the spectacle was over, just like that. One of the most historic events of mankind, complete in only a matter of a few minutes. Had it really even happened? I tried to hold on, but this emotional ride was moving far too fast.

Most of the rest of the year was rather uneventful. These were confusing times. As any rollercoaster, you never knew what to expect. It was either chaos or nothing. The only thing I remembered is spending a lot of time with Elisa, as our friendship blossomed from friendship to lust to love. She was the only thing I cared about. By then, I had almost fully lost touch with Aimee, since she had her own family to take care of now. I still saw her in the saloon every now and again, but I lost that need I had for her as a child. My father was gone, basically. I never saw him more than once every two to three months, which was exactly how I liked it. Marc had all but given up on me. I now refused to have sex with him, but he continued to put up with my neglect. We hardly spoke as friends as we did when we were forced into this arrangement. He was growing increasingly bitter towards my lack of interest in him. He periodically made references to me and other men. This actually made me laugh, since it showed how clueless he was. All else seemed well.

On July 13th, tragedy stuck much too close to home and the feeling of comfort and security I felt, slipped away. As I sat in my study, there was a knock at my front door. I quickly ordered a servant to see who it was. I continued to work on my writing, not knowing there was a problem, until Elisa frantically entered the room.

"Oh my God, what is wrong?" I asked, as I quickly grabbed to embrace her.

She looked like a train wreck. Her hair was all over the place. It was matted to her face, which was soaked with sweat and tears. She coughed, as she tried to take in a breath.

"Calm down baby." I whispered to her, as I tried to rub the hair from her face. "Take a deep breath."

I rubbed the back of her neck as she took a deep breath, held it in and exhaled.

"There you go." I said. "Now explain to me what is going on."

"It's Marat..." She stated between sobs. "He is... He is dead."

"Dead?" I questioned, as I stepped back a second, stunned from the revelation. "Dead? How? When?"

"Earlier today." She started to explain, gaining more composure. "A young woman came to him with the promise of juicy information. You know Marat; he is never willing to turn down a good story. No one knows exactly how it happened, but she ended up stabbing him in the chest."

"Oh my god!" I replied, I couldn't think of anything else to say.

I let go of Elisa and walked over to the chair, at my desk. I started to feel panicked and light headed.

"I need to sit." I explain, as I sat in the chair.

I put my head in my lap and immediately started to cry. Elisa come over to me and in the same comforting embrace I gave her, she tried to comfort me.

"Renee, I am scared." She whispered. "What if they are coming after all of us?"

"I don't know." I replied, simply not knowing what to think about it. "I don't know."

"Can I stay here tonight?" She asked, as if she was asking her mother if she could sleep in their parent's bed.

I thought about what the consequences of Marc finding her here would be. Then I thought about the consequences of sending her home, and maybe to her untimely death.

"Of course you can." I answered her, in the most loving tone.

She bent down to me as I sat in the chair and ran her fingers through my hair.

"I love you." She spoke softly.

"I love you too" I eagerly replied.

She pulled my face towards her and softly kissed my lips. I grabbed her by the waist and forced her on top of my lap. We continued kissing, softly at first but slowly increasing. As she ran her fingers through my hair, she occasionally gave a little tug, trying to tempt me. It was working. I was fine with the kissing and the fingers through the hair, but when she started to rub her body up against me, I had to quickly push her off.

"What?" She asked, disappointed. "What is wrong?"

"Nothing... believe me!" I replied. "I'm just a little freaked out and scared. Plus, someone might come in."

"Let's go to your room." She suggested.

"OK..." I replied, not even bothering to take a second to think of the consequences.

What a better way to shack off the fear of death. Not very sensitive of us, I know. However, there was nothing else that could distract us. Plus, Elisa was too tempting to deny. I also think we were afraid that this might be our last night together. It was obvious that things were about to dramatically change.

So, for lack of better judgment, we decided to push our luck. For all we knew, we might soon meet the same fate as Marat. We were living for the minute.

She reached her hand down and pulled me up. We made our way out the door of the study and crept down the hallway to my bedroom. Desperately, we tried not to make any noise that would cause any suspicion. As we finally entered my room, I turned to make sure the door was locked. When I turned back around, Elisa was already fully undressed. She came over to me and pulled my dress over my head. I usually did not wear much more than that when I was in for the night. She then led me to the bed and pushed me down. There was a sad, yet lustful vibe between us. It was like we both knew that the world would end tomorrow and that was the last night for love.

As much as I know you would love the details of what happened next. It's a little too personal. Let me just say that we made love like never before. It was the most beautiful thing I have ever encountered.

After we finished, we laid in my bed. She lay with me from behind, with her chest pressed up against my back. I could feel her heart beating. The soothing rhythm of it almost instantly put me to sleep. I had the most peaceful sleep that night with her holding me; it is too bad it was abruptly ended.

At sometime during the early morning, I woke up to some commotion, coming from the hallway. It was Marc, who was now banging on the door.

"Renee!" Marc shouted. "Open the door, at once!"

"Get up! Get up!" I whispered, violently shaking Elisa.

"Renee, I know you are there." Marc screamed. "Just open the door."

"Fuck! What are we going to do?" Elisa asked.

"Shh!" I demanded. "I don't know."

"Alright, you leave me no choice." Marc replied to my silence.

This was followed by a loud bang, as the door flung open. Elisa quickly sat up, wrapping the bed sheet around her. When the door swung open, it hit the wall behind it making a second bang. I sprung to my feet, still completely nude. Marc entered the room with three men, members of the National Guard.

"That is her, right there." Marc spouted, pointing his finger at me.

"What the hell is this?" I asked, pissed off.

"Renee Mallory..." One of the guards announced. "You are hereby under arrest for conspiring to kill Jean-Paul Marat."

"No! NO! You must be mistaken." I plead. "I had nothing to do with that. I swear."

"Well, this letter, signed by you, states otherwise." The guard replied, banishing a folded piece of paper from his back pocket.

"Impossible!" I shouted, looking back at Elisa, whose face was now in horror.

"Look she signed it right here." Marc stated, flashing the letter towards the guard.

"That is not my signature." I yelled. "I did not write that."

"Shut your mouth." Marc stated.

"I agree." The guard said. "If you don't be quiet, I'll have to bash your face in."

The guard lifted a wooden stick and waved it in the air.

"Elisa..." I said, trying to turn around to address her. "Elisa!"

The guard grabbed my shoulder and shoved me in the opposite direction. I didn't even glimpse her face. One of the guards more or less had her pinned up against the wall as I was forced out the door.

Had she believed them? I don't know. I never had the chance to ask her. The guard seized me before I could explain. Anytime I tried to open my mouth to explain myself, Marc was quick to overpower me. I had never seen him act in this way before. Thankfully, the guards allowed me to put my dress back on. After which, they shackled my arms behind my back and led me out of the house. I knew the system of justice we had in this city. It was not even worth my breath to try and argue with them. I was utterly screwed. After a few failed attempts at trying to fight back, I simply gave in. I was led out the front door, down the walk way and hoisted into a wagon on the back of a carriage.

I never even had the chance to tell Elisa goodbye.

The wagon had metal gates surrounding it, with an open roof. I was placed in the back with other prisoners and paraded through the streets of Paris to a prison, downtown. The wagon traveled slowly enough for people, who were lining the streets, to curse and throw objects at us. The carriage traveled a few miles until finally meeting its destination. It was a large, run down, looking building; almost resembling a fortress. Guards lined the front walkway to the building, which led to a doubled door, about ten feet high. One at a time, each prisoner was led out of the wagon and into the building. When it was my turn, I sheepishly follow the herd, and had by that point lost all hope.

I walked up the steps of the building, and before entering the doorway, I stopped to look behind me. I looked up at the sky and the buildings surrounding the prison. This was it; a tear ran down my cheek. This was going to be my last time I would see these city streets and I knew it. Not stopped for more than three seconds, a guard grabbed my arm and shoved me forward. Onward I walked, until a guard demanded otherwise.

"Here..." The guard stated, unenthusiastically, damn near throwing me into a cell.

"I....I..." I tried to speak to the man. "I need to talk to my husband."

"Too damn bad." He replied, slamming the door to the cell.

The guard walked away and just like that, he was gone. So were the hopes of getting in touch of Marc. That letter was not mine. I had no ill feelings towards Marat, and definitely did not wish death upon him. It did not matter now. I was all alone. I spent the rest of the day and night sitting on a filthy floor, desperately trying to find a way out. My cell was no more than a six feet wide and maybe ten feet long. It had no windows, no bed, no latrine, nothing but an open room. It was covered in dirt and the residue of the previous inmate's bodily wastes.

I sat up all night, unable to find a comfortable position to sleep in. All I could think about was the look on Elisa face as they dragged me off. What happened to her? What happened to Marc? Why was this happening? I pondered on this until I somehow, finally fell asleep. It was only for a moment, however.

A loud knock came at the door, followed by a man's voice.

"Mallory!" He grunted. "Get up! You have a visitor."

My heart sank. Maybe there was a God and I had been rescued. As the solid metal door crept open, the light came flooding in. I immediately squinted my eyes and through the sunlight I could see a figure approaching. Before I could focus in on who it was, I heard a very familiar voice.

"Hello, Renee..." The childish taunting voice was that of Marc, my husband.

"Marc?" I questioned, rather confused.

"You fucked me, Renee!" He spouted without answering me.

"Excuse me!" I replied.

"Well, figuratively, of course..." He replied sarcastically. "You haven't literally fucked me in God knows how long."

"What the hell are you talking about?" I asked.

"Shut up!" He yelled, as he threw a stack of papers at me. "I know all about your little hidden life."

Still sitting on the floor, Indian style, the papers landed in my lap and I picked one up to read it. It was one of my publications for Marat paper.

"You know, when our relationship all but ended over night, I thought maybe you found another man." Marc continued. "So, I went through your study, searching for anything to support my theory. I thought maybe I would find some love letters or something of the sort. Then to my surprise, I started to find all these articles, very similar to articles I have seen in Marat's paper. You could imagine my surprise. So I started following you, when you went out."

Marc continued with his speech as he paced back and forth in the cramped cell.

"I saw you go to the saloons, and I saw you constantly with Elisa. Which of course, I thought nothing of until I saw you making out with her in an alley near the saloon." He proceeded, in tone of disgust. "So now, not only was my wife writing articles for my family's sworn enemy, but you were cheating on me, with a woman!"

"Marc I am truly sorry, I..." I tried to interrupt.

"Shut the fuck up." He bellowed. "I am trying to talk."

I simply shut my mouth, as I was told and stared at the floor.

"You betrayed me when I did nothing but try and make things work. You disgraced my family and yourself. So I had to make a choice." He paused momentarily as I looked at him in utter despair. "I hired some poor woman to go assassinate Marat. I believe her name was Charlotte... yes Charlotte Corday. It was actually pretty easy considering she already hated him. She was willing to do it for free, but of course I still paid her. Then I wrote up a phony letter, in which you discuss your plot against Marat and turned it into the Jacobins."

I could not believe I was actually hearing this. He had planned the entire thing.

"It was actually quite easy to get them to believe me." He stated. "They didn't even want the letter as evidence. They are simply looking to pin this on anyone. It couldn't have worked out better for me."

"I can't believe you." I replied in disgust.

"You can't believe me?" Marc questioned with a chuckle. "What do you think just because I bent over backwards for you, that you can go and treat me like a fool?"

"I...I..." I stuttered.

"Don't even bother." He murmured. "You thought you were above me, but look at you now. You got exactly what you deserve. You never cared for me, so fuck you! I don't care about you either!"

With saying that, Marc turned and exited the cell. I jumped up to stop him, but before I could make it to the door, it was slammed shut by the guard. I pounded my fist against the steel frame of the door and let out a loud shriek. My hands slid down the solid steel door as I fell to the ground. Laying in the dirt and filth, I cried hysterically, pounding my fist to the floor. This continued until I simply didn't have the energy to fuss anymore. I lay on the ground, faced down, for what seemed like hours, simply staring into the darkness of my cell. My mind raced, recapping the last forty eight hours. I desperately tried to figure out where I went wrong. After a few hours of this process, I heard another voice at my cell door.

"Mallory..." The voice of the guard returned. "Get up!"

The door was opened and three guards entered the room. Two of them grabbed me by each arm and the third collected any possession in my cell. This was next to nothing, except for the papers Marc had left behind. The two guards pulled me out of the cell and down the hall.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Shut your mouth!" The guard demanded. "If you open it again, I'll knock you out."

He waved a large wooden stick in front of my face as he said this. Not wanting a beating, I kept my mouth closed. These were the last words I would ever speak. I was led down a long dark hallway, lined with cell doors. We exited the inmate housing area, and entered another hall which led to another door. This door led to a court yard, on the outside of the building. For a split second, I had a shred of hope; thinking they might release me. This was immediately crushed by the sight of the scaffold. The court yard was filled with people all from the outside world. The crowd had a festival vibe to it. People standing around, eating food, playing with their children, etc. All waiting for the show to start and unfortunately, I was part of the show.

Once I entered the court yard, the crowd erupted. The guards and I snaked through the crowd, trying to make it up the scaffold. As we forged ahead, the people of the crowd hollered insults and obscenities at me. This was almost the exact scene as the execution of the King, just months before. Finally reaching the platform, I could now see the guillotine positioned at center stage. We climbed the steps of the platform, and the crowd intensified. We approached the guillotine and I was received by the executioner.

"Remove your dress." He demanded.

I was now unshackled and allowed to lift my dress over my head. Some of the men in the crowd let out a whistle and laughter. The entire crowd soon followed suit.

"Turn!" The executioner demanded again.

I turned around and faced the crowd, with my back to the executioner. He roughly grabbed my hair, put it in a ponytail with his hand, and retrieved a knife from a nearby table. With one slice, he cut the ponytail off only leaving about four inches of hair. He then walked to the guillotine and placed the hair in the basket, which would be used to catch my head, after decapitation. I knew it was only seconds now until my death. I would now need a miracle. My knees grew incredibly weak and gave out. Falling to the ground, the guards quickly caught me and hoisted me up. All I could think of was Elisa's face as the guards took me away. Was it possible that she was somewhere here in the crowd? If so, she would surely not risk her neck for mine. Would she?

Thinking of her, I again began to cry. The executioner grabbed me from the guards and walked me to the guillotine.

"Lay flat on your stomach." He ordered.

I lay on the bench, connected to the guillotine, and the executioner rolled the bench underneath the blade. My neck was fastened into a wooden block and my hair pushed out of the way. I could hear the noise of the crowd still, but there was a far more frightening sound. The executioner pulled the rope connected the blade of the guillotine and it crept its way up the track. The wood connected to the blade and wood on the track rubbed together causing a squeaking noise comparable to that of an old wooden floor. This was combined with the crackling of the rope as the tension extended it. Finally, there was a pop noise, caused by the blade reaching to the top of the track. I quickly closed my eyes.

"3...2...1..." The executioner shouted without giving me a second to react.

And as he hit 1, there was sudden jolt and nothing more. Just as the first time I died, all bodily senses ceased, except the aerial sight of my death, which surrounded me. Any direction I tried to look, I saw the same thing. There I was lying on the guillotine bench, executioner standing beside me, and crowd roaring with excitement. My head had easily been severed and was lying in the basket. Just as the first time I died, I could do nothing but watch the pixels of this scene blow away and everything faded to nothingness. I embraced this and with the last pixel of my life faded, I said farewell to this world, for what I again, thought was going to be forever.
Part Three

Chapter Fourteen

"So, once again, I died prematurely." The sad look Damon had the first time he explained his death, again returned. "This life is a lot harder for me to talk about than my first life."

"Why so?" I curiously asked.

"I just keep thinking about Elisa." He stated hesitantly. "I always wonder what happened to her. Did she believe me or them? Did she succumb to my same fate? Did she live on to have a glorious life without me?"

Damon continued to spout out random questions. I could sense the pain in his voice. It truly hurt him to talk about her. I had sat there for good two hours, listening to his stories and I honestly couldn't tell if he was making this all up or not. He spoke with such conviction, as if these memories were true memories and not some fabrication. For some reason, I wanted to believe him, but there was still no evidence that any of this could be true.

"I know what you're thinking Jake." He stated, as he noticed I was drifting into deep thought.

"Excuse me?" I replied, snapping back into reality.

"You're conflicted." Damon said. "How can this be? Right? How can this man experience this while no one else in the world has?"

I just sat there fixated on Damon's hand as he held his cup of coffee, swirling the last bit at the bottom.

"Can we get some more coffee?" Damon asked, turning his head to ask the waitress as she past.

She simply nodded and I quickly jumped back into the conversation.

"You are right, Damon. I am pretty conflicted. You speak of these events with such conviction. It's hard to not believe you. But again, it is just hard to believe, since you are the only person I have ever met, that claims this has happened."

"Well, I believe it happens to everyone." Damon quickly replied. "Maybe I am just one of the few that are willing to admit it."

"But, why would we not want to admit it?" I asked.

"Have you not noticed the reoccurring theme of each of my lives?" Damon asked. "Each life was filled with misery. Would you want to remember that every life you ever lived was filled with death and disappointment?"

"Well..." I replied. "I can see your point there, but... I mean... come on."

"Also..." Damon interjected. "Even if anyone wanted to admit this, they would be sent to the nut house before anyone would actually listen to them."

All I could do was shrug at this comment, not wanting to agree with him.

"So what happened next?" I eagerly questioned.

"Well, the first time I died..." Damon started to explain. "...I went straight from my dying scene to the birth of my second life. There was no deal. It was like a video game. I died, and just started right over from the beginning. It was just a different scenario."

"So, how was it different this time?" I asked.

"Well this time, I want to say I went to heaven." He answered, pausing for a moment. "Actually, I am not sure. It was only momentarily. Maybe it was just an intermediary place, who knows. I don't quite know how to explain it to you. It's like describing the color purple to a blind man. You will not even be able to grasp the concept. I had no earthly body, so therefore I had no senses. Without these tools of description, I will not be able to explain. However, for lack of a word that equates to what actually happened; this is when I "spoke" with God. Words were exchanged but we lacked lips to spout them."

"What exactly did you and God "talk" about?" I sarcastically asked.

"I know it is hard to believe, but there is no need to mock." Damon quickly replied.

"I'm sorry." I apologized. "Please continue."

"Well..." He continued, as if nothing happened. "He explained to me why we were here and what the purpose of life is. I believe we discussed my belief in the beginning. He explained why I immediately returned upon my first death. It was because I killed that girl in the whore house. When you murder someone, there is no going to heaven. No matter what you do, you will have to start over. The difference with my second life was that I did not do anything to prevent my entry into heaven."

"Wow... wait." I interrupted. "So, why are you here then?"

"Well, like I explained in the beginning, the purpose of life is to obtain complete wisdom. This was never achieved." Damon explained.

Just then the waitress came up with yet another pot of coffee. Damon remained quiet as he prepared his cup. Slowly stirring in the sugar, he leaned back in his chair as if we were sitting in the comfort of his own living room; instead of an old, filthy diner.

"So anyways..." Damon continued. "After my discussion with God, he advised me that I would once again have to return to earth. We were both confident that this life would be my last. If, this time, I could only stay out of trouble. Unfortunately, I, once again, was not lucky enough for that."
Chapter Fifteen

As the first life I had, I don't remember being born. Matter a fact I don't even remember the first few years of my life. I am not sure why that is. I am sure there is a method to what I do and do not remember. I just never bothered to figure it out. I figured God had a reason for it. Maybe it was just too uneventful for anyone to want to recap. The memories are either there or they are not. The first memory I have is rather insignificant. I couldn't be any older than five years old, at the time. I was standing on the sidewalk with my sister. She was older than I was by five years. Short and stocky, she wasn't terrible attractive for a ten year old. She had short nearly black hair, which my mother cut in a bowl form to her chin and bangs above her eye brows. I remember the smell in the air. It was a thick stench of smoke and grease, coming from a nearby factory. It didn't bother me though. I had grown use to it. It must have been either February or March at the time, since the temperature was still rather cold. Even though they had, by this time, been invented, the street, in which we played, was not too frequented by automobiles. This was due the economic status of the area. The section of town we lived in was rather poor and not many people could afford them. So most people traveled by foot. This gave us plenty of room to play in the streets without fear of getting hurt.

That morning there were not many people out and about. I remember seeing a few people down the way but none of which were with my sister and I. Like every morning that would follow, we stood on the sidewalk and played a variety of games to help kill our boredom. That day it happened to be 'kick the can'. I was staring up at the apartment complexes that lined the street, not paying any mind to my sister. That is when I heard a slight bang.

"Derrick, watch out!" My sister screamed to me.

The noise was that of her foot connecting to the can, right before it lifted off the ground. I had not been paying attention and the can was soaring right towards my face. I ducked just in time to feel the wind from the can breeze through my hair.

"Jeez, Ava..." I replied. "You're not suppose to hit it that hard."

"I'm sorry Der..." She answered in a half sympatric tone.

Just then I heard the sound of laughter coming from behind me. Embarrassed, I shot around to see who had been watching. Across the street there stood a kid, about my age, who was almost dressed identical to me. I remember it well. He had on a gray sweater and dark trousers. With light brown short hair, instead of black like mine, he looked no different than I did.

"Good ducking!" He yelled from across the way.

"Thanks..." I chuckled.

"My name is Aden, can I come play?" He asked.

I looked to my sister for approval. She simply shrugged her shoulders. I don't think she could have cared less.

"Sure." I answered. "As long as you don't kick it at my head."

"Ok!" He simply replied, as he scurried across the street.

He seemed very excited to meet us. At the same time, he seemed a little shy or withdrawn.

"I am Derrick and this is Ava." I introduced myself. "Where do you live?

"Oh, I live right there..." He replied, pointing about fifty yards down the road. "Yeah, I live right there."

"Oh really?" I replied, not having anything else to say. "Well, we live right here. That door on the left is our door."

"Oh, OK." He answered.

"Here..." I quickly said, without giving him time to think I kicked the can towards him.

He stopped it with his foot and kicked it towards Ava. The three of us played in the road for an untold amount of time. It wasn't until nearly dinner time that we broke our separate ways and returned home for the night. Little did I know at the time, that Aden would become my best friend until both of our deaths.

It was exactly a hundred and twenty seven years between the day of my death and the day of my birth. I was born again on July 15, 1920 and only five hundred and some odd miles from Paris. The place of my death. My soul was transplanted, for yet another try at life, into a body located in a borough of Berlin, Germany. In the year of my birth, 1920, Berlin was massive. It comprised of the city of Berlin with seven surrounding towns and fifty nine rural communities. Each section of the city remained its own sub-name, but all were henceforth known as Berlin. Kreuzberg was the name of the borough in which I was born. It was possibly one of the least interesting sections of the city, from a historical view. The main reason for the construction of Kreuzberg was the industrial boom that exploded in the late 19th century and early 20th century. With the increase of new factories, there was a call for an increase in housing for the factory workers. Even though it was the smallest borough, it had the largest population of nearly four hundred thousand people. It also had possibly the worst living conditions of all Berlin as well.

I was born to Johan and Minna Von Newmann. My mother was typical in every sense of the word. She stayed home with my sister and me. She cooked, cleaned, etc... Her social life was minuscule. I think she enjoy the privacy of our two bedroom apartment. My father on the other hand was almost the exact opposite. He was veteran of The Great World War. While stationed on the France border, he was caught in a house fire that left him with a burn wound down the entire left side of his body and face. He was rendered with an unsightly scar that would never disappear. Due to his disfigurement and lack of skills with anything other than machines, he was forced to work in the factories. There were minimal regulations on factories at the time, so you can imagine the working conditions. My father spent Monday through Saturday, 7am to 7pm in the factories. After work, he frequented the bars with his work buddies. The only time he truly spent with his family was on Sunday. Being a devoted Christian, he made us go to church and spend the day at home, as a family.

There is one thing worth mentioning about my father. He loathed the Jewish race. I believe it was a mixture of their disbelief in the Christian views and their over-taking of the working class jobs my father fought so hard to obtain. Also, many veterans believed that there was a Jewish conspiracy that brought about the untimely end of the First World War. By the late 1920's, Jewish hatred was prevalent but still very much hidden. Surprisingly, my father had kept his hatred hidden from my sister and me for many years.

Further fuel on the fire was the economic situation that was plaguing Germany in the 1920's. Forced to pay retribution for the damages caused by the First World War, Germany quickly defaulted on their loans obtained from other countries. These countries in turned refused to trade with Germany in retaliation. Inflation and business bankruptcy yielded mass unemployment and food shortages.

Now at the age of seven, I knew little about the current situation. Everyone I knew was poor. So I just figured it was normal. I was not alive to remember the glorious days before the Great War. The only inclination of anticipated doom came from overhearing conversations between my father and mother. It was only until one mid-summer afternoon, did I truly understand the scope of the situation.

It could not have been much past noon, while my mother and I sat on the living couch reading a children's book. I remember there were no lights in our home at the time. The electricity had been cut off some months prior. Now our only source of light came from a few scattered candles and in the day time, from the bay window in the living room. Being a warm sunny day, we had the curtains and front door wide open, which allowed for some light to penetrate through, as well as a cool breeze.

With no other notice, except the slamming of the front door, my father had appeared in the living room. Neither of us had seen him coming, but we both know something was wrong. After slamming the front door shut, my father just paced back and forth.

"Fucking Jew bastard..." I could hear him mumbling to himself.

At this point, my mother had dropped the book on the floor and rose to her feet.

"Johan, what is the matter?" She politely asked, trying not to make matters worse.

"Fucking stupid, Jew, bastard..." He repeated as he continued to pace.

I sat on the couch not knowing what to do. My father never got this mad around my mother and me. I could see him rummaging through the draws of his desk. I was not sure what he was looking for.

"Johan..." My mother repeated. "Calm down, and tell me what is going on."

"Derrick!" My father screamed.

I sat stunned just staring at my father's half burnt face, not saying a word.

"Go to your frigging room, NOW!"

"Yes sir." I quietly answered as I stood and briskly headed down the hall to my room.

Once inside, I made it appear that I had completely shut my door, but I had left it open just enough to peer out the crack. Our apartment was modest to say the least. I could hear my father's voice no matter if the door was open or not. Through the crack, I could see down the hall and into the living were my father and mother stood. My mother, clearly concerned, just stood there and waited for my father to calm down.

"Honey, what's the matter?" my mother asked.

"It's that bastard of a boss down at the plant." He stated as he calmed down long enough to say anything other than 'fucking Jew bastard'. "He cut me. Again!"

"Oh dear, Johan." My mother replied putting her hand over her mouth.

"I was just about ready to go on lunch when I was called into his office." He continued. "When I got in the office, he sat me down and gave me this bull shit story about having to lay-off a number of us workers. He said about a hundred people were getting laid-off on the basis of seniority. That in itself is complete bull shit. We all know that he was cutting us so he could save his little Jew buddies. They are fucking overtaking that plant. I swear he just ships them in from their little fucking synagogue."

"Please Johan, calm down"

"NO..." my father screamed. "I will not fucking calm down. This country is being over thrown by Jews and it needs to end."

He turned back to his desk and finally retrieved what he was looking for.

"You see this?" He rhetorically asked my mother. "This is the answer right here."

Through the crack in the door, I could see him holding up a book. I had seen him reading the book in the recent past. At the time, I had no clue what the book was. I only remember what the front of the book read, Mein Kampf; My Struggle. After a short moment, my father slammed the book on the living room table.

"The Jews need to leave..." he demanded. "And while we are on the subject, I don't think Derrick should be hanging out with that little Jew down the street."

"Johan!" My mother interrupted. "Watch your tongue. He is a nine year old, little boy and in no way responsible for any of this."

"My ass!" My father barked back. "Who do you think is going to be running this country in thirty years?"

"I understand you're angry Johan, but he is the only friend Derrick has, besides his sister." She continued. "Do you want to take that away from him?"

"Yes, actually I do." He protested.

"Well too bad!"

My father grabbed his book off the table and his hat off the desk then headed for the door.

"Fine..." He stomped. "But when he grows up to be a kike like his little friend, don't tell me I didn't warn you."

Having finished his rant, my father stormed out the front door and slammed it behind him. I could hear my mother softly weeping in the living room, as she did after every fight.

I never realized my father felt so strongly, nor did I ever realize that Aden was a Jew. I was still a young boy. All I knew was, Aden was my only friend, as my mother put it, and I liked him. I didn't care if he was a Jew. I didn't even know what a Jew was. I just knew my father hated them for some reason. It's funny how at such a young age petty shit like race and religion means nothing to a child. Too bad everybody didn't have a child's mentality. Maybe there wouldn't be war or discrimination.

It might seem like a petty memory, but you'd be surprised how they can shape one's life.

Things continued as normal, as they always do. I continued to hang out with Aden. My father continued to search for a job and my mother continued with the mundane life of a house wife. Meanwhile, at the same time, a movement was spreading across Berlin, called the National Socialist movement; better known as the Nazis. They were everything my father stood for. At that time, all I knew was what my father told me. He filled my brain with illusions that the Nazi party was going to bring Germany back to the glory days. Everyone would have a job and have food on their table. The way he spoke to me about it actually made me believe that they were the answer.

By the following year, 1929, we all really needed an answer. The economy of the entire world had nearly collapsed. The Nazi party promised to restore order. I was not informed on how they planned to restore this order. Naive as any nine year old, I had to witness this "restoration" first hand.

Every time Aden knocked on the door, my father would cringe as he yelled for me. Through his teeth, he would "politely" yell 'Derrick, your friend is here!' God forbid he gave him enough respect to address him by his name. Luckily, my father was not home one summer evening when Aden came knocking.

"Derrick, honey." I heard my mother's voice through the wall of my bedroom. "Aden is here."

I threw down the toy I was playing with and ran to the living room. I was excited to see Aden. It had been a few days since he last came around.

"Hi, Aden." I joyfully stated, as I made my way to meet him.

"Hey, Der." He replied. "Can you come out to play?"

I eagerly looked to my mother for approval. She rolled her eyes and looked to the clock. It was now nearly 6:30 and my normal curfew was between 7 pm or 8 pm. At this time of year, it started getting dark around 7 o'clock. I was worried that she would not approve.

"Please mom!" I begged. "I haven't done anything all week, please!"

"Fine." She reluctantly replied. "But you have to be home by 8 and bring your rain coat."

"Thanks!" I yelled, as I ran and grabbed my coat and headed for the door.

My mother grabbed me by the shoulder as I passed her.

"Stop right there." She commanded. "Give me a kiss."

I followed the demand then headed out the door. I had no idea what Aden had in store, but I didn't really care. I was just happy to see my friend again. We headed out the door and down the road. I feared my mother might be right about the rain. Off in the distance there was a mass of black clouds looming and Aden was heading right towards them.

"Aden, where are we going?" I asked slightly concerned.

"Don't worry about it." He replied. "Just follow me."

"It looks like it is going to storm." I answered, hoping he would clue me in.

"It's alright. You have your rain coat, don't ya?" He asked with a chuckle.

I just stared at him, knowing that wherever we were going, I was not allowed. I had a severely troubling feeling, again. Part of me wanted to flee back to my safe home. The other part was curious about what we could get ourselves into. Of course, at the age of nine, I wasn't too concerned about bodily harm. I was more concerned getting in trouble with my parents.

"Yes I do." I answered proudly. "Just don't get me in trouble."

"Oh blah." He replied, pushing off the notion with a wave of his hand.

As we headed forward, I looked back to my home before we turned the corner. No heading back now.

As like usual, there was an odor of grease and oil lingering in the air. Not as much as in previous years, due to the rampant increase in unemployment, but it was still prevalent. We made our way along the sidewalk, passing rows of apartment building and shops. The sun had just sunk below the tree tops as it peered through the scattered, increasing clouds.

We had now ventured further than I was "allowed" to go. I did not travel more than a few blocks from my home, ever. My school was about three blocks in one direction from my house and church was about two blocks in the other direction. By now, we had walked a good ten blocks away.

"Aden, where are we going already?" I asked, slightly annoyed.

"I said, don't worry." He replied. "It's only a few more roads down."

We came to an intersection and paused to let a lonely beat-up pickup truck pass us. Once it was clear, we hustled across the street. The apartment buildings and stores started to fade away, giving way to factories and shipping yards. I remember thinking my mother would kill me if she knew where I was. She probably thought I was at Aden's house.

We turned off the main road and started following a dirt road. The road was lined with a high wooden fence. We picked up rocks along the way and threw them at the fence. About every five feet, there was a gap in the fence, just enough to see inside. As we walked, I tried to catch a glimpse of what was beyond the fence, but darkness was now setting in. All I could make out were shadows of what looked like machinery. That is when we came to a sign that read "Kreuzberg Metal". Panic struck me dead in my tracks. I stopped and blankly stared at the sign.

"Derrick!" Aden shouted, as I snapped back to reality.

"Oh sorry. I am just a little freaked out." I answered. "My father used to work that this factory."

"Oh really?" Aden replied. "My uncle works here now."

"I can't go in there." I protested.

"Come on, wimp." He taunted. "We won't get caught. I have been coming here for the last couple nights. There is a broken window in the back where we can climb in."

"If I get caught here, with you, my father will beat the heck out of me."

"Oh, come on Der." He pleaded. "I promise we won't get caught."

"Fine..." I reluctantly gave in. "But... if we do, I will never be able to play with you again."

My stomach was nearly coming out of my mouth, I was so nervous. All I could do was replay the conversation my parents had the day my father was fired from that factory. I found it slightly ironic that Aden's uncle worked here. He was undoubtedly a Jew himself.

We made our way to the side of the factory. It was pitch black other than a light off in the shipping yard. I could hear the sound of a metal press coming from inside. Every step we took, the noise increased. The rhythmic sound of the press drove my nerves over the edge. I had to wipe my hands on my trousers just to keep them dry.

"AHH! What the heck is that?" I screamed.

"SHH!" Aden whispered. "It's only a rat, come on."

Sure enough, I stepped right on a rat and it scurried away making this high pitched screeching noise.

"The window is right there."

"Oh man, just in time." I replied, as I felt a single rain drop hit the top of my head. "What do we do now?"

"Stay right there." He commanded.

Aden walked over to a piece of wood, lying on the ground, and kicked it aside. A small box appeared and Aden swiped it up.

"Looky here." He stated, with the box in hand. "I've got a couple candles and a box of matches that I stole from my dad."

I looked to the broken window and it was black as night. I took a deep breath, not knowing if I could go through with this or not. Stepping forward, I grabbed a candle from Aden. As I headed towards the window, the sound of thunder rumbled in the distance and the rain steadily increased.

"Let's do it." I commanded.

The window was only waist high. It was short enough for me to pull myself through. I put my hands on the frame of the window and felt a prick.

"Oh, god da..." I cursed under my breath.

"Oh yeah, watch out for the glass." Aden replied. "It's not all out."

"Yeah... I see that now, thanks." I replied.

Again I placed my hands on the frame, watching out for the glass this time. I hurled myself through and Aden followed. The factory was empty, where we entered. All I could make out was a few run-down machines here and there. It was muggy with very little ventilation. Dust lined the floor and left foot prints behind us. Of what little I could see by candle light, the roof appeared to be metal and lined with glass windows. On any other night, we may have had some moon light to guide us. Instead, I could now hear the sound of rain hitting the metal roof and thunder growing increasingly louder.

"Where do we go now?" I whispered.

"There is a door, a little further this way." He replied.

Through the darkness, I could make out the shape of the door. It was a large metal double door. It was the kind of door that opened from both sides. On one door there hung a sign that read, "Stay out! Under construction." It is no wonder that this is where we were heading.

We gently pushed open the door, desperately trying not to cause any noise. The room we entered was much larger than the first. As I stood there, looking around, a flash of lightning lit up the entire room. Unlike the first room, the roof was lined entirely with little glass squares. Just then there was another flash of lightning, followed by the rumbling of thunder.

"Isn't this neat?" Aden eagerly asked.

"Yeah..." I replied, reluctantly. "I am kind of scared though."

"Oh, don't be a wuss." He badgered. "We are fine. Look over there. This is the best part."

I turned to look over my shoulder, afraid to think of what Aden considered the "best". He pointed towards a staircase, which led to a catwalk. The catwalk lined the entire perimeter of the room. He motioned for me to follow him as he ascended up the staircase. I was not too excited, but I obeyed. My pride was on the line after all. We climbed the dusty, spider-web ridden stairs. Aden looked back with a childish grin. He looked so thrilled and I felt so stupid for being afraid.

Once on the catwalk, I could look down and see the entire room. With the occasional flash of lightning, I could make out a few objects. Along the catwalk, a few over-sized shipping boxes lay scattered. There was a rafter that extended from one side of the catwalk, across the room to the parallel catwalk. Hanging from the rafter was what looked like a motorized lift. It had a small motor hanging from a hook. A chain descended from the motor, down to about six feet from the ground.

"Hey look at that." Aden stated, pointing toward the lift.

"Yeah I was just looking at that." I said.

"You should swing from it."

"Me?!" I asked, stunned by the comment. "How do you even get out there?"

"Climb across the rafter."

"Climb across the rafter?" I grunted. "Who do think I am?"

"You can do it." He said. "Come on, do it."

"Why don't you do it, Aden?" I bitterly replied.

"Because..." He replied. "Because, I asked you first."

"It doesn't work that way." I spouted. "Just because..."

"SHH!" Aden interrupted. "Did you hear that?"

Like a deer in a head light, I stood there waiting for any noise. I was just about to open my mouth to tell Aden to stop messing around, when I heard the noise. It sounded like a marching footsteps, but sporadic. At first, I was hoping it was somehow the thunder playing mind games with us. As the noise increased, there was no question that it was not the thunder.

"Oh no, what do we do Aden?" I asked. "I think someone is coming."

"Quick, get behind one of those boxes and don't move."

We both ducked down and ran towards the nearest box. We crouched down behind it and waited. The noise came again like thumping thunder, pounding against the cement floor.

"If that's not just a giant rat, I think we are in serious trouble." I whispered.

"Shh!" He replied. "Listen, it sounds like voices. Quick, blow out the candles."

I obeyed the command and listened sharply. Sure enough, I could hear the voices. It sounded like a parade. We were surely in a mess of trouble now. All I could do was sit there and think about what I was going to say to my mother. I didn't think she was ever going to let me leave the house again. Then again, I could have told her I was interested in employment there, but I doubted she would believe it.

Rain still pounded the roof windows and lightning still flashed. Even if we got out of there undetected, we would have to still walk twenty minutes through the storm. Aden and I sat quietly, for what felt like forever, waiting for the parade to come. I was just about to open my mouth to spout a nervous rant, when a loud bang came from the double doors. Aden quickly put his hand over my mouth and we watched in horror.

A man came sliding on his stomach through the doors. It was as if he was trying to steal home plate, in a baseball game. A group of man accompanied him from behind. They had clearly thrown the man through the door. He appeared to be older, short and plump. His clothing was too well kept to be a factory worker. Due to the small amount of light, I was not able to make out any defining features of the man, other than he was old. He was trying frantically to escape, crawling on his hands and knees. The group of men entered the room carrying torches and make-shift weapons. At the sight of the mob, I realized we might be in a lot more trouble than we thought.

They ran and surrounded the man, pushing him back to the ground. They all laughed as the group poked the old man with sticks and pipes. There was too much commotion to make out any words. The voices bounced off the wall like an amphitheater. They continued to poke and prod the old man in a chaotic manner. There did not seem to be any point to the violence. It was like torturing an animal out of boredom or curiosity. Then the door opened again calmly this time. It was nothing like the dramatic entry of the mob. A man appeared all alone. He carried no torch or weapon. He just waltzed in as if he was late for a tea party. The mob halted their aimless taunting and directed their attention toward the newly arrived man.

He wore a uniform of sorts. It was brown and very military like. He seemed to be wearing combat boots and a hat that covered his face. The rest of the mob wore similar uniforms, but this man just had an impression of being in control.

"Pick him up!" The man demanded.

The mob was quick to obey the order, dragging the old man to his feet.

"Lukas, over there..." The man pointed. "Grab the lift chain."

A man from the mob ran over to the lift chain Aden and I had just been arguing about. The lightning continued, providing some additional flashes of light. For a second here and there, you could almost make out everything in the room. However, the light was gone too quickly for the mind to register anything.

"Pull it down some." The man commanded. "The rest of you, drag that piece of shit over there."

The mob complied, dragging the old man across the cement floor towards the lift.

"Lukas!" The man shouted. "Wrap the chain around his neck and snap it together with this."

The man threw a little device to Lukas and he snapped it into place. Lukas started pulling an adjacent chain, which caused the lift to rise. The old man kicked his feet, while also attempting to loosen the chain around his neck. The mob laughed at his struggling, as his feet left the ground. Lukas picked up a pipe and started bashing the old man in the stomach.

"Ok Lukas that is enough for now." The leader said.

"Sorry sir." Lukas replied.

"Mr. Judd... Mr. Judd... Mr. Judd..." The leader repeated, addressing the old man.

"Who are you people and what do you want?" Mr. Judd asked.

"Oh believe me." The leader replied. "You know me very well, but since you are so fucking inconsiderate to your employees, you probably wouldn't even remember my name."

"I swear I'll give you anything." Mr. Judd pleaded. "I'll give you a raise or whatever you want."

"No, no, no." The leader interrupted. "You already fired me."

"Is that what this is all about?" The old man asked. "You want your job back? You got it."

"No, thanks." He replied. "I don't work for fucking kikes anymore."

"Please sir." Mr. Judd begged.

"Someone gag this fucking Jew bastard."

A man from the mob stepped forward and stuck a piece of cloth in his mouth. By now, Aden and I were completely motionless. We didn't even take our eyes off the scene to look at each other. The leader's words keep replaying in my head, "fucking Jew bastard". The voice sound familiar. It was impossible to see the man's face with the darkness. His voice and mannerisms were all too familiar.

"There, that is better." The leader stated. "I don't have to listen to your bullshit any longer."

The leader started pacing around the old man and the mob.

"See..." He paused. "This is the problem I have. I worked right here in this filthy shithole for years! I gave blood, sweat and tears here, for a measly wage just so I could support my family. Morning and night; six days a week. I wasted so much time away from my little boy and girl, so I could be here, slaving away. I was easily one of your top ten workers, and I was "let go". You know what you me told when you let me go? It was all based on seniority. Bullshit! The truth is you fired a group of hard working, honest men just to make way for your Jewish friends down at the synagogue. I've been asking around. Do you think I am ignorant to the fact that only ten of your workers are not Jewish? That is ninety Jews in one factory. Coincidence? I think not. Do you think that is fair? Huh?! Is that fucking fair?"

The man paused, as if he was waiting for an answer, but the old man just hung in terror. His toes were barely touching the floor. He was just high enough to keep him from hanging himself, prematurely. The flashes of lightning glared off the chain as his fingers desperately tried to find a hole to grip on. The leader circled the mob, coming to an abrupt stop in front of Mr. Judd.

"I just came to tell you this, Mr. Judd." He started. "You and your kind might be thriving right now, but times are changing. We are going to remove every one of you Jew bastards from Germany. Whatever it takes. I figured we'd start with you."

Mr. Judd struggled intensely upon hearing these words. The leader motioned the mob aside as he approached Mr. Judd, within inches from his hanging body.

"Here... I want to show you my face. So as you die, the last thing you see is my face." He calmly explained. "Let my face represent all the faces of the German men you fucked over."

The man removed his hat and raised his head. Mr. Judd grew still and their eyes locked. I strained to see his face, but at our distance, I still could not make it out. Just then there was a flash of lightning that reflected off the man. The flash was only one second long, but it was long enough for me to notice one very important feature. In that brief second, I could see the whole left side of his face was scarred. The kind of scar one might get from a fire. The type of scar my father had. That is when everything fell into place. The voice, the story, everything pointed to my father. I did not want to believe it, but it was all becoming to clear.

"Any last words?" My father asked.

Mr. Judd did not say anything out loud. All he did was drop his head and started to whisper something.

"Do not spout that Jewish bullshit in front of me." My father yelled, thrusting his left hand into Mr. Judd chest.

The knife, my father held, slid into the old man chest and as a final gesture, my father spit in Mr. Judd's face. The old man let out a groan. My father turned and started walking towards the door.

"Have at it!" My father commanded, as he walked through the double doors.

The mob pounced on the old man like a pack of wild dogs. They beat him with the sticks and pipes they used before. One after another, they swung at the man as if he was a piñata. Aden grabbed my shoulder and I could sense the fear in him for the first time. The worst part of all of this was the fact that we had to sit there for about fifteen minutes as they pulverized this poor old man.

Mr. Judd's body became limp and only then did the mob back off. No more struggle. The mob quickly dispersed out the door. Aden and I waited, until we could not hear the sound of their stomping combat boots.

"Quick, we need to get the heck out of here." I demanded.

Aden just sat there, still as a statue. I thought I could make out a tear rolling down his cheek.

"Darn it Aden, come on." I said aloud. "Before they come back."

I grabbed Aden, by the arm and pulled him to his feet. We climbed down the staircase and made our way past Mr. Judd as he hung there, only inches from the ground. Still trying to be as quiet as possible, we crept past the old man's body. I stared at the man as I walked by. From what I could make out in the darkness, he appeared to be dead. He took one hell of a beating and my father stabbed him his right side of his chest. It was a freaky resemblance of the wound Jesus received as he was nailed to the cross. Maybe my father planned it as a big "fuck you" to the Jewish religion. I could not say for sure. All I knew, at the time was I needed to get out as fast and as quietly as humanly possible. Just then, we heard a cough followed by words that might as well have been coming from a zombie.

"Please! Boys help me." Mr. Judd moaned.

I had expected that he was dead and upon hearing him come back to life, I nearly lost my mind. I grabbed Aden and ran towards the double door like a bat out of hell. The door pounded against the cement wall causing an ear piercing noise that echoed down the hall.

"Hey!" We heard I voice coming from afar.

I turned and looked down the hall, only to see my father standing there. He immediately started to pursue us. I grabbed tight on to Aden and damn near dragged him down the opposite hall, back towards the window. Aden was trying his best to keep up, but I could no longer hold him by the arm. I let loose and sprinted towards the window, leaving Aden trailing. I looked back and Aden was not too far behind, but neither was my father. I could hear his combat boots thumping against the cement floor, echoing all around. I could see the window, at this point. Nothing but absolute terror powered my legs. Aden now started to catch up and I hear him yelling for me to move faster. I looked back again and my father was only some twenty yards away. I could hear the huffing of his deep breath. I pulled a burst of energy from somewhere deep within myself and approached the window. Since it was only about three feet off the ground, I figured I could just hurdle it. I dug deep, for that last bit of energy as I lifted my feet off the ground. My first leg made it through the window frame, but as I was coming down, I felt my other leg hook the bottom of the windowsill. I fell to the earth, and everything went black.
Chapter Sixteen

Darkness. Black as the pupil of an eye. So absent of any light or any true color. Black as depths of the solar system, where no stars shine bright. No light shined towards earth, where little children lie on the grass and admire their splendor. No, none of that. This was the kind of black that I can imagine is seen by the blind. The almost non-existing black; the absolute lack of all sight. Of course, it could also be the black that is brought by the hand of Death himself. But was I dead, again? So quick? Could it be that I somehow died and hadn't known it? It is very well possible. Every time I fall asleep at night I am closer to death than any waking moment. People die in their sleep all the time. I wonder if they are rattled awake by the arrival of Death. Do you think that Death awakens them for one last beautiful second, before he shuts down the controls? Is he that considerate? Or could I seriously fall asleep one night, with hopes and dreams of a better tomorrow, and have Death cut it away and propel me into this darkness? No last sweet breathe of air, no feeling of the flesh of the women I love rubbing against mine as we lay in our bed. Nothing! I wouldn't know. I am use to more violent ends.

But wait, I can't be dead, can I? If so, how do I explain this excessively increasing feeling of claustrophobia? As if I were packed into a sardine can. I could feel my arms and legs, but they are not mobile. No amount of mental strain, commanding them to move, would result in any action other than the current one. Complete immobility. My body had the feeling that compared to taking ten valiums, yet my mind was still very well intact. And furthermore, although I couldn't reach out to touch anything, I could feel something touching me. Wrapped all around my body, there was a feeling of plastic. As if someone laid a tarp over my body. I was most disturbed by the material as it covered my face. As I was sure my eyes were open, the darkness prevented me from seeing through it or even to see the material, for that matter. Also, the surface I laid on was solid and bitterly cold. There was a slight breeze that ran over material, which caused it to crackle. I could hear the humming of a fan someplace close by. Yet my eyes could not penetrate this stubborn darkness.

Again, wait one more minute. There was a sound coming over the fan. Faint but building. At first, they only sounded like sporadic rumbles from the lightning storm, I heard in the factory. As they approached, I could tell it was not thunder, not this time. Voices! Yes, voices! But voices of whom? My father's? Aden's? I could not tell. I tried desperately to drown out the noise of the fan and the crackling material that covered my face. I wanted so much to know what these voices were saying and I sensed that they were very close now. These voices filled my soul with utter happiness, since it was then that I knew I was not dead. Despite the darkness and the inability to move, I could hear evidence of human activity. It was music to my ears, but then they stopped. The voices were gone, and for probably only thirty seconds, which felt like a lifetime, I was returned to the silent darkness.

Then there was a boom. It sounded to me, like metal slamming against a hard surface. Like the sound of the double doors crashing against the concrete wall. Was I back in the factory again? In an instant, I had the sensation of rolling backwards, which was accompanied by a noise I can only explain as wheels rolling across a tin roof. A flood of warmth flowed over my body and I welcomed it, dearly. Then brought to a sudden stop, I lay there motionless again. The material, that covered my face, was pulled up and away. It was then, that I saw my first bit of light. The center of the material started to open and the sound of a zipper ticked away. With each tick, a beam of light shined more increasingly down on me. My eyes were flooded with the light and I could not see anything beyond the gaping hole in the material. As I was unsuccessful in closing my eyes, I remained blinded until a figure stood above me, blocking the light. The figure stared at me and I returned the favor, entering into a duel staring contest, of sorts. At first, the figured seemed alien to me, but with my sight returning, I could start to make out the important features. It was a young man, mid teens. Very average height, smooth hairless face and his chin pointed out, ever so slightly. As I traveled my attention up his face, there were no clearly distinguishable features. Average nose, average eyes, short dark hair, but it felt very familiar.

It felt like I knew him, but with my sight still diminished by the blinding light, I could not tell who he was. As I strained my eyes to focus, I could see one very important feature. Right above the right eye, there was scar. It was nothing big, only about an inch and a half long. It arched over the eye brow, mimicking its shape. It was a very important and confusing feature, but once I saw it, I knew exactly who I was dueling with. The face of the young man, who ripped me back from the darkness into the light, was the face of my own. While I lay, starring up at my own face, I tried to scream, but nothing came out. The figure above me, looked at me for a moment, as if it knew exactly what was going on. All I could do was watch as the face creep closer and closer until it was about six inches from my face. Then as it opened its mouth to say something, I listened in horror.

"Derrick! Wake up."

"Derrick! Wake up." Aden yelled again, slapping me across the face.

I snapped back to reality and looked around. We were still outside of the factory and we seemed to be alone. I could not actually see the window we came out of anymore. We were now leaning up against a shed off in the distance, away from the factory.

"What..." I tried to speak. "What happened?"

"You tried to jump out of the window and your foot hooked to the windowsill." He explained. "You went down like a ton of bricks."

Aden had been holding one of his shirts to my forehead, but I wasn't sure why. He took the cloth off and showed it to me. It was covered with blood.

"Oh man, my head hurts." I whimpered. "Did I smack my head on something?"

"Oh yeah!" He replied. "You fell to the ground and smacked your head on a huge rock. That guy was chasing us and when I saw you trip, I grabbed a shelf and threw it in front of him. He must not have seen it, because he fell directly over it. That gave me enough time to jump out the window and carry you away."

"Did you get a look at his face?" I asked, curious to if he realized it was my father.

"No..." He replied. "It was too dark, but I carried you over behind this shed. The guy poked his head out of the window and yelled, but we were gone. You have a nasty cut on your forehead; right above your right eye. You better figure out what you are going to tell your mother."

"I think I am dead already anyways." I explained, trying to shift my body to the side in hopes to ease the pain.

"Well, let's get out of here." He suggested. "I think the coast is clear."

Aden helped me to my feet. It was still raining lightly, but the brunt of the storm had passed. We walked home with the shirt on my head. The walk was long and we did not speak the entire way. He walked me to my house and we said our goodbyes. When I got into the house, I received an ear full from my mother. I think she would have beaten me if I were not already wounded. I believe she was more worried about the one inch gash in my head. My father on the other hand, was nowhere to be found. I told my mother that I slipped playing in the rain, but I doubted that she believed me.

Thankfully, the doctor made night house calls. The gash in my head was so deep that I had to get stitches. Within about a month's time, I was able to remove the stitches and the wound had healed over. Unfortunately, it left an unsightly scar above my right eye brow that never went away. My father and I never mentioned anything about that night. For all I knew, he had no clue it was me. Aden too failed to mention it again in the days following. It seemed like a vivid dream, which felt too real to be a fabrication but was too unbelievable to be real.

Things continued as normal for the next few years, as they always do. The acts of violence continued and slightly increased in those years. They were sporadic, random and behind "closed doors". My father never returned to any factory job. His involvement with the Nazi Party increased, to the ignorance of my mother. I, on the other hand, had already seen his demon face and it was easily noticeable.

Between the years of 1929 and 1932, things were rough. There was little work, little food and pretty much little of anything else. Through the association my father had with the Nazi party as a SA, "storm-trooper", he made enough money to support our family. We did not ask any questions. My mother was satisfied with my father's explanation of "having to run errands". She would simply smile, nod and take the money. She was in no position to argue nor do I think she really wanted to know what was going on. Every time, his "errands" included coming home with a black eye or whatever, my father always had a clever excuse. My mother would just pass them off as valid and tend to his wounds. I, however, knew better. I've seen his errands first hand, but I always kept my mouth shut. After all, I liked to eat as well. I figured there was no reason to stir the pot. An added bonus that came with the job was an abundance of free time. I knew he was a monster, but he was also my father.

By 1932, things actually started to come around. By then the Nazi party had become one of the largest political parties in Germany. Slowly the rampant unemployment started to decrease. In an ironic turn of events, Mr. Judd's factory was sold to the highest bidder. As it turned out, there was only one bidder, who happened to be a Nazi party member. Well backed by the government, the new owner had endless capital to pour into the factory. All of the Jewish workers were fired for "lack of experience" and replaced by the former German employees who were wrongfully terminated years before. All other slots were given to new hires, also Germans.

By 1933, most of the rivalry was not between the Nazis and the Jews. It was actually between the Nazis and the KPD, their communist opposition. Jews still had full rights and only suffered a percentage of the violence compared to the years to come.

Germany, unknowingly, received a swift blow on January 30, 1933 when Adolf Hitler was voted into the position of Chancellor of Germany. This was very much to the Communist's dismay. In the previous year's election, Hitler had ran for the position of President, but lost. That would soon prove meaningless and also prove beneficial to Hitler. As Chancellor, he immediately went to work on his "plan for Germany". He started by making deals with manufactures of weapons to boost his military materials. Hitler would give them financing in replace for their word to fire any and all Jewish employees.

The night of February 27th 1933, was what many would call "the first sign of Hitler's takeover". On that night, I was awakened by the noise of my father rummaging through the living room. I went to my bedroom door and quietly cracked it open. With my ear against the door, I could hear my mother and father talking.

"Johan, what is it?" She asked semi concerned and semi annoyed.

"I most go!" He demanded, quickly gathering his things. "There is no time to talk, the Reichstag is on fire."

"Oh my lord..." She replied, rather sincerely. "Do you think anyone was hurt?"

"It's too early to tell." He answered. "I'll be home later."

He quickly kissed her goodbye and stormed out of the front door. I remember still being half asleep but slightly frightened at the same time. I knew what my father was all about and I knew nothing good would become of it. I crept out of my bedroom and down the hallway.

"Momma?" I said, wiping the sleep from my eyes. "What's going on?"

"Nothing baby..." She replied, trying to motion me back down the hall. "Go back to bed now please."

"But Momma... What's the Reichstag?" I asked, ignorantly at the time.

"Well... It's a building." She answered. "It is where the government has meetings to talk about grown up things. Now go to sleep!"

"Why is it on fire?"

"I don't know honey." She quickly replied. "Go back to bed now. It is nothing that would concern us."

She reached down and kissed my forehead. I quickly turned and made my way back to my bedroom. I crawled back into the bed my sister Ava and I shared.

"What's wrong Derrick? She asked.

"Oh nothing."I replied. "Some building caught on fire. Momma says it doesn't concern us."

I rolled back over and went to sleep. Little did I know as I was comfy in that bed, that an event had occurred that would change the tides of life and send Germany down a horrid path. As I experienced in each of my other past lives, this little event that did not even directly include me, shaped the rest of my life. You would think being the third time around, I would be able to recognize these pinnacle moments. Just as before, I was blind to the matter.

The following day I woke up to the sound of my father's voice again. I jumped out of bed and headed to the kitchen. My father sat at the table, reading the morning paper.

"Can you believe this shit?" He rhetorically asked, referring the article in the paper.

"Johan!" My mother snapped. "Please watch your tongue around the children."

"But really, can you believe this?" He repeated, as if my mother never spoke.

He held the paper up, pointing to the article, giving it a little slap.

"Those damn communists." He ranted. "We should lock up everyone last one of them."

No one replied, for it was not our place too.

"I mean, Hitler becomes the Chancellor and now they feel threatened." He continued. "They should behead the sorry sons of bitches!"

"Johan!" My mother repeated.

"Sorry..." He replied. "Those gosh darn bad guys. Is that better?"

My mother rolled her eyes and left the room. I stepped towards the table and took a seat next to my father. He was sitting there in nothing more than a pair of shorts. All of his war scars were very visible. If I were not already used to them, I might have found them disgusting.

"Listen to me, Derrick." He commanded. "There are three types of people in Germany. There are the Jews, the Communist and the Aryans. Whatever you do in life, please promise me one thing. Promise me you will not become a Jew or Communist. They are the plague of Germany."

I simply nodded and waited for him to continue, which he did after long sigh.

"Also, if something should ever happen to me, promise you will also take care of your mother and Ava. Most importantly, promise me you will always support and fight for your country. Whatever those Jews and Commies say, Hitler is the way to redemption. If you always follow him, you will never be lost."

As any thirteen years old would do, I just stood there quietly and smiled. He appeared to be ranting but I did not need to question why he was concerned. I knew his life style. I knew one day he could just disappear and never return. The weirdest part about the whole thing was how much it did not bother me.

"Can you promise me that son?" He asked.

"Yes sir." I answered. "I will try my best."

"No!" He said firmly. "You will not try your best. You will do your best!"

He shot me a half grin. He could not make very good facial expressions due his huge scar. I just sat next to him as he smiled and patted my head, like some kind of puppy or something. The conversation ended and we continued on with breakfast.

It turned out that a Communist activist was arrested in connection with the Reichstag fire. They found him inside the building at the time, so they say. This sparked a Communist Revolution theory. Of course, this was started by the Nazi party. Hitler had a plan to have Parliament pass something called the Enabling Act, which would give him dictator-like powers. The only hurdle was that the Enabling Act was only to be used during times of emergency. So, the burning of the Reichstag provided "proof" of the rapid Communist uprising. Only by passing the act could Germany be saved. Surprisingly, it actually worked. The act was passed within a month's time and he was granted the powers. This is when the wave peaked and started to crash back onto Germany.

Hitler started by excluding the Communists from local government positions. With the Communist out of his way, Hitler could now "work on the Jews". The following months saw an increase in boycotts against Jewish shops. On every Jewish shop window, posters hung that read, "Defend yourself from Jewish propaganda" or "Only shop German shops." On one street corner a large banner was hung that read "The Jews are our Ruin!" branded with swastikas on both sides. Sooner than later, this type of anti-Semitism spread all across Germany and Austria. It would also spread to all lands conquered by Germany in the years to come.

Everyday my father would read to me sections of the newspaper. The papers would glorify Nazi events and teachings. The spring of 1933 saw the great book burnings. The Nazis would gather any and all books that Hitler found "undesirable" and set them ablaze. Across Germany, hundreds of thousands of books were burnt. Mass resources of knowledge went up in flames solely because Hitler willed it.

The spring of the same year also saw the birth of the Gestapo. They were the new Nazi police force. Hitler granted them power with the purpose of "maintaining peace". They were nothing more than a band of thugs like my father. They carried out any order given by Hitler, no matter how lawless or gruesome it was. By the summer of 1933, the number of Nazi rallies increased as well. They promoted unity and power. They were also a method of brainwashing, but I didn't fully realize this at the time.

The morning of July 16th 1933 began as any normal morning. I woke up to the normal smell of breakfast. The warm summer breeze was blowing through my open window, as any other morning. Since it was Sunday, that morning, my normal routine consisted of eating and getting dressed for church. This morning turned out to be different as soon as I headed down the hallway towards the kitchen. I could hear my parents bickering.

"No! Absolutely not." My mother protested. "He cannot miss church."

"But Minna..." He replied. "This is the most important event of his life so far."

"Oh really?" Came the sarcasm. "Do you think God would agree?"

"Honey, this was God's will."

"I highly doubt that!" She replied, rolling her eyes.

"Listen, he has a duty to his country." He firmly stated, "God would respect that."

"He is thirteen years old. What duty could he possibly have?" She asked.

"Hitler says, 'The children of today will be the leaders of tomorrow'. Thirteen year old boys especially have a duty." He replied. "He is coming with me."

"Fine!" She gave in. "But you are going to take time away from of your 'errands' on Wednesday to bring him then."

"Alright..." He hesitated. "You have a deal."

My mother was clearly disgusted by the behavior of my father. She left the room with a look of complete disbelief on her face. I took a seat next to my father and began eating my breakfast. He looked so cheerful; it was quite out of the ordinary. Unlike every other morning, he did not frantically flip through the pages of the newspaper. There was no cursing or slapping of the paper. He merely held it and smiled that slightly disturbing half grin. I had no clue what could have possibly made my father so happy.

"What is it papa?" I curiously asked.

"It's amazing!" He blurted. "Here take a look."

He turned the paper to me and read the head line out loud.

"Nazi party; Sole political party of the great Germany."

Of course, this meant absolutely nothing to a teenager. Hitler was apparently able to declare the Nazi party to be the only legitimate political system. Any other party was now abolished by law.

"Isn't that great, Der?"

"Of course, father!" I joyfully replied, although I really did not understand the gravity of the situation.

"They are having a rally today down at the Reichstag building. " He stated. "And you will be going."

"So is that where you are taking me?" I asked.

"Yes..." He answered. "It is just going to be a father and son day."

Thinking back on it now, it was rather ironic that we were having a father and son day at a Nazi rally. They used these rallies to force Nazi conformity on the youth. With the mixture of fatherly approval and peer pressure, young boys and girls fell right into Hitler's hands. Vast efforts were conducted to shape the minds of the youth. After all, like father said, the youth were the leaders of tomorrow. Hitler believed the Nazi nation would be around for a thousand years. They would need to brainwash the children to take their places when they were old and decrepit.

Hitler was also a father figure in our eyes. Since we were all oblivious to any malicious intent, we all looked up to him. They had programs for us to train our little minds and bodies into future soldiers. They dressed us in uniforms so we felt we were part of something bigger and better than ourselves, "a team". We were forced fed Hitler's twisted beliefs and deprived of anything that might spark a thought that would go against the Nazi ways. Children were recruited as spies to rat out anyone that questioned Hitler. Most importantly, we were drilled with the notion that the Jews were the cause of any problem Germany might be facing. This persisted from birth until manhood and parents not only condoned it, they encouraged it. No wonder so many fell into Hitler's trap; think about it. If you were told that the sky was green and every time you questioned it, you were beat and left an outcast. I would be willing to bet that anyone would start saying the sky is green, eventually. Furthermore, it is always more convenient to point the blame at another instead of pointing it at yourself.

So that morning would be the beginning of my brainwashing. My father and I finished our breakfast, got dressed and headed out the door. We walked along the street and I watched the trees sway in the breeze. Everyone was out and about on that beautiful day. They were cleaning off their sidewalks, beating out rugs etc... The children played in the street with rocks and cans. Some girls were playing jump rope. We passed Aden's house and I saw him peeking out the window. I waved frantically to my beloved friend. My father pulled me quickly by the arm and snarled at me. He still despised the fact that my only true friend was a Jew. By that time, I had known him for roughly eight years. I wish I would have said, "At least he is not a Communist." But my young mind could not think up such wise ass remarks. It would have been effective. They were more hated in the days after the Reichstag fire.

We continued our way down the side street to the main boulevard. We did not speak much. He was not much for small talk. Plus we did not share too much in common. About a block away from our home, we caught a trolley. My father paid our fares and we made our way to our seats. We sat quietly and I took in the scenery. People flocked all around, taking care of their daily duties. It was just another beautiful Sunday morning.

"You know Derr..." My father broke the silence. "You should really try to find other boys more like yourself to hang out with."

"Like non-Jewish boys? I questioned.

He just gave the 'keep your mouth shut' look.

"Aden is best friend. Why don't you like him?"

"Because Derrick, he, he is a Jew. Jews are nothing but trouble." He said. "One of these days he is going to pull you into that trouble."

"No, not Aden." I said. "He is not like the rest of them."

I did not even know what I meant by that, but it sounded like something he wanted to hear.

"Of course he is, Derrick." He quickly replied. "He is a Jew and always will be. You are just lucky that your mother insists on your friendship, otherwise I would end it."

"Yeah I guess I am." I smiled.

There was an awkward silence between us. I simply brushed it off and stared out the window.

"Derrick..." He once again broke the silence. So much for not being one for small talk. "One of these days, you are going to be a man. You should start thinking about joining the military. The country is going down a hard path, but it is necessary. From the looks of it, they are going to need you. Nothing would make me more proud."

"But the military doesn't sound fun."

"Life is not always fun." He snapped. "My job with the government now is not very fun, but it puts food on our table. It also gives our family name a good reputation."

"Yeah, but you hurt people." I replied, not even thinking about the words as they came slipping off my tongue.

"Excuse me!" He replied, clearly heated.

"I know what you do, dad." I hesitated. "It is ok, I don't mind."

"How do you know what I do?"

I think he was now more curious than mad.

"I've seen you." I answered.

"Seen me do what, exactly?"

"I've seen you stab a man." I whispered. "It's fine, he deserved it."

I tried to push off the conversation as unimportant, in hopes of ending it before any details came out. But that never works.

"Wait... What man?" He asked, panic stricken.

"Mr. Judd." I answered, as his eyes turned to terror. I could never forget that name. "Aden and I were playing in the factory. When you came in, we hid and waited for you to leave. I saw the old man get beat and stabbed. We tried to leave and you started chasing us. That is really how I got this scar. I fell out of the window."

I pointed to the scar on my forehead and waited for the scorning.

"Please don't be mad at me!" I begged.

"So, you saw this and did not tell anyone?"

"No, Aden and I swore never to speak about it again to anyone."

"Aden saw it all?" He asked.

"Yes sir."

"And you are sure he didn't tell anyone?"

"Yes sir." I repeated.

"Huh! Maybe there some hope for him yet. " He simply replied. "As I said, my job is not fun, but it is necessary for the greater good of the nation. Believe me. I would never do that just for the fun of it."

With that said, the conversation was ended again. It felt like there was now an understanding between us, which never before existed. The trolley made its way down the road. As we approached Tiergarten, a sub-section of Berlin, the volume of people started to increase. The streets and now the trolley were over crowded. A large mass of people lined the streets and hung out of apartment windows. They were all waving or flying Nazi flags. Banners and posters, containing swastikas and anti-Semitic messages were posted on shop windows, fences etc... Strangely enough, there was a positive vibe in the air. My father was elated by this sight and fought to contain his composure.

We exited the trolley and followed the herd of people heading towards the Reichstag. Soldiers with dogs and rifles lined the sidewalks. It was a chaotic and frightening scene, yet I still felt secure.

"Here..." My father stopped me. "Put this on your arm."

He reached over to me and wrapped an arm band around my bicep. The arm band bore a bright red, white and black Nazi flag. As we walked deeper into the rally, my excitement increased uncontrollably.

We could now see the partly burnt Reichstag. The building looked like an old Roman building with five pillars at the top of the main staircase. The roof and walls had statues on them, but we were too far away to make them out. Music was blaring all around us. I was not sure what the music was, but it sounded very triumphant. It was the type of music that soldiers would march to after a great victory.

Hundreds of troops stood in formation at the bottom of the steps leading up to the Reichstag. Nazi flags, once again, hung everywhere the eyes could see. Men in the crowd flew them from sticks and poles. Thousands of men, women and children gathered anywhere they could, in hopes to hear Hitler speak. I felt bizarrely connected to everyone. I never had that feeling before. I always felt like it was my family against the world. So isolated and alienated.

I looked around and everywhere I saw families, just like mine. Families that clearly had been to hell and back; all who now gathered together. There were fathers clenching flag poles, waving them high and proud and mothers clenching their husband's arm, with a look of pride and achievement on their faces. Even with poverty looming over them, they still portrayed this pride. As if to say, "Derrick, I know where you have been, but look at us now!"

I soaked in this pride. Now I felt like we were part of something. There was no more fighting the harshness of life on our own. We had a larger family and we would fight the harshness together.

We pushed our way through the crowd. People happily moved out of my father's way as he politely asked for clearance. I held tight to his jacket. It was a light brown army jacket with the letters SA embroidered on the back. I would learn later in life why they moved so willingly. That SA meant he was a Nazi Storm Trooper.

We gathered to one side, joining other fellow SA members. They also brought their children as well. My father motioned for me to go join the children as they played. We played for about thirty minutes while the grownups gathered in circles and gossiped. Then the music stopped momentarily. My father waved for me to return. I quickly obliged and return to his side.

The crowd let out a howling scream which forced a flash of images through my brain. In them I was standing on a hill. There was a mass of people cheering. Two cement walls lined each side of a grassy area that lead to a building. The building was foreign to me. It had large steps that led to a platform. On the platform stood a man dressed in what looked like animal skin. The cheering voices bounced off the wall. As I looked around, the only other thing I could see was forests, as far as the eyes could see.

"Derrick!" My father shouted. "You alright?"

I was snapped back to reality and realized I had fallen against him.

"Sorry." I apologized. "I am just a little hot, that's all."

"Look!" He interrupted.

I looked to the steps of the Reichstag and a man approached a podium. That man was none other than Adolf Hitler. He swiftly made his way to center stage, with one hand behind his back and the other flown in the air. This would eventually be known as the Nazi salute. Everyone in the crowd returned the salute, raising their right hand flat out to the sky, with their palm facing out. I had never seen anything like this before in my life. The uniformity of it amazed me. Thousands of people eagerly granted this man their full attention. He wasn't a very large man, average at best. He wore a full military uniform with metals and all. His hair was shiny black and slicked to the side. He appeared very clean cut with his signature mustache. It was the way he carried himself. He oozed power and control. There was a sense that even the most thuggish, meanest, most hideous human being in Germany would not question a single thing Hitler said. No matter how ridiculous or bizarre it may be. The one thing that stuck out him about was how unimaginably charismatic and convincing he was. He stood at the podium and continuously saluted each section of the crowd, patiently waiting until the noise ceased. When it did, he did not hesitate to approach the microphone.

"Four months and seventeen days have passed since this building that stands behind me was devastated." He began. "Communism, with its relentless eagerness, wishes to further attack upon our dismayed and shattered nation. It seeks to devour our pride and cast us into the pits of a chaotic hell...."

The crowd was eerily quiet as the "Father" addressed his children. As far as I could see, not a single person was distracted. It's hard to admit, but even at such a young age, I looked up to Hitler. He had the right amount of confidence and enthusiasm to make us believe he truly cared. Even the harshest oratorical critics had to agree that Hitler was convincing. His oratory skills were immaculate and his reasons to speak were endless. People needed someone to guide them; someone to fix the extreme conditions of our dear mother land.

The speech went on for some time, yet he did not exhaust his welcome. Which is one sign of a great orator; do not give them more than they can handle. He hit on all avenues from the Communist to the Economy, finishing with a grand finale of Jewish propaganda. We drank it up as if it was the last dip out of the Holy Grail. Sad, desperate people we were. I came to the rally hardly knowing who Hitler was and I left with a role model.

When the rally ended, we all herded back down the narrow streets, returning to the trolley. I left with a utopian feeling and passion for my country that only brainwashing can bring. My relationship with my father increased on that afternoon and continued until his death. We attended all the rallies that my mother would approve of. I joined a Hitler youth group and day after day the Nazi ways were drilled into my head. Yet my respect and loyalty to Aden still remained strong. Vast efforts were bestowed by my father to no avail. The friendship would remain for the time being.

The following year saw a dramatic decrease in civil rights. Mostly centered on the rights of the Jewish, but also reached every resident of Germany. A law was passed that allowed the forced sterilization of anyone who was found to produce a child with a genetic defect. I purposely use the word "produce" because in the eyes of Hitler, women's sole purpose was to produce children, like a mini factory for the military. Such children would negatively impact the future Third Reich and potentially weigh it down. The Jews were prohibited from owning land, being newspaper editors, or even obtaining National Insurance. The homeless and unemployed were forced into labor camps. For their "laziness", they were forced to work for free as punishment.

All looked solid for the Nazi Party, leading up to June of 1934. No one expected the inner conflict brewing with the party. Certain persons within the party disagreed with Hitler and wished to over-throw him. Heated arguments occurred behind closed doors. These certain people still believed that they had a say in what Hitler would do. They meant to control them. Even after Hitler pleaded with them, they refused to budge.

I would never forget the night of June 30th 1934.

I lay in my bed, next to Ava as usual. It was too hot for me to sleep. I laid there tossing and turning, desperately trying to get comfortable. I had been thinking about seeing Aden the following day. Although we went to the same school and lived on the same road, I had not seen him much lately. My father realized that by keeping my busy with youth groups and rallies, I would not have any free time to see Aden.

It was well past everyone's bedtime when I heard a banging on the front door. I could not imagine who would come at such a late hour. I quietly slipped out of bed and walked to the bedroom door. I cracked it open and peered down the hallway. My father approached the front door with only a pair of shorts on; his normal night attire. He was holding a candle in his left hand and opened the door with his right. He greeted two men and exchanged conversation. Their voices were distant but still auditable.

"Mr. Von Newmann?" The gentleman asked.

"Yes sir, I am." He answered.

"Hitler has ordered you to come with us." The other man stated.

"Ok..." My father hesitated. "Can I please go gather my things and say goodbye to my family?"

"Yes, if you must." He replied. "You only have five minutes, and then we will be coming in to retrieve you."

"Thank you, sir." His voice cracked a little. "Thank you! Please come in."

My father opened the door and motioned them in. He placed the candle on his desk, next to the door. The men stood by the entrance and my father retreated to his room. The men stood motionless by the door. In the candle light I could make out their uniforms. They were wearing jackets like my father, but theirs appeared to be black and were embroidered with SS on the selves. I had seen them before, at the rallies.

My father returned to the living room in full uniform.

"One more moment please." He pleaded.

The men nodded a sign of approval and my father headed down the hallway towards my room. I quickly ran to my bed and lay back down as if nothing ever happened. As he entered my room, I pretended to be asleep. He stood at the foot of my bed, watching us sleep, for a few seconds. Finally, he reached down and shook my shoulder.

"Derrick... Derrick, wake up." He whispered.

"What's going on dad?" I rolled over and asked.

"Shhh!" He quickly replied. "You will wake your sister."

There was a brief silence as he starred at me with dead eyes.

"Derrick, I am leaving and I can't promise that I will be returning."

"But why?!" I said aloud.

"Shhh!" He replied again, as Ava shifted but never awoke. "I am not sure son, but what I am sure of is how much I love you, your sister and above all, your mother."

The words "I love you" were never spoken by my father, except to my mother. It was always just a given. I knew something was deathly wrong.

"Do you remember what I told you about taking care of the family and serving our country?" He asked.

"Yes, papa..." I simply replied.

"Well, I still expect you to keep that promise." He stated. "Can you do that for me?"

"Yes sir." I answered. "I promise."

"You always were a good boy." He said, rubbing my head playfully.

He leaned over and kissed my forehead and then reached for Ava and did the same.

"I have to go now." He said. "Go back to sleep."

He made his way to the doorway and suddenly stopped before exiting. He turned back to me and what he said would be branded in my brain for the rest of my life.

"Heil Hitler, my son." He whispered. "Heil Hitler."

"Heil Hitler." I replied.

A tear came down my cheek as he closed the door and headed down the hallway. I would never see him alive again.
Chapter Seventeen

My beloved father's body was found in an alleyway a few blocks away from home. The police arrived early the following morning to inform us of his passing. I was awakened by the horrid screaming of my mother. His fate was particularly hard on her compared to us naïve children. Some years later, I found a letter among my mother's belongings. It was dated June 30th 1934 and was signed by my father. In the letter, he explained the situation and professed his love for his family and country. Unbeknownst to anyone, I was the only person who spoke to my father that fatal night. The letter suggested that he knew he was going to die.

To tell you the truth, I was actually not very surprised by his death. Even at my young age, I knew it was a very real possibility. I was still saddened, however. For all the evil that was my father, he was still just that, my father. I was still confused, by one thing. If he knew he was going to die, why did he still salute Hitler? Why wouldn't he disown him? I guess that has something to say about his character.

My mother took the news the worst. Worst of all, she refused to identify his body. In order to process the death papers, someone had to identify him. Since I promised to be the "man of the house", I convinced my mother to allow me to go identify him. In her grief, she agreed, if not only to remove me from her presence. I was taken to the hospital, by the police officer that brought the terrible news.

I had only been to the hospital once before, with my father. It seemed exceptionally busy this time. Families huddled in groups in almost every room we entered. There was a mixture of sorrow and vengeance on all of their faces, yet no one said a word. I was escorted to the staircase, which led down to the basement. At the bottom of the stairwell, a hallway led to a single door. Above the door, a sign hung that read "Morgue".

The morgue was cold, unusually cold. Stretchers filled the room in perfect formation. Each one had a large body bag on top of it. There was a smell that I can only explain as a mixture of death being overshadowed by the scent of chemical lime. Not to be confused with the pleasant fragrance of a lime fruit. No, they smell nothing alike. Even with their vast efforts to disguise the scent, you could still smell the death like a decayed carcass on a hot summer street.

The doctor was off to one side of a table, "working" on someone. He was very short and bulky. He was wearing a lab coat and big thick goggles. Upon seeing us, he turned and approached the officer. I immediately noticed his cane and distinct limp. He had a stunned and concerned look on his face as I approached. I was morbidly intrigued by the slight of the dead man lying out in front of him. It was the first dead person, I have seen in my short life. The doctor had the man's abdomen cut open from his neck to his belly button. Metal vice grips pried open his chest, exposing his rib cage. As the police officer approached the doctor, he explained our dilemma. The doctor seemed hesitate at first, but he knew he had no choice. He was ordered by a Gestapo. If he did not, he may end up on one of these slabs.

"Well son... You ready?" He asked.

I simply nodded, not truly sure if I was or not. The sight of the dead man did not bother me. Actually it kind of excited me. I felt ashamed for the feeling, but it did not matter. The feeling was still there. I was then escorted, by the doctor into another room. This room was twice as cold as the previous. I could hear the sound of a fan coming from the wall. The same wall that was lined with small steel doors; no larger than two and a half feet tall and wide. We walked about half way down the aisle and stopped at a door labeled 23. The doctor reached for the handle and I reached out to stop him.

"Wait..." I blurted.

"Do you still want to do this?" He asked, in a fatherly concerned voice.

I do not think he agreed with my presence in a morgue. Not at my age.

"Yes, yes I do." I answered. "But, first can you tell me how he died."

The doctor paused for a second, sizing me up. I believe he was debating on if he should sugar coat it or not. Maybe it was his morbid personality, being a mortician and all, he did not sugar coat it at all.

"Well son. They found your father in the alley near your home. He has a gunshot wound under his chin. The force of the bullet blew a chunk of his skull off. He was found with the gun still in his hand." He stated. "It is being reported as a suicide."

"No, no!" I replied. "There were these men who came to the door. I saw them. They must have done it."

"Wow, calm down!" He snapped, peering through a small window in the door we entered, at the officer standing guard. "It would be smart to keep that to yourself, if you know what is good for you."

"But..." I said.

"But nothing. Let me enlighten you, son." He stopped, checking the door again for the officer. "Over twenty men within Kruezberg ended up dead last night. All with gunshot wounds to the head. All of them were shot in the back of the head, execution style. Now your father shot himself. That means something very important. If he was in fact killed by the men from the door, they must have had a great deal of respect for him. They let him go out with honor. So just be happy about that. If you can be happy about any of this situation."

Everyone knew that suicide was more honorable than execution. It was not unheard of for someone to be allowed to take their own life, instead of being murdered. He was in fact right. It was considered an honor, as perplexing as that sounds.

With that being said, I shut my mouth and we just stood there in silence, momentarily. Then I motioned for him to open the door. He unlatched it and let the door swing open and bang against the wall. He reached in and pulled the end of a table that rolled on its metal track. On the table laid a large body bag like the rest. The doctor reached for the zipper of the body bag and looked to me for my approval. I nodded, consenting to the horror I was just about to witness. The zipper ticked as he pulled it down. He pulled apart the body bag exposing my father's naked body. The bag was only opened to his waist. Besides his burn scars, that extended down his chest, he looked fine. His head was another story. The doctor managed to sew up his throat and piece back what he could of the skull.

There was no doubt that it was him. The bullet managed to elude his face. All I could think of were the last words he spoke to me. A few tears started to creep down my cheek. I quickly whipped them away before the doctor could notice. I stood there for a moment and examined his body. I was too confused by the situation. Part of me was pissed at Hitler for taking my father. The other part wanted to honor my father's wishes. I bent over and put my cheek about against his.

"I love you, father." I whispered.

I kissed his forehead and quickly backed up. The doctor swiftly zippered up the bag and closed the door. My father was officially gone forever.

"Can you confirm that was Johan Von Newmann?" The doctor asked.

"Yes sir." I said, between sobs.

"Thank you, son." The doctor replied. "I am truly sorry for your loss. I'll walk you out."

I was brought out of the hospital and returned home, by the police officer. My mother was still torn up and remained so for some time. As for me, I took my father's advice. I became the man of the house. I also decided to dedicate my life to my country. In the last words of my father, "Heil Hitler!" Too bad I did not realize that dedication would also be the dedication to my death and the death of countless by my hands.

History dubbed the night of my father's death, "The Night of Long Knives". Inner conflicts between Hitler and the SA leaders were jeopardizing his drive for power. Apparently, Hitler tried to persuade the leaders to come to his side. When they still refused, Hitler did what he would later become famous for. He ordered their execution. SA leaders and members were executed all across Germany.

It was a glimpse of the Germany to come. Every time Hitler was elevated to a higher power, his paranoia was also elevated. This is easy for me to say in retrospect. His intent was hardly known at the time. Within a few days, a decree was drafted declaring the actions of that night as justifiable and necessary for the greater good of the people.

The next few months, did not see any such acts of violence. Random acts against the Jews persisted, but other than that, they were peaceful days. Nearly three months after the massacre, the president of Germany died and Hitler absorbed his powers as well. He was elevated again to the Fuhrer; the complete dictator of Germany. No one questioned his presumed power for two reasons. One, they liked living just as much as you and I. Two, Hitler actually turned the economy around and many went back to work.

Life at home, after my father's death, reached an all time low. My father had some money saved up, which my mother eventually exhausted. It dwindled down quickly. I was still too young to work or be left alone. So my mother recruited the help of my grandmother. She moved in with us, shortly after papa's death. This freed up time for my mother to get a job. My mother bravely confronted the man who was once in charge of my father and demanded help locating work. Such a demand from anyone else may have led to their miraculous disappearance. Apparently, we were well respected. People were always willing to help her out if she threw out my father's name. Many did not believe he should have been among the chosen few to die.

With the help from the Nazis, my mother found a job in a sewing plant. They made military uniforms, parachutes, blankets etc... Such jobs were usually reserved for the wives of the Nazis, whose children had already grown up. Hitler did not approve of women neglecting their motherly home duties for work, but there were always exceptions. That was one of the great things about Nazi Germany. There were always exceptions to the rules, as long as you knew the right person. Nazi leaders had relationships with Jews, children, other men, and nobody questioned it. At the same time, average Joes were being sent to concentration camps for the exact same thing.

The rest of 1934 and 1935 were rather uneventful. More rules and restriction were placed against the Jews. Every year saw more liberties ripped from them. There grew this subconscious understanding that the Jews were second class humans. Subordinate to the Aryan master race. No German questioned the notion, even if they did not agree. We were finally restoring our glory. Not even the Jews questioned it, in fear of retaliation.

My teenage years were filled with school and that is pretty well it... There was way too much of it, if you ask me. I excelled in math and science, but I found history to be the most interesting. This was not history as the world saw it. It was history as Hitler wanted us children to see it. It was pure brainwashing to the fullest extent. We learned about the glorious years of the Holy Roman Empire and the German Empire of the 19th century. Nothing could indicate the reason for the dismal conditions of Germany in the 1920's, except the corruption and Jewish tainting of the German government.

Thankfully, Aden and I were still allowed to attend the same school. Every morning before school, we would meet up and walk together. We spent most of our time discussing what young men usually discuss. Girls, girls, girls... Unlike today, girls did not have sex at such young ages; especially not in Nazi Germany. Any girl, who had sex at such a young age and was not married, was branded as a whore and unfit for child birth. Motherhood was the sole reason for their existence. They were needed to pump out future soldiers. As I expressed before, they were mini child factories.

On September 15th 1935, the entire nation, Jews and Germans alike, faced a setback. The Nuremberg race laws were decreed. The law prohibited Jews and Germans from marriage and extramarital intercourse. Anyone found in violation was sentenced to hard labor in a concentration camp. Jews were also prohibited from employing German women under the age of forty five. They were not allowed to display Nazi flags or colors. Doing so would warrant a prison sentence. They were, however, encouraged to fly their Star of David flag. And why not, as now it was easier to pick out the "enemy".

For some time, Hitler had been building up the German army, even though this was against the treaty of World War One. On March 7th 1936, Hitler pushed past any country's comfort level and occupied the land between Germany and France, known as the Rhineland. The fore mentioned treaty strictly prohibited Germany from occupying this area with any military force what so ever. This was the single action that drew the most attention from world leaders. All eyes were now on Hitler.

His daring move put Germany on top of every watch list. We Germans saw it as the official rebirth of a torn nation. The Jews, on the other hand, saw it as the official start of the long road to their annihilation. The buzz was everywhere. We all knew that our fate was in the hands of Hitler, our father, our Fuhrer. It might not be today, tomorrow or a year from now, but fate was coming and there was no place to hide.

With each act of defiance, with no retaliation, Hitler pushed a little farther with his "vision" for Germany. He, once again, increased restrictions on the Jews. They were now prohibited from most occupations where they could be seen as a force of influence. These restrictions imposed on the Jewish community, inevitably weakened their status in society. Only in the summer of 1936, did the Jews see any bright days. As if in the eye of the storm, their restrictions were briefly forgotten. Pressure from foreign countries and the upcoming Olympics in Berlin, had forced Hitler to create a mirage. This hid the true treatment of the Jewish Community from the world. No one was to spoil the imaginary peace among his people. Hitler used the Gestapo to keep any challengers in line. They were placed above the law. Anything that Hitler sanctioned was legal, even murder.

By 1937, I was in my last year of high school. Aden and I were pretty much loners in those years. Most rejected us for our friendship. Well, mostly rejected me. Aden was rejected, period, for being a Jew. We could really care less though. All we needed were each other. Well, until the need to procreate begun. Being publicly alienated, by your fellow classmates, made it difficult to win over any girls in school. Jewish girls felt threatened and German girls resented Aden. So, I spent most of school time alone. That was until the first day of my senior year.

Aden and I arrived to school early. As usual, we would head to the library until classes started. We would sit at the table and watch everyone coming in the main entrance outside of the library window. As we discussed which classes we would be attending that year, I heard some commotion behind me. Books slid across the floor in a chaotic rampage. A girl knelt on one knee as she placed her hand out to brace her fall. She let out a little moan as the pain set in. I immediately rose to my feet and went to assist her. I reached down to take her hand and help her up. I was immediately taken aback as she flipped her hair out of her face.

"Who in God's name is this?" I asked myself.

Her beautiful wavy hair was brushed away revealing her face. She was not the most desired girl in school, but she was wholesome and honest looking.

"Here take my hand." I demanded.

"Why thank you." She said, with a smile. "I feel like a moron."

As I pulled her to her feet, I looked down to see all of her books and papers scattered across the floor. I quickly bent down and retrieved the items.

"Thank you so much!" She stated. "I am Sarah. What is your name?"

"I... I am." I apparently forgot how to speak briefly. "I am Derrick, and that is my friend Aden."

She looked at me and then looked at Aden. This repeated a few times.

"Are you Jewish?" She shyly whispered.

"No, no actually I am not." I quickly replied, waiting for a reaction. "But Aden is."

"And you guys are friends?" She asked.

"Yup." I answered nonchalantly.

"Nice..." She replied again with a smile.

I handed over her things and motioned her to our table. The three of us sat there and talked until classes started. Come to find out, she didn't live very far from Aden and I. It was only about ten minutes walk and conveniently on the way to school. As we departed to our separate classes, we agreed to meet up and I'd walk her home. It was pure excitement. I had not connected with someone other than Aden and my father in a very, very long while. Sarah seemed genuinely interested in me. Surely no one has taken an interest in me since my father died. It was just what I needed to lift my spirits.

Meanwhile, Germany as a whole was rather quiet, except for the usual mischief, which we had grown used to. It would have been out of character to not witness at least one act of cruelty. The military machine, on the other hand, was building and preparing to strike. No one knew where or when, but we knew it was only a matter of time. I was starting to hear the chilling words of my father, "... serve your country..." It sucks what some people will agree to for love. I already decided some time ago that I was, in fact, going to serve my country. I was not sure how yet and I did not even have a plan.

Surprisingly, my mother was the most demanding one. She saw the military as my wild card to success. After all, I was really good in school, somewhat in shape and willing to face dead bodies without fainting. Maybe some place deep inside of me, in a place that not even I haven't seen, I will be able to take a human life. However, is that what I wanted to do? Made to take orders, kill at will and worst of all, be shot at. That did not sound too appealing to me, but one has their duties. If they were fun, they would not be called duties. They would simply be called activities. Then again, honor does not come with fun. It comes with sacrifice and hardship. But for the time being, I was focusing on being a young man.

My first goal was to win over Sarah. Dangerous territory, I know, but she seemed to be the only girl that cared to understand me. It is also hard to convince a young man's "brain" to stay away.

In those beginning days, it seemed like I walked her everywhere. I walked her to school, each class, and back home. We were growing on each other nicely. You have to remember it was the 1930's. Just walking a girl home meant something.

By the beginning of October, we had started holding hands and spending every available moment with each other. It was also about the time when the German boys in school started harassing me in the hallways. Certain names became the normal, such as kike, Jew lover, and traitor. They never actually went as far as to pick a fight. They would just walk by and whisper things. Might have been the fact that I was 5'9 and 140lbs. Pretty large compared to my assailants. They just knew I would not do anything in retaliation.

I believe the harassment affected Sarah more than me. They never taunted her. It was always directed towards me. For one, she obviously was a female, German boys did not harass girls, not even Jews girls. Also, she was a Jew; they did not expect anything less from her. Either way, we continued as if no one else was in the world.

Another obstacle we faced was her father. He did not approve of his daughter dating a spawn of the government that tried so diligently to strip him of his rights. I believe those were his exact words, matter of fact. So anytime we would try to see each other outside of school, she had to sneak out or lie about her whereabouts. Luckily, I was free to come and go as I pleased. My mother was always working and my grandmother had just as much authority over me, as I had over Hitler.

Even through all of the strife, we forged ahead, come hell or high water. There was still one feat to be accomplished. The kiss; the one thing to seal the deal. The one thing to push us over the edge and make us say, "Hey fuck you world." It was our time; our turn to take that step. But where? Where could we do it? Unlike today, we were definitely not allowed to be making out in school. We were not allowed over each other's homes. It was taboo for young people to be showing public displays of affection. If we were going to do this, it would have to be far from observing eyes.

So, I formulated a "fool proof plan", so I thought. After school, I would walk her home as usual and tell her to meet me down the street in one hour. Once she snuck out, we would head to the movie theater, then to the diner for a milkshake and then home. Before we would reach her house, I would slip her into an alley. This is where I would make my move; somewhere far from any spectators. It was the perfect place for us to solidify our relationship. Once we were finished, we would walk home as usual; just this time in supreme happiness.

The day I put this plan into action was definitely a turning point in my life. It was a forced transition into manhood, if you will. It was October 11th 1937, I believe. School had been a typical day. I had spoken to Sarah a few times, but I had failed to initiate the plan. I was too nervous to go through with it. My brain told me the timing was wrong, but my "other brain" would not listen. I waited until we walked home to ask her.

"So..." I hesitated. "Um... Do you? Do you, um?"

"What is it Derrick?" She asked. "Spit it out."

"I just... I just wanted to know if you'd like to go to a movie tonight." I finally spit out.

"Of course." She replied, with a smile. "Why would you be nervous to ask that?"

'I don't know." I mumbled.

"Don't be nervous to ask me anything. Ok Der?" She said, again with that innocent smile.

"I know, I know." I repeated. "Sorry."

"Well don't be." She sarcastically replied, grabbing my hand and squeezing it tight.

"Ok." I laughed. "Well, when you get home, wait an hour, and then I will meet you at the end of the street. We'll go to a movie and to the diner."

"Mmm, sounds fun!" She stated.

We just shared a smile and continued to head down the road. In our usual fashion, I had to actually say goodbye to Sarah a few houses down from her house. She feared that her father would see us together. That could cause some unwanted conflict. Between her father's disliking of me and the taunting from the kids at school, I couldn't see how it would get any worse. Strangely, it drew Sarah closer to me.

After I said goodbye, I ran home and changed from my school clothes. I grabbed a fist full of money from my mother's secret stash, which obviously was not very secret and out the door I went. I was on a mission to make Sarah mine. I would not chicken out. Not this time. I was so ready for it. I arrived to the corner as planned. Sarah had yet to show up. I took a seat on the curb and waited. The designated time had come and past. Yet there was no sign of her. I waited fifteen more minutes since I was sure she would soon arrive. Still no Sarah. Had she been caught by her father? Maybe she thought I said a different time. Then again, maybe she sensed what was coming and backed out. A slow depression started to grow as I realized I might have been stood up. All I could do was sit on the curb and throw pebbles into the street. Fifteen minutes is a long time for an impatient teenager, but thirty minutes is forever. I was just about to accept the fact that I had been forgotten, when I heard a voice behind me.

"Hey you..." She said. "Sorry I am late. My father is a pain in the butt."

"I started to think you were not coming." I replied.

"Aww, I'm sorry." She said with a smile. "Were you sad?"

I just nodded, with an innocent little boy face.

"You're cute sometimes." She stated.

"Sometime?" I asked sarcastically. "How about all of the time?"

"Ok... All of the time." She chuckled.

We shared a laugh and made our way to the theater. When we got there, there was a small but extremely important factor I did not consider. The theaters in Berlin were now all playing Nazi glorifying movies. I was starting to wonder, if I could ever catch a break. Sarah expressed that she did not care. By then, she had become used to it. She just wanted to see a movie and spend time with me. Although a bit reluctant, we went in anyways.

The movie was terrible. It was a rendition of WWI and how Germans were betrayed by the Jewish backed government and forced to surrender prematurely. By half way through the movie, Sarah had fallen asleep. I sat there and watched the God awful movie by myself. It was simply a brainwash session and I had just bought two tickets to it. When it was finally over with, I woke Sarah up. She proceeded to apologize to me profusely. I wasn't mad at all. How was I supposed to expect her to sit and watch such filth? I was German and I thought it was crap and worst of all, inaccurate. Plus, I got to watch her sleep, which is always one of those precious things.

I just kept telling myself, "as long as we get that kiss, nothing else matters". Unfortunately, not only did Sarah show up late but the movie sucked, she fell asleep and I ran out of money at the diner. I only had enough to buy one milkshake. Thankfully, she didn't mind and insisted that we share one. She said, "It would be cute", to quote her. I was saved yet again. There was only one more chance to make it work. Then both of us would forget how terrible the night went and only remember that first kiss.

We finished up at the diner and made our way out the door. I estimated that I had about fifteen minutes until we got to her house. Somehow with that time, I had to find the courage to make the move.

We walked along the sidewalk, holding hands. We talked about school and gossip; typical teenage conversation. The sun was just starting to dip below the horizon. A cold October breeze blew the leaves across the sidewalk. Sarah let out a shiver and I quickly offered her my jacket. She took it and draped it over her shoulder. "Good move Derrick." I thought. Score some gentlemen points. The way the night was going, I was going to need them. We were about half way home when I decided to make my move.

"I... I want to tell you something." The words fumbled out of my mouth.

"Ok..." She hesitated. "What is it?"

"Well, I know tonight was kind of terrible."

"Terrible?" She interrupted. "It wasn't terrible at all."

"You don't have to lie." I replied.

"You didn't have fun?" She asked, concerned.

"No... I mean yes, yes I did. I thought it was great." I tried to recover myself. "I just thought you didn't have fun."

"Well stop thinking." She said, with a wink.

I just paused and smiled. I could tell by the look in her eyes that she wasn't lying. She actually enjoyed herself.

"I think you are swell!" I blurted out, feeling rather stupid for the frankness of the statement.

"Hehe." She laughed. "I think you are swell too."

We shared another smile and she put my arm around her shoulders.

"There is a shortcut through this alley right here." I stated trying to keep my intentions concealed. "Do you think we should take it or stay on the road?"

"Do you think it is safe?"

"Yeah, I take it all the time." I replied, which was actually not a lie. "I take it all the time with no trouble."

"OK..." She paused. "It would be nice to be out of sight for a little bit."

She flashed a childish smile. It was at this point I knew I was in there. I would not fuck this part up. This was the only part that matter.

"Do not fuck this up. Do not fuck this up!" I repeated, to myself.

We slipped into the alley, both with a bounce in our step that is only seen in the presence of lovers. The sky above was bright orange, as the sun fell down. The alley was still relatively bright. It was comparable to walking in the woods at sunset. Everything was still visible, but darkness was soon closing in. We would make it home before dark, for sure.

My arm was around Sarah, as before, and we carelessly strolled down the alley, shooting the breeze as normal. We were just enjoying each other's company. When we were completely out of sight from the road, I stopped Sarah. This was the moment, I could feel it. My stomach was fluttering with butterflies. My legs were weak and my heart was pounding; all classic symptoms of diving into the unknown. I was hardly as nervous as I thought I was going to be. There was this energy between us. I could feel both of us feeding off this energy. If I fucked this up, I might never get her. At least, that is what I thought.

"So..." I broke the brief silence. "Do you like me more than a friend?"

"Umm..." I had thrown her off guard. This could be bad. "I don't know. I think so."

I heard words echoing in my head, like I had said them before. Complete déjà vu! Before I could stop to think of their origin, they came slipping out.

"Do you need help finding out?" I asked.

She just gave me a puzzled look, splashed with excitement. Kind of to say "How the hell do you plan on doing that?"

Before she could answer, I turned her so she was facing me. I put my hand around her waist and drew her against my body. She did not resist.

"This is good", I thought.

Her eyes were closed, waiting. She knew what this was and she didn't protest.

The nervousness went away and I was completely focused on her beautiful lips. I was in some kind of zone. You know that few seconds before making that daring first step. The second when your body is driven purely on animal instincts. There are no more "what ifs".

Our lips slowly inched closer and I know my plan was going to work. I was going to get that kiss. Our lips were almost touching. We were about to make contact for the first time, and that is when it happened.

"Hey you!" A voice called out.

We were startled by a man's voice coming up behind us. Sarah jumped and backed up. I whipped around to face two Gestapo officers. My mood jumped from ecstasy to extreme terror. Both of the men were dressed in the common police officer uniform, for the time. The both carried rifles and both looked rather pissed off. One man was significantly taller than the other. The smaller man was actually almost too chunky for a Gestapo.

"Look at what we have here, Hans." The shorter of the two stated.

"Yeah, look at that." The apparent, Hans stated. "Looks like we have some love birds."

The two men shared a laugh and continued towards us. Sarah stood behind me, gripped my shirt. The men did not look like they were trying to congratulate us on our "almost" first kiss. They actually conveyed quite the opposite vibe.

"Check their IDs, Karl." Hans demanded to his partner.

Karl quickly stepped forward. We both fumbled to get our IDs. It was customary for the Gestapo to roam the streets and harass kids in order to "keep them out of trouble". Sarah reached around me and handed me her ID. I handed both of ours to the man, who rudely snatched them from me.

"Derrick Von Newmann and Sarah Strauss." He paused for a second. "A German and a Jew. Isn't that a beautiful thing Hans?"

"Oh yeah." The two laughed again. "It's so nice that you could put aside such differences and come together. I am sure Hitler would be proud of you."

"Yeah, they should be given a prize or something. Don't you think?" Karl asked.

Sarah was gripping my shirt so tightly now that I thought she might have ripped it off of my back if she pulled any harder. She was frightened, and for good reason.

"You know..." Karl continued, only to pause and look at my ID. "Derrick, you should be ashamed of yourself, associating with such filth."

"Yeah." Hans agreed. "You know she is just using you. That is what they all do. I have a son your age and if I ever caught him with a fucking kike, I would beat him to near death. Maybe then he would realize what happens when you fuck a Jew."

We could do nothing, but stand there and take the verbal abuse. Karl was now circling behind us. Our heads did not turn to follow him. We simply keep our eyes straight forward and our mouths shut. It was the safest bet.

"What should we do with them?" Hans asked. "We could just shoot them and say we caught them back here plotting a conspiracy."

Sarah let out a whine and nearly fell. I grabbed onto her dress and held her up. We were now holding each other in terror.

"Nah!" Karl replied. "I have a far better idea."

He pulled up the back of Sarah's dress slightly with the end of his rifle. She let out a yelp and gripped me tighter.

"Derrick, do something!" She cried.

"Yeah Derrick, why don't you do something?" Hans repeated, following a loud laugh. "Fine... Get her."

With Han's approval, Karl was released like a caged animal. He pulled Sarah away from me and held her from behind, rubbing up against her back. The man had his arms around her chest, holding her hands in place. She was helpless. As I turned to "help" her, Hans grabbed me and threw me to the ground. I had to do everything in my power to not hit my head and black out. Luckily, I did not. I looked up to Sarah, only to see Karl rubbing up on her. He was feeling her chest and legs with his one free hand. She squirmed, but even with the one hand, the man was too strong for her. It only seemed to fuel his excitement. I wanted to do something to help her, but I was too little and too unarmed. It was a lesson on how guns always win. Hans then ripped me to my feet.

"Get the hell out of here. Take your fucking ID and leave." He demanded. "If I ever, and I mean ever, see you with another fucking Jew on your arm, I will personally kill you. Not only will I kill you, I will thoroughly enjoy it. So turn around and start walking."

"Yes sir, yes sir." I repeated, in panic as I grab my jacket from the ground.

"Don't leave me, Derrick!" Sarah screamed. "Please don't leave me."

"I'm sorry." I pleaded. "I'm sorry."

We both started crying, which in turn made the men laugh. Before I could say anything else, I was grabbed and shoved in the opposite direction.

"Go bastard!" Hans demanded again. "Go now before I shoot you dead right here. And remember, I now know where you live. If you ever tell anyone about this, I will hunt you down and kill you and your family."

I looked back at Sarah who was now being pushed face down onto an oversized shipping box. As she lay hunched over, Karl was pulling up her dress and tearing off her panties. Her screams increased. The last thing I saw was Karl standing over her with his pants around his ankles. I could not watch anymore. Like the coward I felt like, I turned and ran down the alley to the main road. I never looked back again.
Chapter Eighteen

I ran down the alley, with tears streaming down my face. I do not know if I was more upset about the situation or the fact that I was too helpless to save her. If I would have tried, they surely would have killed both of us and gotten away with it. Hitler gave full authority to the Gestapo. It would have been my word against theirs; if I was still alive.

Once I reached the main street, I walked from there. I did not want to draw any attention. I just wanted to be home. Thoughts of what they were doing to Sarah engulfed my mind. I needed to be in my bed alone to cry. Crying in public is frowned upon. Perception is everything. There was a time and place for crying and the public eye was not the place. Thankfully, when I got home, there was no one there. There was a note on the door, which stated they went shopping. I could not be more delighted. There wouldn't be an awkward entry where my mother and grandmother would stone me with questions. I simply strolled through the living room, down the hall and into my room. I flopped on my bed like a dead fish. It was only about 8:30 PM, but as soon as I hit the mattress I forced myself to sleep. That night was not kind to me. I woke up almost hourly to the sounds of Sarah's screams.

I should have just stayed away from her to begin with. This was the only girl who ever showed me any interest. Now the government that is supposed to "protect me", just drove my one chance at love to hell. What was I suppose to say to her the next day in school? Do you think "I'm sorry" would suffice? I had a hard time thinking it would. The following day, I walked to Aden's and convinced him to take a different route. I told him that Sarah was sick and staying home. Once we saw her at school, I planned to just play stupid. We entered the school and if my calculations were correct she should have been waiting for us. She was not.

I did not see her the entire day. I guess I didn't lie after all. It was a traumatizing event, which warrants a day off, I guess. I became alarmed, however when she did not show the next day or the following day. Matter of fact, she never returned. I thought maybe she was transferred to another school to avoid any further contact with me. That was until I started seeing the flyer posted all over town. Her father had not seen her since that night and formed a mission to find her. He tried to contact the police, but of course, they would do nothing for him. They would not lift a finger to find a Jewish girl. I bet they probably told him he was lucky that she didn't steal all his money before she selfishly ran away.

I did not speak a single word about that night to anyone. As I always say, "I like being alive". My mouth stayed glued. Publicly accusing a Gestapo of such horrid atrocities would simply be fucking moronic. As the days, weeks, months and eventually years went by, she was soon forgotten. Only her family had any hope for her return. But we all knew she would not. I was free to never think of the event again. Easier said than done, of course. I actually never pursued another woman for anything more than just casual sex.

I eventually graduated from high school, in June of 1938. By then, a military presence was felt in our neighboring country, Austria. Our two nations formed a Union, essentially making it all Germany. The numerous restrictions set upon the Jewish community in Germany, where now subject to the Austrian Jews.

Jews were now forced to register all wealth and property, apply for ID cards and add religion defining names to all documents. Sarah for women, ironically and Israel for men. They were also required to stamp their passports with a red "J". The persecution of the Jews we know today had begun. Sparked by an incident in the Paris German Embassy, November 9th of 1938 saw the worst event of the anti-Semitic conflict. Apparently, a young man enraged by his parents deportation from Germany, walked into the German Embassy and shot the German diplomat. This man eventually died from his wounds. As news returned to Germany, the Night of Broken Glass erupted.

Across the entire Third Reich, angry Germans were up in arms. Even the Germans who did not see the Jews as the scum of the planet were equally pissed. It was also an excuse to let out frustration caused by the Reich without persecution. Many used the night to settle old grudges and seek revenge, which would otherwise peak suspicion. The SS and Gestapo were allowed to do whatever they wanted. They frowned on normal people, such as myself, for attacking people at will. It would lead to chaos and possible revolt. So only the "qualified" were allowed to kill and rape as they pleased. This event was a free ticket to all Germans to run amuck and run amuck we did.

Thousands of businesses and homes were ransacked and looted. Synagogues across the country were destroyed, numbering around two thousand. Nearly a hundred Jews were murdered and tens of thousands were either injured or jailed.

At first, as many were, I was overcome by rage and caught up in the moment. It wasn't until I was well into raiding an old Jew couple's home, that I saw a picture on a fire mantle that stuck me. It was of a young man around my age. Nothing about the man's description or character struck me. It just struck my conscience. It was then that I remembered Aden, my dear friend. As the days kept coming, I wished more and more that he was a German. Not because I despised his religion, I just wish he would be made safe from the entire rampage. For sure, someone was in the mist of raiding his home. I had a sudden urge to rescue my friend.

As I walked out the front door, I grabbed a pipe from off of the ground. Just in case things got bad, I would have something to protect myself with. I ran through the busy streets towards Aden's home. The street was filled with Nazis destroying everything Jewish in their path. It was like a discriminating tornado which only by passed the pure Aryan breed.

Men, women and children were dragged to the city streets and forced to watch as their homes and businesses were trashed. Anything that someone could pick up was thrown on the curbs. Chairs, tables, radios, etc... Most were smashed or thrown through windows. Others were taken as souvenirs. Belongings were thrown everywhere. It was like a violent yard sale. They all just took what they wished.

When I got to Aden's house, there was a mob making its way down the road. Only a few had made it far enough yet to cause any damage. There was a kid around my age trying to break through Aden's door. He had not seen me yet, so I grabbed my pipe and struck him in the back of the head. He immediately fell to the ground and I dragged him to the sidewalk. I ran back to the door and started banging.

"Aden!" I yelled. "It's Derrick, open the door."

There was no reply. I banged on the door a few more times. The mob was heading our way and any moment the man I assaulted may very well wake up.

"Aden!" I repeated. "God damnit Aden, open the door."

The door cracked open and I pushed my way through. Aden was simply standing there, frightened. His mother and father sat on the kitchen floor, holding each other. I turned and slammed the door behind me.

"Quick, grab the couch." I demanded. "We have to block this door."

"Derrick, what I going on?" Aden asked.

"Come on, help me!" I yelled.

We ran and grabbed the couch and placed it in front of the door. It was not going to be enough.

"Do you have a hammer and nails?" I asked.

"I... I... I don't know." He stuttered.

"Aden, fucking pull it together." I yelled. "Do you or do you not have a hammer and fucking nails?"

"Yeah... Umm... Yeah, hold on." I replied.

Aden ran into the kitchen and into a back room. He returned with the items and handed them to me. I looked around for something to use. I ran to the living room and grabbed the coffee table. I slammed the hammer against the legs of the table and broke them off. Usually I am not one for destroying my friend's property, but I figured this was for a good reason. With the flat top of the table, I returned to the door and started hammering it across the door frame. I then ran to the dining room and retrieved the table. In the same fashion, I broke the legs off and hammered across the front window. With the only door and window sealed, we were able to stop and think for a second.

"What the hell is going on?" Aden asked.

"They are destroying everything." I replied "They are all up in arms over something that happened in Paris."

"What? What happened?" He asked "What could have possibly happened to cause this?"

"A Jewish boy went to the Embassy and shot the diplomat." I answered. "People are pissed, but we should be ok. The door and window are pretty secure. They are too lazy to put any effort when there are so many places."

We sat there staring at the door, waiting for someone to try and enter. Every couple of minutes, someone would come banging. We would tense up, hoping and praying that the door would not budge. It held up and as the night came, the chaos started to die down. I sat there all night and into the morning. Aden could not sleep either. We hardly spoke a word to each other. We just sat there and waited for the moment when the door fortress would no longer hold back the wicked. That time never came. The door and window stayed intact. I was able to save my friend, minus his coffee and dining room tables. There are always sacrifices that are needed to be made, however.

When the storm of violence passed over, we went outside to see the destruction. It looked like an actual tornado blew through the city streets, throwing pieces anywhere it pleased. The clean up and reconstruction lasted for weeks. Hitler, of course, blamed it on the Jews and demanded that they pay for the damages. It was the typical Nazi propaganda. Once again, no one openly questioned it.

Shortly after the event, the military machine of Germany was starting to beckon souls to drive it. Young German men were starting to be recruited. Honor, respect, nationalism all drove the men to join. As well as peer-pressure, questions of loyalty, and the possibility of having a gun to the back of your head. Once communist party members were now joining the army to fight alongside of their old enemies. By the time war peeked its head over the horizon, it was conform or die. You might think I am over exaggerating; hell you might think I am straight out lying, but it is a known fact. It was Hitler's way or death. No one questioned him unless they were ready and willing to start digging their own grave.

I had, at the point of my father's death, decided that I would in fact serve my country. Forget that I did not believe all the crap that Hitler spoke about. I did not believe that all the Jews were scum. Most of it was crap, but that does not change the fact that he was my leader. For better or for worse, I would proudly serve Germany, because she was my country and my father had fought so hard to make it a better place. Even if I had not wanted to join, my mother forced me to go to the recruiting center. By the end of November, I was signed up for boot camp. To which I was ordered to report to by the end of December. It gave me a little over three weeks to get my affairs together and prepare.

The only people I cared about in Kreuzberg were my mother, grandmother, Ava and of course, Aden. I was about to leave all of them behind and embark down a dangerous path, alone. I won't lie, three weeks is definitely long enough for someone to completely change their mind. I was close, and contemplated backing out. This, of course, was not an option. I would have been stoned to death.

The night before my train was set to leave, I made it a point to go visit Aden. This would be the first time since I was five, that I would be doing anything significant without him. For all I knew, I would never see him again. The way things were heading, I could get killed in combat or he could be forced to leave Berlin. Yes, those are extremes, but they were very real possibilities. It was well past dark when I arrived at his door. I knocked softly, hoping not to disturb his parents. His mother answered the door.

"Good evening Mrs. Levy." I said. "Is Aden here?"

"Yes he is." She answered. "I'll call for him. Come on in."

I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. As I made my way to the kitchen, I looked towards the living room then the dining room. Both rooms contained their once destroyed, tables fully repaired. I chuckled and continued forward. There was a strong smell of onions filling the air. As I passed the threshold into the kitchen, I could see Mrs. Levy was preparing something on the stove. She yelled for Aden down the hall. Within a few seconds, he was walking towards me.

"Hey Derrick, what are you doing here?" He asked.

"Well..." I paused. "I wanted to see if you wanted to come outside really quick."

"Sure, just let me grab my shoes." He replied.

He put on some shoes and we headed out the door to the street. I went and sat on the curb. The temperature outside was a drastic difference from inside the kitchen. I could almost see my breath in the moon light that brightened up the sky. We both sat on the curb and stared at the moon and stars. For a few seconds, we did not say a word. We both just watched and enjoyed as the stars and moon shined bright. Without saying a word, I could already feel an understanding between us. However, what I came there for could not go unspoken. Without taking my eyes from the sky, I broke the silence.

"I am leaving tomorrow morning."

"I know, I heard." He replied. "I didn't know if you were going to come say goodbye or not."

"Of course, I would." I said, facing him. "I am sorry that I did not come sooner. Things are really busy for me, between getting ready for this and spending time with my family. I am lucky that I could pry myself away long enough to come here."

We both shared a laugh, and then became silent again. A cool wind blew over me and I let out a shiver. I quickly zipped up my jacket and started rubbing my hands together.

"You know I think of you as a brother, right?" He nodded as I continued. "I think it would be a good idea for you and your family to leave Berlin."

He turned and looked at me with a concerning eye.

"Things are getting crazy around here. I think Hitler has a mind to inflict some serious pain on your people." I continued as Aden remained silent. "If you do not leave, I have a feeling that something terrible might happen."

"Sadly, I believe you are right my friend." He replied. "But, where would we go? How in the world would we get there?"

"I don't know..." I replied. "Go to France, Poland, someplace! Hell, go to America. Just get out of Berlin."

"You know I can't do that." Aden said, "I could not leave my family. They are all helpless without me. Worst of all, they refuse to leave. They grew up here, as well as their parents. You know how stubborn they are."

"Well, promise me one thing." I demanded. "If things get really bad while I am gone, take your parents and get the hell out of here. It does not matter where. Just get on a train and go."

"Yeah..." He replied, sarcastically. "Where would I get the money for that?"

"I have some money stashed away." I stated. "It is not much, but it is definitely enough to get you and your parents out of here. It is hidden inside of my radio in my bedroom. If the time ever comes, just ask my mother for the radio. I'll let her know you may come for it."

He just stared at me for a moment. There was mixture of appreciation and terror in his eyes. Quite a strange mixture.

"Ok..." He simply replied.

I grabbed him and pulled him towards me. I gave him a hug before I stood up.

"I must go now." I said. "I still have some packing to do."

"Ok." He simply replied again.

"You take care of yourself Aden. I will see you soon. Hopefully by then, we will have everything straightened out." I said, as my voice began to crack. "Don't be the hero Aden. You hear me? If shit gets crazy, get the hell out."

He just nodded and we exchanged a handshake. I turned and headed down the road to my place. He just stood there and watched me until I entered my apartment. I had a terrible feeling that this was the last time I would ever see him. Only time would tell.

As planned, I left the next day on a train bound for boot camp. It was about a two hour ride. I was officially further away from home than I have ever been. I was greeted at my destination by a bus driver, in a Nazi uniform. From there it was only a ten minute drive. When I arrived, it was exactly like I thought it would be. This was a super brainwashing factory. Nazi flags flown from every building. Soldiers marched in every directions. The sounds of trumpets were blaring. We passed a few obstacle courses and firing ranges that lined the street. Soldiers were actively engaging both facilities as we passed. It made for a nerve racking sight. I knew I was strong enough for the military, but such a sight made me wonder. Questioning ones' abilities is quite normal, so I shrugged it off.

The bus finally made a stop in front of what would be our barracks. The other passengers and I exited the bus and were ordered into the barracks. We were all from different parts of Germany; all gathered in one place, and all with one common goal. Serve and protect our country. Here we would gain the knowledge needed to "control and protect" the masses. We would also be trained to become relentless killing machines, ready and willing to die before dishonor. Anyone within the ranks of any military unit that was branded a coward would never be able to live it down. They might as well commit suicide, for their life and reputation would be destroyed.

In the barracks, I found a bunk bed and foot locker with my name on it. Inside there was a uniform and a pair of boots. We were made to get dressed and head to the medical facility for an examination. This was followed by a trip to the barbers for a head shaving. Then we headed to the dining hall. The first day was the last easy day I had. The following day, the training would start.

I can say that boot camp was not the most glorifying time, but it could have been worse. I am not much for competition and that is all boot camp was. We had the newbie who desperately tried to prove their worthiness and then we had the veterans who made it a point to show us how much better they were. Also, the military planned everything out on a daily basis from morning to night. They would more or less plan out everything, straight down to using the restroom. We did the typical military routine. Wake up, eat, run, blah, blah, blah. The only part I truly liked was the shooting range. I had never shot a gun before joining the military, but I was taking a liking to it and I was becoming very good. Within a few weeks, I was the top shooter in the unit. I considered joining the sniper unit, but fate had different plans for me.

On one March night, I was ordered to report to the main office building. I could not think what my presence was needed for, but I did as I was ordered. I searched the halls, with my order note in hand, looking for the said office. I eventually found it and proceeded to lightly knock on the door.

"Yes! Come in." I heard voice say.

I slowly entered the room and closed the door behind me. It was a small office with a desk and a few chairs. Filing cabinets lined two walls, while windows lined the other. A man was sitting at the desk typing on a type-writer.

"Good evening sir." I stated, standing at attention with my hand in a Hitler salute. "Derrick Von Newmann reporting as requested."

At first I could not see the man's face as he looked down to continue typing. It was only when he finally looked up at me, did I realize who he was. I had seen the face years ago.

"Please have a seat, Derrick." The man said. "Do you remember who I am?"

I did, in fact, clearly remember him. Come to find out one of my father's old friends had been eyeing me since my arrival. Lukas was with my father the night that Aden and I witness the death of Mr. Judd, the factory owner. Mr. Lukas Dorr was now an officer at the very boot camp that I had been assigned to. Surprisingly, he somehow survived the Night of Long Knives; the night in which my father perished. However he managed it, he tracked me down when he heard of my arrival to the camp.

"Yes I do, sir." I simply replied.

I felt a mixed feeling of surprise and anger. How and why did he survive, if my father did not?

"Wow, you sure have grown up, huh?" He stated. "Then again, that is what ten years will do."

"Yes sir, I guess so..." I laughed, which Lukas shared with me.

"You have to share in my disbelief, when I heard of your arrival." He stated. "I mean, really, what are the odds?"

"Yes, really..." I replied.

Lukas just looked me over for a moment, and then continued with his speech.

"Well, let's get right down to it." He demanded. "I have a proposition for you. I have actually been eyeing you since you arrived. I have to tell you boy, your father would have been mighty proud of you. Your physical tests are above average, your grades are great and your shooting is immaculate. I am in the position to offer you the rank of Private SS. It is the lowest level of SS member, but there is definite room to grow. Does this sound like something you would be interested in?

"Umm..." I replied, surprisingly.

The SS were the elite group of soldiers. They were like the US Marines. To be a member of the SS was one of the highest honors as a soldier.

"Umm, yeah... Yes!" I repeated. "Yes, that would be an honor Mr. Dorr."

"Good and please, call me Lukas. We are nearly family." He answered with a wink. "I will put in for your transfer to the SS training facility right away. The facility is just up the road. You will complete six additional months of training. After which point, you will be assigned to a place, which is yet to be determined. It could be anywhere. It is too soon to tell. But I can grantee it will be better than the front line. Do you have any objections to this Derrick?"

"No... No sir I do not." I eagerly replied. "Thank you very much."

"We are finished here, you may leave now." He stated. "Please feel free to contact me if you need anything. You now know where to find me."

"Thank you, sir." I replied, returning to my "at attention" stance and saluted as customary.

I turned around and headed to the door. Lukas started typing again but before I could exit the door, he stopped me.

"Derrick." He said.

"Yes sir?" I replied.

"I just wanted to tell you something. I was pretty torn up about your father's death. Everyone was, but he became associated with the wrong people." He stated. "I did not call the orders nor was I in a position to stop it. It was a sad night for all of us."

I just stood there and watched as he finished. I did not have any hatred toward the man. We all understood how the machine worked. There was no on and off switch. The machine ran free and swallowed what it wished. There was only one man who could control it. He decided our fate.

"Thank you." I said, with a nod.

I turned and exited the room, closing the door behind me. I could hear the sound of his typewriter as I walked down the hall. I returned to my barracks and prepared for my relocation. I woke up the next morning and was ordered to head out. I was to report to the same office building, as the previous night. There I waited outside the building, for my transport. An officer in a pickup truck pulled up. I greeted the man with a salute and loaded my bag in the back. We headed to the new barracks, which was located at the back entrance of the camp. The SS camp was a sub-section of the main camp. We were secluded from the general population. Other than the location, the camp was exactly the same. Even the training was very similar; except it was training on steroid. We did the same as the general population, just multiplied by a hundred.

Military life grew on me. Being naturally lazy, I liked the boost of motivation. It helped to get me off my ass, and get in shape. It also helped me find a group to belong to. Unlike my high school years with Aden and I, I was now part of larger group. With a larger common purpose, it felt like I was finally part of a family that my true family could not provide. I was no longer a dork, or a Jew lover. I was an SS officer in training. Another change that occurred was my competitiveness. I took my training, especially gun training, to a new level of seriousness.

The competition even spilled into our personal lives. On liberty, the guys and I would drive into town and frequent the taverns. After putting back a few, we would hit the streets, looking for Jews to bully. We would see how many each guy could harass. Men, women and children, it did not matter. This never led to death, but there were a few trips to the hospital. Humiliation or the infliction of pain did not even bother us. We would not get more than a slap on the hand for our actions. Furthermore, we didn't even see the Jews as human; sub-human maybe at best. As the days went by, I started to see what everyone had against the Jews. They were in fact the filth I denied them to be. The young man I once was, at the time, was too ignorant to see it until the experience of military life opened my eyes.

As everyday passed, my seed of hatred grew, as well as my need to fit in. It was truly an honor, to be part of this monumental event, which had captured the world's attention. One day I would tell my grand children of great things we achieved. I would tell them how we took control of fate and turn our once weak and tattered country back to her days of glory.

My training lasted until the end of September 1939. On the first of September, Nazi troops invaded Poland. The battle was not won as easily as history portrays it. The Polish army numbered in the hundreds of thousands. The battle for Poland lasted until the 27th of the same month. Warsaw, on the date, surrendered to the German forces. A few days later, on October 1st, I received orders to report for duty. My orders stated that I would be transferred to Poland to assist in the construction and controlling of a Jewish ghetto, located in the heart of Warsaw.

For reasons unknown to me, my transfer was delayed for a few weeks. I spent my remaining weeks on liberty. Most of my time was spent in the taverns, petitioning the time of local whores and prostitutes. As you may remember, my initial attempt at love failed quite dramatically. I was not about to make that mistake again. Plus who knew if I would ever return to this place.

On November 15th, I finally learned my order of transfer was complete. I would be heading out on the following morning train. With a single back pack, I stepped foot on the train bound for Poland. No other members of my unit were shipped out with me. Once again, I was alone. Soldiers from other training camps were seated on the train, heading to different locations across Poland. The ride lasted from morning until night. We stopped in every major town or city, letting off a few soldiers here and there. I occupied my time by playing cards with complete strangers and writing letters to my family. As customary, I wrote my mother on a weekly basis. Of course, with every letter I received from her, there was evidence that I was correct with my assumption that Berlin was becoming hostile. I had not, however, written Aden in months. Once I joined the SS training camp, my need to communicate with him dwindled. I had started to view him as a Jew, not as my lifelong friend. No attempt on his behalf was ever received. I imagined that he simply lost interest as well. It happens when you age. Lifelong friends soon become faint memories of the past.

Finally around mid-night, we pulled into the Warsaw train station. As I stepped foot onto the platform, it was evident that we were in a city of war. German soldiers lined the platform with machine guns and dogs. You could hear the sound of planes flying over head and smell the smoke from buildings burning somewhere off in the distance. With my bag on my back, I made my way into the station. As directed, I met up with a man who would transport me to our head quarters. The man was a SS officer, whose name eludes me now, but I do remember his uniform. He was dressed in a black military uniform with knee height boots. His jacket was decorated with a few medals and the official SS pin on his collar flaps. He had a thick black belt on as well as an arm band with a swastika on it. This would also become my daily attire.

We arrived at the headquarters by car, which the officer drove. At the headquarters, I was delivered to my senior officer in charge of me. He was also dressed in the same fashion, except his medals surpassed the previous officer. I dropped my bag to the floor and greeted the man with a salute.

"Greetings, Private." The officer stated. "I am Commander Stroop, if you are not already familiar with me."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, sir." I replied, with respect.

Mr. Stroop nodded and paced back and further, looking me over.

"Mr. Dorr says you are a superior soldier." He stated. "I hope it correct in his assumption."

I did not say a word, as Stroop tried to gauge a reaction.

"He told me all about your father as well." He continued, as I turned my head to look directly at him. "It's a shame to lose such a great man. I did not know him, but I heard many great things he participated in during the beginning of our struggles. My condolences."

"Thank you, sir." I simply replied.

He waited for me to say something more, but I did not have anything to say about the matter.

"Ok, well then, let's get to it." He proclaimed. "This is how it works. I am going to assign you to a reporting officer. Your residences will be close to each other. We are providing apartments once own by the Jews for you to stay in. Everything is already provided within. Every morning you will report to the reporting officer and he will assign you your daily task. You complete your task and you are finished for the day. The rest of the time is yours. I see from your records that you are from Berlin. Well the same rules apply here as they did in Berlin. No relations with Jews. No supplying the Jews with money, food, or goods. You are simply here to control and prevent the Jews from upheaval. Do you understand that?"

"Sir, yes sir!" I answered.

"Good." He replied frankly. "Assisting a Jew would be considered aiding and abetting a criminal. It results either in a dishonorable discharge or death, depending on the situation. Do you completely understand this?"

"Sir, yes sir." I repeated.

"Ok, you are free to go." He stated. "The officer outside will direct you to your residence. Tomorrow you are to check in with the reporting officer at 0800 hour."

"Yes sir, thank you sir." I said, with a salute.

I then made my way out of the office and the man who picked me up from the train station now directed me to my new home. He dropped me off and handed me the key to my apartment. It was located on the third floor of an apartment complex. The key had the number 23 imprinted on it. As I made my way to the door, I put it in and turned the handle. After some fuss, it opened and I entered into a living room. The apartment was decent size for just me. It was a two bedroom apartment with a kitchen and dining room. The living room area was a little small but it contained a fire place, which was the only thing I cared about. There was a couch and a few chairs in the room as well as a writing desk.

The bedrooms had a double bed in the main bedroom and a single bed in the smaller bedroom. I was rather disturbed by the fact that there were still belongings in the apartment from the family that was kicked out. From the items I saw, I determined it must have been a relatively younger family. By the content of the books, next to the writing desk, I could only guess the father was a teacher. The mother was a stay at home mother who took care for a little girl, no older than five or six.

The first thing I did after dropping my bag to the floor was to collect anything that might have reminded me of that family and gathered it into the small bedroom. Everything except the furniture and dishes were thrown into the room, until I could otherwise get rid of them.

I remembered seeing some wood in the alley next to my building, so I went down and retrieved some. After carrying the wood upstairs, I started a fire in the fireplace. I could not bring myself to sleep with a blanket from the family that lived here, so I curled up next to the fire with my jacket over me and my bag as a pillow. Before I knew it, I was out cold.

As I slept, I could hear the sounds of a crowd chanting. When I opened my eyes, I was no longer on the floor of my apartment. I was standing in a crowd of people, all of whom were screaming on the top of their lungs. The noise was so loud; I could not tell what they were saying. I simply looked around, trying to determine exactly what was going on. I had a faint notion that I might be dreaming, but it was too real. It was as if I had transported to this scene. I shook my head, trying to wake up, but it was no use. If I was sleeping, all my efforts to awaken were doing no good.

All of the men and women were faced in a similar direction, which happened to be behind me. As I turned, I quickly saw what was so interesting. There was a man standing in the center of the crowd. He held a stick with a spike on the tip. A human head was impaled on the stick and the man danced around with it. Everyone cheered as the man proudly displaced this human head. Blood ran down the stick and onto the man's hand. He did not seem to care and simply continued to parade around with the head. At the sight of this, I began to grow faint and started to lose my footing. Everything started to become black and the sight of the man with the head faded. Then there was a noise. Three loud bangs followed by a brief silence in-between three more bangs.

It was then I heard a voice calling.

"Mr. Von Newmann!" The voice screamed.

I rolled over and realized I had indeed been dreaming. The fire was now out and the sun shined through the window. I panicked and jumped up.

"Yes... I am here." I yelled back. "One moment please."

I jumped into my pants and headed towards the door. As I opened it, there was a German officer standing in the hallway.

"Yes, can I help you?" I asked, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

"I am Walter Rostock." He stated. "Your reporting officer."

That's when it dawned on me. I must have been late if the sun was shining from so high in the sky.

"Oh damn, I am late, am I not?" I asked.

"Yes sir, you are." Rostock replied.

"Oh I am so, so sorry." I pleaded. "I did not get in until late and I do not have an alarm clock to wake me up. I truly am sorry."

"It is ok." He replied. "I understand you just arrived, so I will over look it this time. But I expect you to go out and get an alarm clock and be on time from here on out."

"Yes sir." I replied. "I will do so as soon as I am off duty."

"Good!" He said. "Now let's go to the ghetto."
Chapter Nineteen

After I got dressed, Officer Rostock and I headed to the streets. Along the way, we got to know each other. He seemed like a generally nice person. I would guess that he must have been in his mid thirties. He was tall, like me, and stocky. He never let his beard get past a 5 o'clock shadow and his face was locked in a permanent stern expression.

We stopped at a café, on the way, to grab a pastry and some coffee. It was about a fifteen minute walk from my apartment. As we approached, I could see a massive wall from quite a distance. It extended in each direction, disappearing behind the adjoining buildings. The wall was about ten feet high and was lined with barbed wire. It must have been a terrifying sight for all the citizens of Warsaw; Jews and Non- Jews alike. A foreign country had invaded their city, taken over their capital and was now walling off parts of the city. The Nazis ensured the Non-Jews that nothing would be afflicted upon them, only the Jews, but they still must have been frightened.

The only means of entering the ghetto was through a numbers of gates that periodically appeared in the wall. The gate we entered was lined with German SS and Gestapo members. They were heavily armed with rifles, pistols, batons, etc... Across the street from the entrance, a machine gun mound was constructed, just in case the Jews pushed their way through the gate. They would inevitably be mowed down. This was a prison in all except name. The Nazis tried to portray life in the ghetto as exactly the same as life on the outside. This was far from the true.

Two large wooden double doors were the only thing that separated Warsaw's two worlds. They were large enough to swing open and allow large trucks to enter. We were stopped by a fellow SS officer, at the gate who requested to see our ID's and check our baggage. The guard had such a care free attitude, as if we were entering a baseball park, instead of a prison. He had no visible conscience. Mine, as well, was wasting away more and more every day.

On the inside of the ghetto, things seemed to be exactly as they were on the outside. Large apartment buildings lined the streets and people buzzed through the streets with their usual daily routines. A trolley filled with Jews passed through the crowd. Cars were not allowed in the ghetto, unless they were being operated by a German or Non-Jews Pole.

On my first day in the ghetto, conditions did not seem dire. The only sign of what was to come was their attire. Forced to leave their homes with little to nothing, the Jews lacked the proper clothing for the autumn and winter weather. They were forced to use anything possible to shelter them from the bitter cold. They wore layers of torn clothing to overlap the holes, in hopes to cover any exposed skin.

Work was also sparse, and children were not allowed to attend school. At any given time, you would see mobs of children running about playing. Most people wandered the streets looking for hand outs or news of what was in store for the ghetto. The Germans set up a ration system for the distributing food. Each Jew was allotted a diet of two hundred and fifty calories a day; a day! Any other food would be obtained by illegal means.

When I arrived in Warsaw, the ghetto had only been established for only a few weeks. So, the conditions were the same as any poor section of a city. Unlike the rest of Warsaw, the ghetto was only about one square miles and there was about three hundred thousand Jews packed in that area. It was about seven people per room. Ok, well maybe it was not so desirable, but they really did not have any choice in the matter.

My job consisted of walking around and harassing anyone I pleased. This, as you could imagine, led to a minor God complex. If I didn't like the way someone looked at me, I would just go and shake them down. Anything I deemed as "unlawful" was thrown in my bag, brought outside the walls and sold. If someone seriously pissed me off, I would drag them into an alley way and beat the piss out of them. The amount of power bestowed on someone of my mental capacity, was lethal. There were no rules or repercussions, as long as the outcome was "beneficial" to the Reich. If I stole something, it would be given to a needy German. If I beat someone up, it was viewed as population control. Even if I murdered someone, as long as it was with a decent reason, it was one less Jewish mouth to feed. Relationships with a Jew were strictly prohibited, but rape was not, as long as it was behind closed doors.

For the first few months, I strayed from such behavior, but the ghetto had a strange way of numbing your conscience. With each passing day, it decayed a little further. Also, with each passing day, the conditions in the ghetto were decaying as well. As winter came, diseases such as the common cold to the flu started to spread. Typhus started an rapid spread across the ghetto. Typhus thrived on very poor living conditions. The ghetto was a perfect breeding ground for the disease. Rodents such as mice, fleas and lice, spread the disease from family member to family member. Due to the lack of antibiotics, many infected people were essentially sentenced to death, by the disease.

Thankfully for us, we were given much more favorable living conditions and medical treatment. Medical supplies were forbidden in the ghetto and Germans refused medical attention to any Jew under the age of three or over the age of forty five. As you can imagine, many people died.

During the winter months, when our bodies require more fuel to function, the lack of food created another dire situation. Many of the young and old were becoming subject to malnutrition. With their strength plummeting, they could no longer hang onto life. Thousands died of starvation, while their family members watched and did nothing. Nothing could have been done. They simply watched as their grandparents or infant child withered away. Oh well, one less mouth to feed right? I bet that thought crossed many of their minds, no matter how selfish it may sound.

Periodically, our job called for routine sweeps through homes and persons to check for "unlawful" possessions. In most cases, the searches would only yield little to nothing. Maybe a couple extra scraps of food, for which we would revoke the rations card for an appropriate amount of time. Most of the time these searches were at random, but some other times the searches were the result of a narc. A person looking to gain favor in the eyes of the German officers or maybe just looking for a few extra rations of food. Inevitably, many of the reports were made by desperate people looking for food, but we were made to check out each one of them. The Reich could not afford to over look anything.

On January 15th, I arrived to work at the usual 8am shift. As usual, I went to check in with Rostack and get my daily assignment. When I walked into his office, I noticed a number of fellow officers were there as well. All the faces were familiar. I had worked with them before. There were four of them; Private Hess, Juttner, Lorenz and Wolff. They had been discussing a matter, of which, I was walking in half way.

"And this is where they are reported to be." Restock concluded.

"They... what?" I asked, making my way to the only open chair.

"You're late Von Newmann!" He stated.

"Umm... My shift doesn't start until 8, sir." I replied, looking towards the clock that read 7:50.

"Well, I guess so." He replied "But now I have to repeat myself."

I just sat there and shrugged my shoulders. I wanted to inform him of the option of waiting for me to start, but he was my superior officer.

"Well, Derrick..." Rostock said, sarcastically. "We got a report from some sorry homeless bastard. He stated that a group of Jews on the north side of the ghetto were stock-piling guns and food. If this is true, there is a real possibility that we could have some revolutionaries on our hands."

"Huh?" It was all I could say. "How legitimate do you think the tip is?"

"Probably bull shit" He quickly answered. "But we have to investigate all tips, it's policy."

Rostock stood up from the chair and headed to the opposite wall of the office. The wall contained a map of the ghetto, down to the street names.

"We believe the building in question is on Pawia Street." Rostock continued, "There are many apartments on this street, so we will be searching the given apartment and adjoining buildings."

"What shall we do if we find them?" I asked naively, given it was my first true search.

The group of men just giggled and I joined in, as if I had been joking. Rostock simply brushed my "joke" aside and continued.

"So, head over there immediately and send word back if anything is located." He stated. "And round up everyone for questioning. Hess and Juttner, you are responsible for rounding up and interrogating all persons on location. Wolff, Lorenz and Von Newmann, you are responsible for the search and seizure of any unlawful items. If any are located, you will also be responsible for the group's disposal. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir!" The group replied.

"Good, now get the hell out of here." He demanded.

Rostock returned to his desk and continued working. The rest of us headed out the door and proceeded to Pawia St. Hundreds of Jews resided on that given street. Apparently, we were looking for apartment number 323. The men sounded pumped up for the search. I was nervous, since I did not know what to expect. All of the men had been stationed in Warsaw since the invasion. They clearly were a lot more emotionally numb than I was.

As we made our through the street, Jews fled at our sight. They ran through the snow and jumped over snow banks to retreat. It was as if we were their walking plague. Many, too weak from the cold and malnutrition, simply lowered their head and pretended we were not there. As we walked by, I looked to the curb and saw a patch of material in the snow. As I got closer, I realized it was part of dress from a dead woman, completely buried. We did not stop or give it any mind. We marched forward and I began to count the apartments.

"319, 320, 321, 322, 323." I counted. "There it is! 323, right there."

"OK men, like Rostock said, Hess and I will enter first and obtain any individuals inside." Juttner stated. "You three follow behind and ransack the place. Got it?"

Everyone nodded as Hess and Juttner made their way to the door. Hess took out his baton and knocked on the door firmly, three times. There was no response. Again he banged the door three times and yelled "Open the door, SS". Still there was no answer. He grabbed the handle and shook it. The door was so fragile it nearly tumbled to the floor with minimal force. Hess turned to us and gave us a look of pure annoyance. He then turned back to the door and put his foot through it. The door crashed, chaotically to the floor. Hess and Juttner entered as the rest of us waited for their cue.

For a few moments, there was only silence, but this was disrupted by the sound of gun fire. A slight panic came over me. What the hell was going on in there? Hess came rushing out of the apartment with a man in his arms. He took the man and dropped him in the street. Blood was pouring out of his chest and mouth. He lay on the curb, gasping for air.

"The... the fucker... the fucker pulled a gun on me." Hess desperately tried to say, in between breaths. "Fucker almost got me!"

He turned around and headed back into the apartment. This time we followed him for back up. Our suspicions had been true. There had been at least one gunman in this apartment. We searched room by room for any signs of life or goods. We only found an old man and a little child holding each other in a closet door. There was nothing else of any great value.

Juttner grabbed the old man and started screaming in his face about "the rest of them" and "the guns". The old man did not say a word, not even when Juttner viciously slapped the man across the face. Frustrated with the now bloody lipped old man, he pushed him aside and continued to the next room.

"I think one of us should stay outside with the captured." I said to Wolff and Lorenz.

"Sounds like an excellent idea." Wolff replied. "I'll bring the old man and child outside and hold them until we're done."

"Ok, good." I replied.

Wolff made his way to the front door, as the rest of us continued searching. We tried to keep up with Juttner, but he was relentless in his quest. As he continued on, we were stopped by Hess.

"The upstairs and attic are clear." He stated.

"The backroom, living room and kitchen are clear as well." Lorenz stated.

"Damnit!" We could hear coming from Juttner in the other room. As he walked back to us, he continued. "All of this for three lousy Jews?"

We all just stood there and looked around, thinking of the next step. Why would someone open fire on a SS officer if they had nothing to hide? I started pacing the living room, looking for a sign. The other men argued back and forth about what to do next. There was nothing in the living room. My brain told me to continue searching. I listened and headed to the kitchen next.

"God damnit brain, what is it?" I thought.

That was the exact moment I noticed it.

There was something in the kitchen that struck me. In the middle of the kitchen, there was a table with a rug under it. That's right, a rug. I know, "hold the phones" right? It didn't look at all out of place, but I just thought it was strange that it was there. Surely, they would have burned it for heat, cut it up for clothing or hell, traded it for food. Anything except use it for decoration. Times were too tough for decorations; especially, in the ghetto. But... there it lay, perfectly mimicking the outline shape of the table, in grand display. When I looked closer, there was a slight bulge in it. It was kind of like when a child hides something under the carpet and you can see it popping through. I quickly moved the table and stepped on the bulge. It made a thump noise; like the noise from metal hitting metal.

"Guys." I whispered, not wanting to startle anyone below, but they were too busy arguing. "Guys!"

"What?" They replied in unison.

I slowly pulled up the rug, revealing a piece of sheet metal that acted as a trap door. The men just stood speechless. I kicked away the metal and yelled into hole.

"If there is anyone down there, step forward now!"

We could hear their whispers, but no one stepped forward. Knowing there might be a stock pile of weapons down in the hole, we took precautions before entering.

"If there is anyone down there, step forward now!" I repeated, giving them a second chance.

Still nothing. We had to go down there but we would make easy targets climbing down.

"Fuck this!" Hess barked.

He stormed towards the front door, of the apartment and returned quickly with the child we just captured.

"Watch out, Derrick." Hess demanded.

I quickly stepped aside, as he approached the trap door.

"I'm coming in there and I have your little boy. Try anything stupid and I'll shoot his brains out."

Hess made his way inside with a gun to the boy's head. The boy could do nothing more than cry for his mother. Shortly after descending into the hole, Hess called for our assistance. We hustled into the hole and entered into a maze of halls and rooms. This spanned the entire length of the building. Groups of women and children were crouched together in a little room surrounded by fallen debris and filth. Lorenz herded the group up the hole and outside to Wolff. Besides the women and children, we only found a group of five men. They did not put up any resistance once they saw the child in Hess's grip. They simply dropped their guns and were marched out the front door as well.

Meanwhile, Juttner slipped away to return to the office and grabbed a truck. It would have been impossible to walk back twenty seven Jews. We would also have to carry the guns and the dead man. If any of us would have actually believed this tip was going to pan out, we would probably have taken the truck to begin with. Here we were, however. We had too much cargo and nothing to haul it with. After about fifteen minutes of unloading the apartment, Juttner returned.

"Load these scum into the back." Juttner commanded.

We loaded the Jews into the back as directed. The guns and food were placed in the cab of the truck. The cab of the truck had a three foot tall wooden fence surrounding it. Hess and Juttner carried the body of the dead man and tossed him into the back with the rest of the Jews. The women and children let out a howl of agony. Hess slammed his baton against the side of the truck. They quickly grew quiet, only weeping loud enough to be a whisper.

Once everything and everyone were packed up, we jump onto the truck and headed down the road. A mass of Jews had gathered to see the spectacle and they were nearly blocking the way. Juttner laid on the horn as people scurried back into their holes. Some of them were so fragile they barely missed being struck. We finally made our way to the main gate and stopped at the guard center. After a brief, silent conversation with the guard, we were waved through. Wolff and I stood pretty much on the bumper of the truck, holding onto the wooden gate that prevented the Jews from fleeing.

We drove for a good twenty minutes out of the city limits. The entire ride, I couldn't help but hear the Jews reciting prayers under their breath. I stopped to ask myself, where was God? And why was he allowing me to do this? All I could do was tap the butt of my gun against the hull and demand silence. It did little to help and my annoyance with them started to grow. My thoughts changed now to this question. Why wouldn't God let me? They were simply Jewish slime. They were the kind of shit that builds up in between your toes. Yes, they had the same significance to us, at the time. Our need for the Jewish race was that of a blind man's need for a genuine Picasso.

Finally we arrived at a field, which was lined with dense forests. Juttner parked the truck and swiftly exited the vehicle.

"Let's go scumbags!" Juttner screamed.

I grabbed a woman and pulled her to the edge of the truck. She pleaded with me to spare her baby. Hiding deep in her layers of cloth was an infant child. The sight of the child brought back the first true feeling of remorse. I instantly brushed them away and told myself, "They are the fucking enemy." I knew this dumb bitch would say just about anything to survive. It had to be done. It would be done.

Juttner retrieved a few shovels from the truck as well as a container of gasoline and a torch. We lined up the Jews and Juttner dropped a shovel at the foot of each man. With a puzzled, glazed stare, they looked down at the shovel, as if they had no prior knowledge of the tool.

"Everyone shut the fuck up and listen." Juttner ordered. "Start fucking digging, now!"

Hess walked the line and pushed each man towards the shovel.

"Don't think I won't shoot your darling little wife in the goddamn head if you don't start digging." He shouted, in the face of a stubborn man on the line.

I believe the man realized the severity of the situation when Lorenz and Wolff came stumbling over with the body of the dead man. He quickly picked up the shovel and started to dig. For the most part, I sat on the sidelines and took everything in. Never before had I taken part in such a ghastly event. Juttner and Hess led the mayhem while Wolff and Lorenz did the leg work.

It seemed like hours before they finished that damn hole. Some incentive was periodically provided in the form of a gun blast. Hess was quick to fire a shot into the dead man's body, if the men started to lag.

Hess whistled for the men to stop when he deemed that the hole deep enough. The men climbed out and Hess tossed the now bullet ridden corpse down below. It slid down the edge and came to a rest, only after being hung up on a bolder. Hess promptly turned to Juttner and nodded.

"Ok men, line up in front of the hole." Juttner roared.

The men looked at each other with concerned faces. Juttner did not appreciate their hesitation.

"Line the fuck up!" He repeated, letting a round off into the pit.

The men hustled to the hole and lined up.

"Now get undressed!" He continued.

The men, scared for their lives, obligated him and stripped naked. Wolff walked the line and collected their belongings. The men stood there shivering in the winter wind.

"All of you on your knees. Face the pit!" Hess yelled.

He march back to us and tapped Juttner on the shoulder. Juttner walked up to the men and pulled out his pistol. He proceeded to walk the line and one by one he shot each man in the back of the skull. As usual, the women erupted.

"Shut up! Shut the hell up!" Lorenz hollered, in his first verbal outburst of the day. "This isn't the goddamn wailing wall."

I wanted to give him a high five for his religiously correct defamation, but I thought it improper at the time.

The force from the gun blast tossed their bodies into the pit. At the sight of the pit full of dead men, my stomach grew ill. I did not want the fellows to see me this way. I abruptly retreated to the woods. The men hardly took notice. I could feel I was going to be sick, and there didn't seem to be any way around it. When I was out of sight, I allowed my stomach to unload. Feeling slightly better, I pushed through the woods and returned to the field. I could hear the women crying. The agony in their voice was unmistakable. The feeling of sickness was gone, but I still felt uneasy.

As I pushed my way through the edge of the forest, I stumbled on a root and fell to the ground. I stood up and looked to see the crew standing by the edge of the pit. Again I could see the dead bodies. They were now riddled with bullet holes. Juttner reached down to picked up the container of gasoline and approached the pit. By this point, I was so overloaded, I didn't know what I wanted to happen. Part of me actually wanted to stop the entire thing. It had gone too far. Yet if I tried, the guys would kill me. Covered with snow and dirt, the women and child now joined the dead men in the pit. They too were stripped naked and huddling together. Juttner walked completely around the pit and emptied the container of gas onto the group. Between the sight of the dead men, the smell of gas and the women's cries, my senses were in overdrive. My brain was screaming, "RUN! GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!" But my feet would not move. I was paralyzed by the sight of horror.

Hess approached with a torch and Wolff lit a match to ignite it. As Juttner stepped away, Hess launched the torch into the pit. It flipped end over end until it landed in the pit, igniting the gasoline. A plume of fire and smoke arose which startled me and caused me to fall backwards. Laying on the ground with my head buried into my arms, I could still hear the women's screams as they were burned alive. I could not watch. All I could do was cry with my face down. I laid there until someone grabbed my shoulder. I looked up to see the crew standing over me. Sheer embarrassment filled me. I wanted to crawl into the pit and die. Hess put his hand out and I grabbed it. As he helped me to my feet, Juttner let out a giggle. I didn't even look at him in the eyes. I simply walked to the truck and sat inside, until they finished cleaning up.

They filled in the pit and we all packed into the truck. The ride back was quiet for the most part. I was completely fine with that. I preferred it that way but Juttner couldn't let it go.

"So, you really dropped the ball today, huh, Derrick?" Juttner teased.

"Fuck you, Juttner." I replied, under my breath.

Juttner let out a loud laugh, amused at his ability to get under my skin.

"Leave him alone, Juttner." Hess said. "You know he is new to this. Shit comes with time."

"Aww Der Der, don't worry, you did well." Juttner taunted again. "You're now on the same level as like... a ten year old girl."

I could hear the other guys chuckling under their breaths. Hess smacked Juttner in the back of the head. Juttner just gave him a look and returned to silence. We returned to the ghetto and I was granted the rest of the day off. I went home and sat in front of my fire place. I tried desperately to drown out the noise of the women screaming as they were burnt alive. I did not get a good night sleep for about a week. I could see them when I closed my eyes. However, with every killing to follow, in the ten additional months I was stationed in Warsaw, it did in fact "come with time". Eventually, I was able to shoot a man in the head, go home, climb in bed and sleep soundly throughout the night. That is the human being for you. Adaptation works wonders.

Within that remaining ten months of service at Warsaw, the conditions in the ghetto dramatically decreased. The weak, sick and dead, littered the streets and alleys like pieces of road kill. We swerved around them as we walked the streets. We stepped over their corpses, as if they were not even there. The stench of the dead in certain sections of the ghetto was completely unbearable. We had to wear masks just to enter those areas in fear of catching Typhus.

In my remaining time, Juttner and I actually became rather close friends. We would get drunk and go out into the ghetto and find someone to "toy" with. Men, women, the elderly, no one was safe.

I had just started to get comfortable with life in Warsaw, when things were about to change, once again. One winter day, I was ordered to Rostock's office. In the usual fashion, I entered his office to find him hamming away at his desk.

"Newmann, enter." He ordered.

I did as commanded and took a seat at his desk. I sat there for a second while he finished up a bit of paperwork. He grabbed a stack of papers and tapped them on the table to straighten their edges.

"So..." Rostock started. "We just got word that men are needed to guard a special working camp. They really need men who are dedicated to the Reich. They need to be reliable and strong willed. Word is, this place is going to make Warsaw look like a fucking paradise island. No one really knows for sure. It is very high profile and hush hush. If you know what I mean."

I simply sat there and nodded when expected.

"As you may be assuming already, I am putting in for your transfer immediately. You shall be departing at the beginning of next week. That should give you enough time this weekend to pack up your belongings. You will report on the 30th at 0800. Sound good?"

"Yes, sir." I said. "Thank you, sir."

"Don't worry about it." He stated. "You deserve it. It's been a pleasure having in to the group."

"No sir, the pleasure has been mine." I replied.

I stood up from the seat and saluted Officer Rostock. We shock hands and I exited the office. I returned back to the streets and met up with Juttner. I told him about the news. I could tell he was a bit jealous that he was not chosen. But for all we knew, this could end up being a terrible thing for me. Only time would tell.

That weekend before I left the Warsaw ghetto, the original crew all came over for one last night. Hess, Juttner, Wolff and Lorenz all came over with a bottle of rum and a deck of cards. Of course, my little incident that day in the field was brought up. By now, I could laugh about it and we all did. When we were all good and fucked up, we concluded the night and said our goodbyes.

That Monday morning, I met up with my ride to the station and by 0900, I was aboard a train. I was again, heading into the unknown. The ride was shorter than my previous experiences. Train rides were peaceful to me. I enjoyed taking in the scenery outside my windows. We again stopped at every major town and city on route. But again, I did not mind. It was a pleasant change from the devastating streets of the ghetto.

Sometime during the early evening, we pulled up to what I thought was my stop. It was a small station, nothing like the one in Warsaw. It had a small platform with a building attached. I looked at my boarding pass, then back to the sign on the building. This was in fact my stop. Both the ticket and the station read the word "Auschwitz" on them. I had never heard of the name before in my life. From the looks of the station and surrounding nothingness, I doubted many people had.

I stepped off the train onto the platform and made my way into the station. It was nothing more than a mid-size waiting room and ticket booth.

"Great, what did I do to deserve this?" I thought.

I quickly made my way through the station and out the front door. As I walked down the front steps, through the shoveled snow, I could see a military truck waiting for me. The driver was sitting in the vehicle staring forward. He had a stone cold stare that definitely made me feel nervous. I circled the truck, trying to make sure it was in fact my ride. Finally, I confronted the driver.

"Hello, sir?" I said.

"Yes" he replied, sternly.

"I believe you are waiting for me." I stated, with my hand out to shack his hand. "I am Derrick Von Newmann."

The man remained face forwarded and did not budge to my hand gesture.

"Yes, get in." He demanded.

I shook my hand in the air, trying to brush off the awkwardness of being left high and dry.

"Yes, sir." I replied.

I got in the passenger side door and before I could even close it, the man accelerated and we were off. We headed down some back country roads. I can remember questioning what I had gotten myself into. Either I got stationed in the middle of nowhere or this was a big trick to get me into a field and slain. Wouldn't that be poetic justice? If I ended up dead and buried in a field, like a few of my victims.

Finally, after sometime, we approached a complex that resembled some existence of life. As we got closer, I could make out rows and rows of three story brick buildings, surrounded by barbered wire and large watch towers. We approached a gate and two things caught my attention. For one, there were a large number of prisoners roaming around the complex. None of which had a resemblance to any Jew I have ever seen. The second thing I noticed was the sign over the gate in which we were entering.

Over the main entrance, a decorative threshold was built in the shape of a bell curve. Welded into this threshold were letters, which formed the following sentence. "ARBEIT MACHT FREI", which translates into English as, "Work sets one free." You can imagine my bewilderment, at this site. Was this a reforming camp? Of course, my "tour guide" failed to explain a single thing to me.

We were given clearance, by the guard at the gate and we proceeded forward. After another few minutes of silent driving, we finally came to a halt.

"Here." The driver stated. "This is your barrack. These are your orders. Lose them and you are screwed. You hear me?"

I nodded as I usually do in uncomfortable situations. He handed over my work orders, which I secured immediately.

"If you do lose these, you might as well go join the Soviet scum." He spouted.

"Soviet scum?"

"Yes, now go!" He demanded.

I did not push the subject any further. I jumped out of the truck as fast as possible. He quickly drove away, again hardly waiting for me to exit. I entered the barracks and was greeted by a front desk clerk. She was older and far more polite than my driver. She provided me with everything I would need. She gave me a key to my room and even walked me there. Inside the room, I noticed immediately the size difference than my Warsaw apartment. This was more the size of a dorm room.

The following morning, I woke up earlier than normal. I was excited for my meeting with Camp Commandant, Rudolf Hoss. I quickly put on my uniform and proceeded to the Administrative Building. I checked in with Hoss's secretary who directed me to a waiting chair. Eventually, I was called in. As I stepped into Hoss's office, he stood to greet me.

"Mr. Von Newmann, I presume?" He questioned.

"Yes, sir." I answered, as I shook his hand.

He did not strike me as evil. He was of average description. He had short dark hair, slicked back on the top. His only predominant feature was his forehead. His receding hair line protruded his forehead to it obvious size.

"Good, it is a pleasure to have you." Hoss replied.

"Thank you, sir." I quickly answered. "It is a pleasure to be here."

"Well, I am glad to hear that." He stated, followed by a pause as he made his way back to his seat. "Please sit... I am sure you may be wondering what you are doing here."

I nodded to his statement but did not speak, as he continued.

"First of all, this is Auschwitz." He stated. "This establishment was actually a Polish military complex until the invasion. Most of the prisoners here now are Soviet POWs. We have some Polish and Jewish prisoners as well. I realize this is probably a big difference from Warsaw, but I promise you the mission will prove to be grander."

He paused to take a sip of his coffee before continuing.

"You came highly recommended by both Officer Stroop and Officer Dorr. That is quite a list huh?" He laughed slightly. "We need dependable men who will spend more time getting work done than beating up the prisoners. Both Stroop and Dorr reassured me, you have a good head on your shoulders and can balance the two. So that is why you are here. Hopefully, they are right."

He gave me a wink and shared a chuckle, before he continued.

"Do you have any questions for me?" Hoss asked.

"Yes sir, actually I do." I politely stated. "What will I be doing exactly?"

"Well..." He hesitated. "We brought in about ten thousand Soviets to construct a new complex about two miles from here. What we need you and the other SS to do is essentially baby-sit the prisoners and ensure some productivity. Slow production will not be tolerated. So, you do what you need to do to get it done. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." I replied.

"I have set up for an officer to show you around the camp." He stated. "Tomorrow you will report for duty."

"Thank you sir!" I replied.

"Anything else, Mr. Von Newmann?" He questioned.

"No, sir. That will be all, thank you!" I answered.

"Good!" He replied. "Once again, welcome and good luck."

I nodded and promptly collected my things before exiting the office. I headed to the second SS building to meet my escort for the day. From there, the guide walked me to each part of the camp. Everything was exactly how I imagined it. It was a typical military base; all except Block 11. I had not seen such deliberate torment in my life; not even at Warsaw. Highlighted areas of Block 11 included the standing cell, were prisoners were forced into one and a half square meter cells with four people. They could do nothing but stand all night, inches from three random strangers. With no bathrooms, they were often forced to relieve themselves on each other. Next we visited the starvation cells, where inmates were given nothing to eat or drink until their deaths. Equally as cruel were the dark cells. These were where inmates were tied up and sealed into cells with no windows or air vents. They would slowly exhaust the oxygen in the cell and suffocate themselves. Sometimes, the SS would light a candle and leave in the cell to burn up the oxygen at a faster rate. Lastly, outside of Block 11 was located the wall of death. It was a reinforced wall where inmates were lined up and executed. All very well indeed, but by the end, I had enough torture and death for one day. I crashed in my bed and slept in preparation for my first day of duty.

After a few weeks of getting use to life in the camp, I was sent to Auschwitz-Birkenau to begin my official duties. For the first few months, I was shipped back and further between camp I and camp II until the SS barracks were finished being constructed. Along with the SS barracks, the Soviet POWs built four gas chambers, four crematoria, countless watch towers and endless blocks of inmate barracks.

Originally, they were going to build each barracks to house five hundred and fifty people per barracks. This would have been a manageable nine persons per three leveled bunks. Camp engineers feared this capacity would not suffice, so they increased the number to seven hundred and forty four persons per barracks. They added one extra person to the already crowded bunk. Living conditions were very poor. There was no running water or proper flooring, Minimal heating was provided in the winter months. Cramming so many people in such a small area was prime breeding ground for epidemic disease spreading. Rostock was correct. This place did make Warsaw look like a fucking paradise island.

As Hoss said, most of the inmates at this time were Soviet POWs taken from the front lines. I think it is safe to say that the Soviets were hated as much or more than the Jews. If you remember the history the Nazis and Communist had in the past, you can understand this hatred. But there was more than just the Soviets at Auschwitz II building the camp, however. Jews from Poland were also being kept there as well as Polish political leaders. They were about a 10 to 1 ratio. It did not matter to me who they were or where they came from. I had a job to complete and orders to fulfill. I'd beat an elderly woman to death, if she interfered with the construction process. Luckily, I never had to reach that level. For the most part, the inmates were fair mannered. They knew who was in control and what the consequences were of challenging that control. All I had to do was walk a designated area and keep watch, just in case someone felt lucky. I mostly had a problem with the motivation of the inmates. They were terribly fucking lazy. Granted many of them had not eaten an actual meal or slept in an actual bed, for months.

My job here was far easier than that of the Warsaw Ghetto. No one ever talked to me and hardly even looked at me. They were too badly broken in body and mind. Most of them had lost considerable weight from working long hours with nothing more to eat than a piece of bread and a bowl of soup. Many of them had been on this regimen for months before I even got there. Every few days, I would come across a walking skeleton. They wandered like zombies in search of anything to eat. You could lure them into a gas chamber with a dead rat on a stick and they would have happily followed for a single bite. They never tried to beg me for food though, unlike in Warsaw. I think they refused out of spite. Even if they wanted to, it was extremely forbidden for the inmates to converse with the SS, outside of receiving orders. You can imagine my perplexity when it happened for the first time.

I had been walking the perimeter of the construction site of Block 21. There were about forty inmates inside and out. As I made my way around, each time I could see this particular prisoner eyeing me, as I passed. He was about my age, with a shaved head like the rest of them. His features were lighter than mine, but he resembled me in a certain way I could not understand. There was a familiarity in his eyes; I had seen them before. But where?

As I thought about it, he did look exactly like a man I knew from Warsaw. Except now, his face was sunk in from malnutrition and his long lengthy arm dangled with almost no muscle left on them. His body had reverted to eating the muscle for a source of protein. I continued to walk the perimeter, pretending I did not notice him. Each time I passed, he would continue to work until I made it back again. Then, once more, he would stop, and stare as I passed.

I wondered how someone from Warsaw could make it to Auschwitz. From what I heard, they did not ship anyone from Warsaw here yet. Maybe he escaped the ghetto, somehow. When they finally caught up with him, they brought him here. Either way, he was not making me feel comfortable. For all I knew, he was planning to bum rush me in some sort of desperate attempt to escape again.

I could not take it any longer. When I made my way back around, he again stopped and stared as I passed. This time I was going to find out exactly what the fuck he was staring at. I grabbed my pistol from my holster and briskly approached the man. I grabbed the shovel from his hand and threw it to the ground. With my gun in my right hand, I grabbed him, with the other hand, by the throat and slammed him against the wall.

"Why the fuck do you keep eyeball fucking me, huh?" I screamed in his face. "Do I need to put a bullet in each eye?"

I put the gun to his eye and he let out a whimper. I was a second away from pistol whipping the man, when he finally opened his mouth.

"Derrick, it's me, Aden, don't shoot me. Please God, don't shoot!"
Chapter Twenty

What the fuck! That is all I could think. One great big "WHAT...THE...FUCK!" What was I going to do now? I had not planned on such a thing happening. How could I? All I knew was that the situation was never good. I do not think I have ever heard of it happening before, but it was definitely not good times. I'd say it kind of makes for a strange friendship. I had to defuse the situation and fast, before he opened his mouth again.

"Shut the fuck up! Don't even open your mouth." I ordered Aden, still holding the gun to his head. "Come with me!"

Aden started to shake as I grabbed his shoulder and led him away. All of the other inmates on site had stopped to watch.

"What the fuck are you staring at?" I yelled at them. "Get back to work. Do you want to end up like him?"

Once again, I waved the gun in his face. The inmates quickly disregarded the scene and continued to work. I dragged Aden away from the site, towards a secluded area. It was not uncommon to see an inmate dragged away, by a guard. It usually resulted in their death, but not this time. Not my dear friend, Aden.

Finally, we were alone behind one of the finished barracks. Once out of sight from the others, I dragged Aden a little further. As we stopped, I could see Aden was now starting to softly cry under his breath. I lowered my gun and grabbed him. Only for a few seconds we embraced. His entire expression changed from complete terror to hope. I quickly let go of him and raised the gun back up.

"Don't worry Aden. I am not going to hurt you." I whispered. "If anyone finds out we know each other, it will not be good, whatsoever. Right now, somebody could be watching us. I could be shot just for giving you that hug. So, pretend to not be so happy to see me."

I gave him a wink and giggled trying not to make any alarming noises. I still had to leave my gun to his head the entire time we talked, just for show.

"How?" I asked. "Why are you here? What happened?"

"Well..." Aden began, trying to regain his composure. "I took your advice and fled Berlin. Things were getting horrible. We were all afraid to live there anymore. So I went to your house and retrieved the money in the radio. In the middle of the night, we hired a Jewish man with a car to bring us to the train station. My family and I got on a train bound for Poland. My father's sister lived there and we planned on staying with her for a while. Unfortunately, we arrived in Poland about five days before the Germans invaded. We were forced to go back on the run. We were stopped on the road by a German convoy and brought here."

"Oh my God, Aden. I am sorry." I expressed. "Oh my God. What happened to your family?"

"I don't know." He replied sadly. "We arrived here and were separated as soon as we got off the train. I went one way and they were shoved another way."

"Oh my God." I repeated again. "We need to get you out of here."

"Derrick..." He said reluctantly. "How could you? How could you be part of this?"

"Aden, I have a job to do." I stated. "Do you think I like this? Your people are the sworn enemy of the country I serve. I do what I am ordered to do."

"That's not the Derrick I knew back in Berlin..." He tried to say but I interrupted.

"A lot of shit has happened since Berlin." I said. "You have no idea what I have been through."

"What YOU have been through?" He yelled. "Look at me Derrick."

"Be quiet!" I hissed. "Someone will hear you. Then it won't matter what either of us have been through."

"Look at me, Derrick." He continued, in a quieter tone. "I've lost about thirty pounds, I eat bread and soup ONCE a day. I sleep in a fucking bunk with three other guys. Have you grown so fucking ignorant?"

"No, I am sorry." I stated. "It's just, this is the hardest thing I have ever been through. There is no way out. Do I hate your people? Yes, but I do not hate you. You have to see how difficult this is on me."

Aden just looked down.

"I will get you out of here." I continued. "You are just going to have to be patient. Got it?"

"I don't see how, but fine." He answered.

We shared a smile as we stood there, for a moment. What a weird change of events. Never did I expect to ever have a pistol up against my dear, best childhood friend. He nearly looked like a walking skeleton now. So much time had passed. Things were so much more complicated now.

I walked him back to his barrack and promised him I'd be back as soon as possible. As for now, I had prisoners to guard. I returned to the site and the day went on.

It wasn't until late March of 1942 that I completed any duties other than babysitting the construction prisoners. I remember the first assignment away from the construction. It was March 30th, a Monday morning; I can actually remember it better than I can remember yesterday. I was looking forward to returning to an uneventful day of babysitting. After the weekend, no one wants to do any real work.

I arrived on site at Auschwitz II. Construction was still ongoing. It had been a few weeks since I had seen Aden. It was not an easy task to visit a Jewish friend, but it wouldn't be long now. I had bribed an inmate to bring Aden some extra food and water. They didn't even ask why, since they were getting some extra food as well. Despite the increase in Jewish prisoners, the construction was still coming slow. A few weeks earlier, the German and Slovak government stuck a deal. The Germans needed workers, and the Slovaks simply wanted the Jews out of their country.

A problem occurred when the highly Christian Slovak government refused to split up the Jews families. They viewed it as "un-Christian". The Germans did not want to spend the money on housing and feeding anyone who was not able to work. So, the Slovak government paid the Nazis a substantial amount of money per family, just to get them out. The Slovak government hated the Jewish so much that they were willing to pay someone to take them away. Now, that is fucked up.

The numbers of Jewish shipped from Slovakia to Auschwitz ranged between fifteen thousand and twenty thousand. Week after week, more Slovak Jews arrived at Auschwitz. There was little room to house the workers, let alone their families. Something had to be done to relieve the over flow of new inmates. Little to my knowledge, prior to March 30th, a temporary system had been set up.

When I arrived on site and checked in with my commanding officer, I was directed with a new task. Instead of guarding the construction site, I was going to help with the selection process of the new arrivals. Along with a few other fellow SS, we would select and dispose of the "unfit" new arrivals. I was ordered to report to Bunker I for the day. History would later deem this bunker as the "little red house".

I arrived to the "little red house" and found just that. Bunker I was nothing more than a brick cottage, made of red bricks. All the windows were sealed off with bricks as well. As I approached, I could see that there was also a front and back door, both made of steel. Across the way, I could see the fellow SS in the meadow area adjoining the yard of Bunker I. They were supervising a group of inmates, digging a large trench. I would say they were no more than fifty yards from the back door of the cottage. Running from the back door to the trench, they had built a makeshift railway, with a flat cart on it.

The SS officer noticed me approaching and quickly came to introduce himself. There was a brief nonsense discussion about the weather and the sort. I played along, acting the part. I really could care less for BS. All I wanted to know was the process at hand. After about five minutes of their lighthearted conversation, while starving, beaten men, desperately dug a hole behind them, I had to cut in. The man in charge grabbed me by the shoulder and walked me back to the house. I couldn't even begin to explain to you what he looked like. He was your typical cookie cutter SS officer. I could mistake him for a hundred different soldiers, throughout the Reich.

He walked me step by step through the process. He explained it with the mentality of someone explaining how to change a tire. Very systematically, he emphasized what we were meant to do. As he explained, the features around me started to me sense. The location was secluded. The cottage windows were sealed off. The whole railway system, in the back, started to make sense. It was all clear to me now. This house was a killing machine. The only thing left to do, was wait for the new arrivals. I couldn't help thinking about Aden. Had his parents been through this machine? Was I standing on their shallow mass grave?

After about an hour of standing around, watching the inmates dig a hole, a noise came from a distance. It was the sound of a train whistle. It was the beginning. Two men stayed at the bunker while the leader and I made our way to the arrival ramp. After some travel time, we arrived to the ramp and sure enough the trains were waiting. Ironically enough, I had arrived by train as well, some months before. The difference here was the Jews arrived by cargo train. They were all packed in these trains with no proper seating. There were no bathrooms, no water and no food. There was hardly room to lie down. If you did lie down, there is a good chance you would be laying in someone's bodily fluids. Jews traveled from as far as France in these conditions only to arrive to their deaths.

Scared women and children screamed and wept through the cracks and small windows of their train cars. It was now some thirty minutes since the initial whistle and the Jews were still forced to stay in the train cars. The people inside could look out the small window in the car and see the barbed wire fences and large smoky chimney stacks. As I walked the platform, they yelled and pleaded with me to free them. I had no choice but to disregard them. They were scum, sub-human creatures. I felt equally as bad shooting a deer as I did a Jew. At the same time, there was Aden in the back of my mind. Crying out to me like the tiny angel on my shoulder, telling me this was wrong. Unfortunately, the Nazi devil on my opposite shoulder was much louder.

We met up with a few other SS officers, from different sectors of the camp. Each of us came to the ramp for a different population. There were the men and women workers who would be sent to different labor sections of the camp. Then you had the twins and dwarfs who were sent to Auschwitz I, Block 11, where experiments would be performed on them. Lastly, you had everyone else; all of the individuals, who were not fit to work, came with me.

Once we were all lined up and ready for the masses, one man walked the platform and unlocked each car. The Jews rushed out of the train, mostly just happy to get out alive. This quickly turned to fear as we herded them down the ramp. First we would direct them to an area where a SS officer was waiting to collect all of their belongings.

Usually, only the men resisted at this stage. Resistance was greeted with a baton to the stomach. The women had no objection to handing over their possessions, as long as they could hold on to their children. When all was said and done, no one left with anything, except the clothes on their back.

Quickly, before anyone could grasp what was happening, we herded them further down the ramp. This was the hardest part of the selection. At the end of the ramp, four SS officers waited for the approaching Jews. As they were brought down the path, they were shoved in two different directions. To go right meant hard labor, but the gift of another day. To go left meant they were going with me, for a date at the red house. In a split second, families were torn apart based solely on a ten second evaluation of one's worth. Only the strong would survive... This must have been where Aden lost his family.

We had to pry family members apart as one was chosen to the left and the rest to the right. Men and women alike wept as they were shoved in the opposite direction. Undoubtedly, many men made promises, prior to their arrival, to protect their families from anything. Now powerless, all they could do was watch as those promises were broken. Anyone who tried to intervene with the selection was beaten back unmercifully. If one still resisted, they were shot on site. Their deaths made an example of the camp's tolerance for disobedience. They had to know that we had the power.

Once they were stripped of everything, the Jews that were picked for death marched to Bunker I. As they started down the road of death, the weak could do nothing to save themselves. There was no resistance. Like herded cattle, they were led to the slaughter. All one could do was hold their crying babies and pray for a miracle. I remember one woman held a child, who was made an orphan by the selection. His widowed father was deemed fit for work, but not the child. This woman, who never met the child before, cradled him as her own. The kid cried out loud for his papa. His papa was gone and no other relatives had made the journey. We had to forcibly remove the child from his father's grip. He still resisted until I threatened to shoot the baby in the head. Sadly, I would have done so. It was my job to keep order in any way possible.

When we arrived at the bunker, the other SS and inmates met us in the front of the house. The Jews were made to form a line, leading to the front door. In all, they numbered about a hundred and fifty individuals. At this point, one thing was very important. We had to keep them calm. People who know that death looms only twenty yards way, tend to freak out. If they were to freak out, we would have a mess on our hands. The next task was to walk the line and give them the order to strip down naked. As I walked the line, I was stopped by a woman with three children clinging to her.

"Excuse me.... Ummm sir..." She hesitated.

"What... What is it?" I barked.

"Um... What exactly is this place?" She questioned.

"Oh don't worry." I replied, trying to sound reassuring. "It is just a house we converted into a shower system. Nothing to worry about."

She looked at me, unconvinced by my overly polite answer. No SS spoke that way to a Jewish woman, unless they were trying to pull one over on them. Either way, she began to strip and instructed her children to do the same. As I watch the children undress, Aden's voice returned to my sub-conscience.

"How could you?"

They were still human and no different than Aden. The other brainwashed part told me this was justifiable and it was my duty.

You may ask how this is justifiable. Better yet, you may ask; why kill the children? Most people can rationalize the urge to kill the adults. They were in fact "guilty" but the children? The new born babies and infants, were they guilty? This is a valid question, and here is the answer.

Take this analogy, if you will. Say your house is infected with termites. Eventually, the termites are going to eat through your house and cause major structural damage. What would you do? You would call an exterminator, right? The exterminator would come to your house and kill the termites, hopefully preventing the damage. Would you be satisfied with the exterminator only killing the adult termites? No... No you wouldn't. The reason why is due to the fact that baby termites turn into adult termites. Once again, you would be facing the same structural damage.

That is why we killed all the Jews. This way we wouldn't have to face the structural damage in the years to come. Granted, throwing an infant in the air and shooting it with a rifle is not the most humane way to go about it. Some people play by their own rules, I guess.

Now they were all stripped naked in front of the bunker and I was given the order to move in. The officer at the front of the line unsealed the front door and started throwing people in. An officer was positioned on each side of the line. They would make sure that no one tried to slip away. I was now at the back of the line, pushing people forward.

Inside, the nerves of the first individuals to enter were now starting to break. Sensing the danger, they started to fuss and cry out for help. The Jewish trench diggers were now ordered inside to try and calm them down. It was almost to no avail. When all of the new arrivals were inside, the trench diggers came out and I sealed the front door shut. With the sound of the metal door sealing, the screams came once more. Inside there were no light. Groups of strangers held each other, frightened of what was to come.

Two of the SS, retrieved their motorcycles and started up the engines. The other SS climbed onto the roof with a canister, in hand. The chimney had a sealed lid on it, which he now pried up. Once fully open, he emptied the canister inside. Within a few minutes, the substance started to take effect.

The screams from inside the house, started to build. When the officer jumped off the roof and approached me, I could finally read the label on the canister. It read, Zyklon-B. It was a highly lethal, cyanide based pesticide. It was initially used to kill off fleas and lice from cloth and goods obtained by the new arrivals. Sooner than later, the Nazis discovered what damage the substance could do to a human body, in high doses.

After about ten minutes, the screams were so intense that the engines of the motorcycles could not drown out the noise. This horrid noise lasted an additional ten minutes. After which, the screams faded to cries. These cries faded to whimpers; whimpers to moans; moans to nothing. After the twenty minute mark, it was safe to conclude they were gone. The back door was opened and the trench diggers would enter the bunker wearing gas masks. At the backdoor, the flat bed rail cart was waiting, on the track. The inmates loaded all of the dead bodies onto the cart and wheeled them to the trench.

Once at the trench, they threw the bodies inside and returned for more until the house was empty. Some of the stronger Jews inside did not die right away. They were loaded on the cart and thrown into the mass grave, still alive. The inmates spent about an hour unloading all of the bodies and covering the grave with dirt. They were then ordered to return to the house and clean the inside.

Death by pesticide was a nasty death. The bodies would turn a pinkish color with red and green blotches. Some would throw up or relieve themselves uncontrollably. Others would foam from the mouth or bleed from their ears. We forced the inmates to clean up the bodily fluids in preparation for the next arrival. This continued every day until the actual gas chambers were completed. I, on the other hand, declined the position in favor of my previous post. I won't lie. I declined the position because of the brutality. I just didn't have the gut for it. More importantly, however, I declined it because it hindered my ability to keep an eye on Aden.

I had to come up with a plan to get him out of Auschwitz. He was not a Jew to me. He was a brother. I could not bear to think of him here. There were definitely consequences for assisting the inmates and I was sure they were not delightful. No one had tested it yet, but I can imagine. They already frowned upon us having intercourse with the female inmates. I can't imagine this would be any better.

Even as risky as it was, I was sure it could be done. I didn't have the full plan at that time, but I did know where to start. As the barracks were completed and train loads of Jews arrived, there was a need for further assistance. This assistance was needed to perform jobs that decent SS officers refused to do. We could not be expected to load up the gas chambers or bury the dead. So as it was, at Bunker I, the SS were allowed to pick Jews to be assistants. Kapos were orderlies who took care of life in the barracks. They maintain order, took roll call and address any inmates concerns directly to the SS. The Sonderkommados load the people in the gas chambers and also loaded the dead bodies into the furnaces.

Why would anyone go against their own people and work against the Jews? You may ask. Two words... job security! The more important you were to the camp, the less likely you were to be put to death. Also, history would show that Jews in the resistance underground groups used these positions to gain the freedom it took to sabotage the camp. Every Jew wanted to be one and they hated them if they were not one.

The first step of our plan would be to petition Aden as my Kapo. That way I could take care of him and always know where he was. At the time, SS Koch was my commanding officer. As soon as I was able, I went to his office to make the request. After checking in with his secretary, I made my way into his office.

"Hello? Mr. Koch..." I said, tapping lightly on the door.

"Yes, come on in." He replied.

I walked into his office and he was standing by the window. Outside was a view of the surrounding area, outside of the camp walls. It was a beautiful sight. It was quite a contrast from inside the electric, barbed wire fences.

"How do you do, sir?" I nervously asked.

"Just fine." He replied, stepping away from his window and returning to his desk. "It's really a beautiful day out there."

"Yes, matter of fact it is." I answered. "It's much better than the last few days of rain, we had."

"Very true." He paused and smiled. "What can I do for you today? Come, sit."

I followed the command and sat in chair, set right in front of his cluttered desk.

"Well..." I paused, hoping for the best. "With the influxes of prisoners arriving into my assigned blocks, I was kind of feeling overwhelmed."

"Well, we can just assign you some other less crowded block." He interrupted.

"NO... no" I replied quickly, before the recommendation sunk into his brain. "I can handle it. Well, most of it. I am under the impression that I can request a Kapo, for myself. You know, someone amongst the Jews to help keep order. Someone the Jews will listen to. That would make things a lot easier for me."

"Hmmm..." He said, rubbing the top of his buzzed head. "That is venturing down rough tides. You know that, don't you?"

I just nodded and let him continue.

"These Jews are far worse than the Jews you would see outside these walls. You think they were devious before, now they really have something to connive over." He said. "But on the plus side, they are so disloyal that they don't mind turning their backs on their people for a piece of bread. Other SS officers are doing it with some success, so I guess it wouldn't hurt. Did you already have someone in mind?"

"Yes, actually I do." I answered. "It's prisoner A-25406, the other prisoners refer to him as Aden. I would guess that is his name."

"Hmmm." He replied in his usual manner. "Why did you pick him?"

I was slightly thrown off guard, by this question. I should have thought he would ask, but I didn't.

"Well, he seems to be liked by the others. I would think that he could influence them. Make my life a little easier." I stated with a grin, Koch let out a laugh. "So that and he is a hard worker. Even when I push him harder, he keeps up. I believe he is well trained."

"Ok, sounds good enough to me." He replied, ready to end the conversation. "I will just need you to fill out these forms, and then you will go inform the prisoner."

"Thank you, sir." I stood and saluted Koch.

"You're welcome and good luck." He stated "If he fucks around, give him hell."

I nodded with a smile and exited the room. I filled out the forms and gave them to his secretary. Aden was officially mine. I had to go break the news to him.

I wanted to run and cheer all the way to Aden's block, but I had to keep my cool. Conspiring to aid an inmate's escape could result in Aden's death. On the other hand, staying in Auschwitz would definitely result in his death. It was a gamble, and the stakes were life. It was worth it, wasn't it?

When I arrived at Aden's block, he was outside working on an adjoining barrack. He saw me approaching, but as instructed, he did not formally take notice. I went over to him and as rehearsed I ordered him to drop his tools. He did as told and followed me with a reluctant step in his walk. He had his head down as if he thought he might die. It was a beautiful display as the monstrous SS officer leading the prisoner to the chambers. The others watched in horror, wondering if they would see Aden ever again. Like always, we retreated to a secluded area, out of direct audio detection. For the sake of the watch tower guards, I always held my pistol to his head. I think he was used to it, by now. It was necessary for our disguise and he knew I wouldn't kill him.

So once again, in seclusion, I broke the news to Aden. Aden's attitude towards me was a little tense, but I couldn't blame him. He was dirty, hungry and tired. I was quite the opposite. The resentment was warranted.

"So, have you figured out something yet?" He eagerly demanded to know.

"Yes... Yes." I replied, excited about the news. "I went to my commanding officer and request that you become my Kapo."

"How is that good news?" He spouted, unappreciative of the surprise.

"That means you will be with me, most of the day." I replied, surprised at his questioning. "It means you will have a better chance of surviving this hell. I can sneak you food and water."

"Yes, that is good and all." He continued. "But, I fucking want out of here!"

"Shhh..." I hissed. "Someone will hear you."

He didn't argue, since I had a valid point. If someone heard us, we would clearly be screwed.

"Now, I do have a plan." I sternly continued. "We have to play it off for a couple of weeks, or they might grow suspicious of us. You will be my Kapo for the time being, until the time is right. This way I can watch and protect you. When the time is right and I believe we are in the clear, I will sneak you out of here."

"But how?" Aden questioned.

"Well, I volunteered to drive a supply truck to a neighboring city." I explained. "Sometime, I don't even leave here until after 9pm. There is no supervision and I think it can be done."

"You think?" Aden asked, with a raised eyebrow.

"No, I know it can be done!" I replied, shaking off my doubt.

"Ok, well what then?" He asked again.

"There are underground resistance fighters, in the city. I have already contacted them and they said they would take you in. They'll clean you up and ship you out of the Reich." I said. "The only problem is I'll probably never see you again. At least you will be alive and safe."

There was a long silence. Neither of us truly knew if the plan was feasible. We had to make it work. This was life or death shit we are talking about. I don't think I could have handled seeing him wither away. He would not end up a wandering zombie. I couldn't and wouldn't let it happen.

He agreed to the plan and the conversation ended. At least, verbally it did. I could tell by his body language, as he walked away, that he was frightened. I shared his pain. I started to filter my daily life through a "walk in Aden shoes" lens. Every time I sat down to eat, I lost my appetite thinking of Aden's lack of lush food. When I thought of Aden sitting in those filthy barracks, eating stale bread and disgusting soup, I felt true guilt. I was eating lavish fruits, meats, dessert, and I was the monster here not Aden.

I started to find myself eating less and less. I also slept on the hard wood floor, instead of my mattress. This way I would not feel bad about Aden sharing a bunk with three grown men. Even bathing took a mental toll on me. Again, I started limiting my bathing to help quiet my conscience. I tried to keep a low profile about it all but I apparently wasn't very good at it. My fellow SS took notice and reported my strange behavior to Commander Koch. He in turn directed me to the camp "doctor". I use the word doctor loosely. The site doctor at Auschwitz was better known for his pain infliction, rather than his pain soothing.

Upon reading my file, the "doctor" concluded that I had a case of what he termed "Jewitis". I highly doubt it was a real term, but apparently it was a real concern for the Reich. Upon explanation from the doctor, I realized it was just a case of having some fucking remorse. All across the Reich, there were soldiers showing signs of this "disorder". It was completely foreign to people such as Hitler.

The doctor recommended that I "return to my roots". This should be enough to curb any symptoms. He prescribed some medicine (which I threw into the garbage) and that I had to go see a film at the camp theater. It was your basic propaganda film, used to brainwash us back into order. There was a few of us, at the movie, with this so called "Jewitis". After which they would monitor my behavior for the next two weeks. The movie was the same old shit they had been feeding me since my father was still alive. The Jews were bad, they'll steal your money, seduce your women, blah, blah, blah!

I watched the film as directed and allowed them to monitor me, simply to keep a low profile. The film actually did move me and stir my emotions more than I thought possible. I had a great epiphany. I finally realized how full of shit Hitler was and how wrong I was to follow him. For fuck sake, I led hundreds of defenseless Jews into a gas chamber and stood around listening to their agonizing deaths. There were fucking infant children in there. HOW? How did I get to that point? Hatred is such a profound word.

I walked out of the theater and straight into a prison. It was a new world for me. It was a holding cell in my brain where the Reich controlled my thoughts and actions. I had no free will. Not if I planned on living. Sadly enough, my life was worth more to me than all the dead Jews. Call me selfish, because I was. Had I been in this world the whole time?

I walked back into the complex and was greeted by a line of Jews up against the fence. They looked like starving seagulls. If I throw a fry at them, a riot would surely ensue. For the first time, I actually saw them as human. All my life, I had been told that Jews were sub-human. I was now looking into the eyes of the Jews and there was nothing different. They had the same blank stare of any man with nothing but despair. The hollowness in that stare was the same as my mother's after my father's death. I was terrified and outraged by the lack of common decency for these people. Yes, they were people.

I was now struck by the most overwhelming sense of fear. I was part of this mayhem. I helped build these walls and helped take their lives. I don't know exactly what turned my brain switch back on, but I was different now. God, can you imagine my feelings? I based my entire career on the exploitation of an entire race. And why? Just because one man, who I have never met, told me it was the right thing? Who in the mother fuck was Hitler to play God?

More importantly at the time, how was I going to continue this job? There was no honorable way out, except official dismissal. I could ask for a transfer, but they may ship me to the frontline. I had it quite comfortable compared to thousands of German soldiers. They slept in trenches and have bullets flying at them all day. Worst of all, the commanders had their eyes on me. I had to act like a model SS officer or they might get rid of me before I can set Aden free. This meant I had to continue to dish out the agony at my previous rate and fly under the radar.

By the third week, my acting abilities had paid off. I was able to convince everyone that my "Jewitis" was simply a momentary lapse of reason. I had to be my "old self" for the sake of our plan. In reality, I hated every minute of it and with every beating I handed out, I loathed Hitler more and more. Our plan was more important than any life at Auschwitz. With every bullet I put into an inmate's head, I was securing Aden's life. He would live to see another day and the monster would be fed. It was now us or them and it was surely not going to be us. Not on my watch.

Aden served as my Kapo, during the summer of 1942. In this position, he did not have to work so slavishly. I was able to sneak him food and water. His original strength was starting to return. I continued to be as malevolent as possible. As far as I could tell, it was working. I continued my nightly deliveries and started to become friends with the guards. In the beginning, they were hard on me. They would shake down the truck every time I left the camp or returned. As the months went by, they started to relax on the hounding. They now all knew me by my first name. This was rare for the times. I was no trouble to them, so they returned the favor.

The increasing number of Jews and Soviets arriving at Auschwitz was turning dramatic. With every day, there was another train; sometimes two or three. Thousands of inmates were sent to the gas chambers, a day. The chimneys billowed dark black smoke and rained down ashes, onto the camp. They loomed over us as one stark reminder of the possibility. It was possible that any day might be your last; SS and inmates alike. If you did not do as you were told and feed the monster, you may find yourself a grave-man.

It was death; morning, noon and night. Death was everywhere. It still brought that question to my mind. God, why would you allow this?

The conditions in the camp were now hellish. Each morning, inmates had to unload from their bunks, bodies stiff as a board. They passed in the night without a sound. The only person who knew was the man who slept next to the dead body. Most of them, so weak, said nothing and continued to sleep. The dead bodies touching their leg, as it progressed into rigor mortis.

By late September, I decided I had enough of this and had to get Aden out. If I waited any longer, the camp would be too full to attempt an escape undetected. I had to go to Aden and let him know. I believe the day was September 25th to be exact. I woke up as always and proceeded to Aden's barrack. Aden and the inmates had already been awake and unloading the dead of their block. I approached him, cheerful, as he supervised.

"Good morning Aden." I said.

"Only five today..." He replied, in his now usual tense voice. "I'd say that was a good day except one of them happened to be my bunk mate."

"Oh damn..." I said, blankly.

"Yeah, have you ever slept next to a dead body, Derrick?" He asked sternly.

"No..." I answered, simply. "But I do have good news."

"Your news never seems to be as good as you want it to be." He interrupted.

"Shut up, Aden" I said. "Let's walk."

"Fine!" He stated. "Sal, come count the inmates and let me know if we are missing anyone and don't fuck around!"

"Sal" the inmate quickly obliged him without a word. No question at all. I believe Aden was rather good, at this job. Too bad the circumstances weren't a bit different. Either way, we made our way to a secluded area.

"Ok." I said, looking around paranoid as always. "We are going to move forward with the plan."

"Really?!" He nearly shouted.

"Yeah, the time has definitely come." I said. "We have to do it now. I have received word that Himmler has sent orders to all German ghettos to transport their populations to Auschwitz. This place is going to be crawling with new arrivals. This will only make matters harder. We have to do it before October 6th. "

"What about the guards, at the gate?" He asked.

"Oh they trust me now." I replied arrogantly. "They don't even search me anymore. We will just throw you in the back and pile boxes on you. That way no one will detect anything."

"Will that actually work?" He asked. "It seems kind of easy..."

"Yeah it does, but that is only because I have planned it well." I said. "We'll have a fifteen minute window to get you in there. Plenty enough time."

"What if they do search us or it's a different person?" He asked concerned.

"They won't and it won't be." I replied. "He has never missed a shift. I find it hard to believe he will then."

"I don't know..."

"You just do your part and I'll do mine. Then we will be golden." I stated.

"Alright, so Friday it is..."

"That it is..." I said.

I prayed that we could pull this off. Just the smile on Aden's face as we left was enough. There was no more skeleton face. He was starting to fight for his life.

We made it through the following week with no problems. The orders hadn't changed, no one suspected anything, and the time was here. I had spoken with Aden in the day to make sure we were on the same page. We were both highly confident in the plan. That night, I went to the loading dock and loaded everything up as normal. Only this time, I left a path large enough for Aden to crawl through. After loading up, I headed to Aden's block. As I pulled up and hopped out of the truck, I helped Aden in and covered up the open spaces with the boxes.

I only made it back to the truck in time to pass the guard on our way to the gate. He flagged me down to ask if everything was ok. He had seen me from a distance. I simply explained that the load was uneven and I had to fix it. This seemed to satisfy his curiosity. His impromptu stop had rattled my bones a little, but we were now back on track.

I approached the front gate and blew the horn. The guard came out and I noticed it was the same guard as always. It was a great relief to see him. We engaged in the same conversation as always; typical twenty questions. I answered them promptly but not to eagerly. We were now so close to freedom, I thought I might explode.

"Here you go, sir." I said, handing him back the sign in/out log.

"Yes..." He paused looking over the form. "Looks good. Let me go raise the gate."

He made his way into the shack and started to raise the gate. It took forever and I wanted to break through the bitch and gun it. I kept it cool and proceeded forward. We were two tires to freedom when I heard the guard.

"Wait! Wait!" The guard yelled.

I want to bolt, but I didn't. We need to stay calm, cool and collected. I slammed on the breaks and rolled down the windows.

"Yes, what is it sir?" I asked politely.

"I think we have a problem." He stated.

"What problem? There is no problem." I said.

There was no room for problems, not now.

"Step out of the truck and I'll show you." He grunted.

I quickly jumped out of the truck and proceed to the back bumper. I was certain that I would find Aden's leg or face sticking out. It would be the end for us.

"Does this look ordinary to you?" He asked.

I looked around for a sign of Aden but he was completely hidden. I had no idea what was going on.

"I am sorry, but I don't know what you are referring to." I said.

He let out a loud sigh and continued.

"Your lights!" He replied. "Look, they are both blown. How do you not notice that?"

"Haha..." I replied. "The lights, imagine that."

"This is going to cause me so much paper work." He said.

Then like a light bulb, it hit me. Exploit that weakness.

"Tell you what." I said. "You let me go through and I'll say it happened after I left. I don't feel like re-loading the truck as much as you don't want to do the paperwork."

He looked at me for a second, contemplating the options.

"Fine!" He finally replied. "Just get out of here before someone sees us."

"Thanks buddy!" I said, as I ran to the truck before he changed his mind.

He just gave me a dirty look as I pulled away. I opened the window and took in the air. It was the same air that Aden was breathing. It was free, clean air. No smell of death or filth. No screams. No moans. No gun fire. Even if he was covered with boxes, it must have been complete ecstasy.

I hoped Aden could see the moon, in the sky. As I could; once again, two free men. There is something special about any experience when it is your first free experience in years. We only had about 10 km to go then Aden would be in hiding. He would be deep "underground" in places where the Nazis could not find him. He would slither from home to home, city to city, country to country; until he could find a land that would tolerate his beliefs and glorify his human rights. I knew this one action of defiance would not make up for all the evils I had committed and I would have to continue to commit. It was my one and only way to express my utmost regret and remorse to a dear, childhood friend.

I looked at the road ahead of us, and all I could do was smile. We were going to make it!

We were cruising at a comfortable 45 km/h and soaking up the freedom. Another ten minutes had passed and we were about to pull back into civilization. I did not think anything could kill our buzz. That was until I saw highlights approaching, on a normally deserted road. They appeared to be parked, in the middle of the street. As we approached, I could see two trucks parked about fifty yards away. In the headlights of my truck, I could see a swastika painted on the side of their vehicle. They were completely blocking the road. My ecstasy now turned to complete terror.

I had no choice, but to stop. There was no way around them. My truck came to a halt and the officers approached the door with a dog on leash and an inmate in tow. There was nothing left to do but confront them. I thought to myself, "Here we go again." I just hope I could pull it once more. I rolled down my window and hoped for the best.
Chapter Twenty One

I still had the urge to flee, but I knew that would only raise suspicions. I was armed with a pistol, just in case I was ambushed, but these men were highly armed. They also highly outnumbered me. I could not depend on Aden since he was packed in the back. I decided against being the hero and figured I should play it safe.

"Good evening, sir?" I said, as polite as humanly possible.

"Let me see your ID." He demanded.

He was a complete hard-ass Nazi; Hitler's wet dream. I highly doubted I could pull this past him.

"Is there a problem?" I asked, handing over my ID.

"Step out of the truck." He ordered.

He did not seem in the mood for small talk, so I got out like as ordered. I walked to the back of the truck, with the officer. The dogs were viciously growling, at the cargo. The others had flashlights, shining them into the back of the truck. I stood at the bumper of the truck, with the leader and inmate. The leader was a short individual but he was stocked like a bull. He had the look of a prisoner. His teeth were stained by nicotine and years of neglect had taken its toll on his body. The prisoner did not look any better. His face was sunk in from malnutrition and he had terrible raccoon eyes from so many sleepless nights. I could sense his intentions were not going to be favorable for me. He had a witch hunt trial look in his eyes, as he pointed his finger in my direction.

"That's him, that's him." The inmate howled.

"Shut your mouth!" The SS yelled, smacking the inmate. "This inmate claims that you currently are trying to smuggle someone out of the camp. I'd really hope that is not true."

"Well, you know how they are." I said. "I probably pissed him off and this is his revenge."

I started to panic. How did this man know? I didn't know what to do, other than take offense to the allegation.

"I don't feel I should have to answer to a Jew." I spouted. "Not someone in my position."

"No... Technically you do not have to." He stated. "But you do have to justify yourself to me. Unload it, boys!"

The other SS did as they were ordered and started to unload the truck, onto the street. We were officially fucked. There was no way they were not going to find him back there. Unless Aden spontaneously combusted, this was going to be major trouble. It seemed as if the SS unloaded the truck at a snail pace, just to screw with me. The tension was too unbearable, I didn't know if I should confess or just let them find Aden. I just took a deep breath and let fate take its course. Patience.

They were only a box or so away from Aden. The leader and inmate stood beside me in anticipation. All I did was stare up, at the vibrant Mid- October moon and wait for the hammer to drop. In my solitude with the moon, I enjoyed the last few minutes of freedom. This was abruptly slashed by the sound of a familiar voice.

"Please God, don't shoot me." Aden cried.

The dogs were desperately trying to get at Aden. The SS pulled the dogs back, within inches of Aden. They had the scent of blood in their noses. Aden lay on the truck bed, holding his hands in the air. My head dropped, at the sight of him.

"HA! I told you." I turned quickly to hear the inmate.

The guards screamed for Aden to slowly climb out of the truck. The inmate was dancing with glory at his victory. His purpose was fulfilled. Aden was found. He climbed out of the truck and was pulled towards the rest of us.

"Sal?" Aden questioned, stunned at the sight of the inmate. "Sal, you fucking ratted me out?"

"Damn right, I did." Sal replied.

It was then that I realized who Sal was. Back at the barracks, he was helping Aden count the inmates when I broke the news of our departure to Aden.

"You were not going to leave me in that shithole to die." Sal continued.

"But Sal, I trusted you." Aden tried to say, as his voice cracked.

"Yeah well a lot people trusted you." Sal interrupted. "A lot of people, who are now dead."

"You piece of..." Aden tried to speak, before interrupted again.

"Shut up, both of you." The leader commanded. "I am touched by the reunion and all, but there is something more important to address here."

The guard paused and turned to Sal. Out of seemingly nowhere, he pulled his pistol and fired a shot into Sal's head. He fell straight backwards, onto the street. He was dead instantly. Aden and I both jumped back. I didn't even realize what happened at first. Sal lay on the ground and a pool of blood was collecting under his head.

"There, that settles that." The leader stated, as if killing a fly. "Stupid narcs."

"Listen sir." I quickly interjected. "This man has been my friend since we were about five years old. He is not a Jew to me. He is a brother. He doesn't even follow the faith. It would be like letting a fellow Nazi suffer to death. I just was not strong enough to do it."

The guard allowed me to speak and Aden glared at me, hoping I could pull this out of my ass. There was a glimmer of hope as he let me speak. I thought for a second, maybe I could get them to understand that this situation was extraordinary. How could they resist?

"I know this is big, this is real big." I continued. "But please, you have to understand."

"This might surprise you, but I do understand." He said, and I agreed, I was surprised. "That is why I am not going to shoot you in the head, like that poor bastard."

He waved his gun to Sal's now lifeless body, sprawled out on the dirt road.

"But I am sorry." He continued. "Your friend will not have such luck."

"No, no!" I pleaded. "No, he can't die."

"I am sorry, but he will have to." He stated. "Grab the Jew."

One of the other SS grabbed Aden and forced him to his knees.

"What you are going to do now..." He paused, looking at my ID. "Mr. Von Newmann, is take this pistol and put it to his head."

My stomach sank and I felt a bit of vomit creeping up my throat, but I choked it back. Aden was knelt before me with his head hanging low. I could see his body trembling and tears now streamed down his cheeks. In the darkness of the street, I could not see much, but I could see enough to know that Aden was on the edge of despair.

"Now if you don't shoot him, I am going to shot the both of you." He firmly stated. "You know I will have no problem with it. Nor will I even get in trouble for it. So, let's have at it."

He thrust the gun into my hand. I had the thought to shoot him instead, but there was three other SS standing there with the guns pointing at me. I stepped up to Aden's back and put the pistol to the back of his skull, like I have done countless times before. This time was for real though. It was probably only thirty seconds, but I stood there and reflected on my past few years. Everything I had done had led to this day. There must have been a million things I could have done differently to prevent this. I looked down at the barrel of the gun, which chaotically moved about as my hand started to tremble. What if I told Aden, he couldn't play with us that one first time we met, seventeen years ago? He would never be here with me. Better yet, what if I just listened to my father and abandoned our friendship in high school? Again, he would not be here with me. My head sank and I started to tear up. This was entirely all my fault. I put the gun to my side and whipped the tears from my eyes.

"I can't do it, please don't make me." I begged. "You can't be serious."

"The only other choice is death, my friend." He said. "Make a choice, you have thirty seconds."

"You are going to have to shoot me, I can't do it." I replied.

The guard took his gun and put it to my head. He held it there for a second, testing to see if he could call my bluff.

"Derrick." I heard coming from below me. Aden was looking up at me, from over his shoulder. "Don't be stupid. I am as good as dead either way you look at it. Shit, I am kind of looking forward to it. No more pain, anguish, misery. Please Derrick, just do it. I want you to go on with your life. Don't get yourself killed over me. I'd rather you did it than them."

"But Aden..." I said, in a fit of tears.

"Shut up and do it!" Aden demanded.

He didn't even seem sad any longer. There was an expression on his face of acceptance. I think he had come to peace with the situation. He was not stupid. He knew this was going to be the last few minutes of his life.

"Why don't you listen to the Jew?" The guard said. "He is actually making sense for once."

I just turned and gave him the evil eye then I turned back to Aden. He was now facing forward with his eyes shut again. My hands shook the gun violently.

"Are you sure Aden? I asked.

I remember thinking it was a weird question at the time. Kind of like 'oh are you sure I can eat your last cookie? OR are you sure I can borrow your jacket?' It just did not sound like a question that I should be asking my best friend, seconds before I put a bullet in his brain.

"Ye..." He paused. "Yes! Do it!"

"I am sorry Aden, I tried." I said. "I love you."

"I love you too, Derrick." Aden replied.

Those were the last words Aden ever spoke, on this earth. I pulled the trigger and his body fell limp before me. The pistol slid out of my hand and hit the ground. I put my hands to my face and stood there for a few minutes. Eventually, I sat on the ground next to Aden's lifeless body. The guards actually gave me a few minutes to mourn, while they cleaned up the scene.

As I leaned over to embrace Aden, the SS were disposing of Sal's body in a nearby field. The area we were in was rather remote, so the SS did not even bother to bury the bodies. Aden's body was taken to the field, along with Sal. They simply threw them into the field for the animals to feed on. The SS finally came over to me and escorted me to the truck. I was taken back to Auschwitz I, brought to a prisoner cell and left there for the remainder of the night. They provided me with nothing but the last words of Aden ringing in my ears. I was given no food, no water, not even a place to piss, except the floor I now laid on. The cell's only light was provided by the moon. That once beautiful moon, I now grew disgusted by.

That was possibly the longest night I have ever had in my whole life. I could not sleep nor could I erase the images of the spraying from Aden's head. Most of all, I could not stop hearing those last words. It is amazing how many, "what if" questions one can muster up with nine hours of a sleepless night. From the sounds of it, I was actually having a better night than others. Periodically, a flare-up of screams would echo down the hallway. I could hear the noise through the gate window of my cell door. Sounds of torment do not make for good sleeping music. Well, maybe unless you are Hitler. He probably liked it.

The following day, I was brought in front of Commandant Hoss and other officials. A case of treason was filed against me. Luckily, I was able to state my case efficiently. After explaining the long origin of our relationship and my previous case of "Jewitis", the officials took some pity on me. The initial charges were deemed too harsh, for the occasion. I had not tried to sabotage the activities of the camp. Nor did I try to smuggle in any weapons for the prisoners. I was merely trying to save a childhood friend. Even though, he was a Jew, they could empathize with the situation. A lot of Germans had dated Jewish women or had close friends that were Jewish, before Hitler's reign began.

Normally, one would be put to death for such actions. The panel of officials decided that a demotion from SS to a Private soldier would suffice. I would have to live with that stigma for the rest of my life and they knew that. Humiliation was sometimes worse than death. Coupled with the humiliation, I was to be shipped to the front lines to fight for my honor. The panel decided that my new destination would be Stalingrad, Soviet Union. An intense battle had been waged for about a little over a month. The need for German soldiers was dire. The Soviet Army was proving itself to be a genuine competitor to the Nazi Army. So I was sent, in disgrace, to fight one of the bloodiest battles of WWII.

I was issued a standard army uniform and escorted to the train station, by an SS officer. The SS officer rode the entire way with me on the train. They did not want me to get any crazy ideas about deserting. We sat on the train for a good twenty four hours before we arrived at our destination. The train stopped at Kharkov, in the area now known as Ukraine. Due to its position between Germany and Russia, the city was a hot bed for skirmishes. The city had seen its full share of warfare. Control of the city was handed back and forth multiple times, throughout the war. The city, now in Germany's control, made for a perfect base to launch daily invasions. Beyond Kharkov, there were no further train tracks. They all looped around and headed straight back towards German control areas. From this point, I would meet up with my company of soldiers and head out to Stalingrad. The trip to Stalingrad would take about another day, due to the stop/go actions.

Once I finally arrived and checked in on base, my SS babysitter departed. Unfortunately, he did not leave without informing my new commander of my "situation". This, of course, did not start matters off on the right foot. Going from one of the highest, non-official, positions to an ordinary field soldiers was a dishonor to the Reich. Plus nobody likes to hear that their new addition just got demoted for aiding and abetting the enemy. I doubted it made a very good impression on the generals and chiefs. Either way, there was a shortage of men, so I would suit up and be sent out. At this point, the only people who knew about my time at Auschwitz were the leaders. The ordinary soldiers did not have any inclination of the event. I was highly appreciative of this. If they knew of my past, there might be some out-lashing.

By November 1st of 1942, the Germans had Stalingrad surrounded. Things were looking promising for us. The battle raged furiously and hundreds of body bags were shipped back from the front line every day. By the time the battle was at its highest point, bodies were then being abandoned in the streets. They were covered by debris and trampled underfoot. Unlike most battles at the time, the battle of Stalingrad was an urban street battle. Soldiers marched right into the heart of the city and dominated the area, street by street. There were countless nooks and crannies for people to hide. You never knew exactly where the enemy was.

My company did not make it to Stalingrad until November 20th. It was around the exact time the Soviets engaged their operation Uranus. It was on the 22nd that General Paulus sent a telegram to Hitler, stating that the Soviets had the German Army surrounded. So just like that, in a matter of a couple weeks, we were now losing the upper hand. Hitler demanded that the German Army must not surrender, at any cost. We were to fight to the death, if it came down to it. That is easy for him to say, as he sits in a lavish underground bunker somewhere.

Finally, we entered the city limits sometime during the afternoon of November 20th. The streets of Stalingrad were devastated by air bombing raids and constant battle. Large buildings were gutted out, exposing their insides. We tracked through the rain puddles that formed in the holes of the rumble. The fall air was not kind to our wet, already chilled bodies. I took a good look around me and the question returned. How the hell did I get here? And still better yet. How the hell do I keep getting myself in these situations? We spent the first three or four day wondering the deserted city streets, in hunt for the Soviets. At first, we saw very little action. It seemed like we were always one step behind the battle. Every time we heard gunshots in the distance, we were always there just at the end. We would make it soon enough to collect all the dead bodies but that is all. The piles of debris were chest high sometimes and even worse, we were made to scale walls when there was no other way.

We never knew what was right around the corner. There were so many hiding spots for snipers to nest. It was a persistent threat that always stayed on our minds. In every direction, we could hear the sound of bombs off in the distance. The occasional outburst of machine gun fire gave us some inclination were the enemy might be. Of course, I was in no position to make decisions. Like sheep, the shepherd led our flock. It was slightly like flying in a plane. You have zero control of a potentially deadly situation. You just have to trust the person directing your advance. Granted flying is a whole shit load safer than marching in a city wide gun fight.

We pushed forward through the battered streets. Stacks of dead soldiers littered the alleys and hiding areas. Fires were still engulfing parts of buildings and vehicles. The newly sparked fires and fresh smell of gun powder led me to believe we might have been actually trailing someone. By the number of dead German soldiers, I had a bad feeling it was not who I wanted to see. Yet, our courageous flock leader persistently drove full on.

Our company was divided into sub-divisions with four men per group. One man would face in each direction, if we were ever surrounded. I happened to be paired up with three very different individuals. There was Private Kuhn who was a young lengthy man. One of those kids who join the Army because he seriously had nothing else better to do. Then there was Haape who was the spirit driven member of our group. He full-heartedly believed in every word Hitler said. If this was a high school, he would be the male cheerleader. Lastly, we had Vogt who was the hard headed slave driver. He frequently gave us orders as if he were the commander of the company. This never sat well with the actual commander. I usually did not pay him any attention, which usually pissed him off. I was not going to be walked all over. I had been through way too much to sacrifice my dignity.

Since this was my first time in the field, I was naturally not very good. Vogt always yelled at me for doing something stupid. But hey, camp life is much different than war life. Any way you look at it, my inexperience had never brought us into harm's way. Unfortunately, my luck with that was about to run out.

After a long afternoon of marching, Kuhn suggested that we take a break. There had been no bombs or gun fire; no sounds of danger. It seemed like the perfect time. As they all sat behind a crumbled wall, I paced as I told a story about Auschwitz, to Haape. I tended to have poor awareness abilities and a terrible ability to sense pending doom. I never had to deal with either of those. In both Warsaw and Auschwitz, the Jews never dared raise a finger towards me in malice.

Just as I was about to reach the climax of my story, I raised my hands to the sky, for emphasis. This was immediately followed by a bullet that nearly grazed my head. I dove to the ground to my rifle. The others immediately returned fire in the direction the bullet came from. A mass of return fire was sent back our way. There was clearly more than just a sniper out there. Little to our knowledge, the Russians had been held up not two blocks away. My dramatic reenactment was spotted by a sniper some hundred yards way. We could hear the shooting getting closer as the Soviets charged our position. By the looks of it, we were about to encounter a larger group of soldier than we had.

The company, comprised of twelve men, dispersed into three men groups. We spread out covering all directions. One group covered the right, one the cover the left and the last covered the rear. Our group was sent to the left. Kuhn headed to the upper level of a partly demolished apartment building. The apartments still contained the belongings of the past tenants. Chairs, dressers, a coffee table etc, were all still there. By now, they were all tossed about, littering the rooms with clutter. Haape and I took the first floor, which previously was a small shoe shop. Now it was completely gutted. Nothing remained except the bare room. Not even the glass on the large bay window was left. Vogt guarded the entrance of the building from the outside. Of course the glory whore always wanted to be the first into battle. This was fine with me for a few reasons. One, he might die first, which was ok. Two, it meant I did not have to guard the outside. I would undoubtedly die first in that situation. The other two groups formed similarly in an adjacent building. Once we were all in place, we had all flanks covered and we were ready for the fight.

Now inside the store, I approached the bay window to take a look outside. I took one step forward and there was a blast. I lost my balance and smashed my head on the corner of the window frame. I am sure it must have been a grenade. The combination of the force of the blast and the head trauma caused me to black out. I awoke seconds later, laying on the floor in a fetal position. I could not remember what was going on, or who anybody was. My vision was foggy from the smoke and delusion. This is all I knew. There were bullets chaotically hitting the wall behind me and the smoke was choking. I just wanted out of where ever I was. It almost felt like a dream. I felt rather alien in my own body. I surely did not feel like a soldier, at that point. I rolled over and slid my heavy gear bag off my shoulders. I could hear someone screaming just feet away, but the smoke was so dense, I could not see him.

"Fire, fire, fire!" the voice screamed.

This was followed by rapid machine gun fire. The smoke was pouring out of the bay window, helping matters a little. Once the smoke started to clear, I saw who I later would remember as Haape. His gun was perched on the windowsill as he fired away. Flames were bursting from the barrel of the gun. He vigorously fired the gun while screaming out orders to fire. I could do nothing but sit there and watch in horror. Eventually, he took notice of me and stopped. He ducked down and turn directly towards me. I tried to back up away from him, but there was nowhere to go.

"Stand up, Von Newmann! Stand up!"

I simply shook my head and crotched further back against the wall. He dropped the machine gun and approached me as he ducked below the window.

"Stand up, now!" He screamed, over the explosions.

I just stared at him like one of those stupid deer, starring into the highlights. I wanted to flee, but bullets were flying above me and Haape now blocked my only way out of the room. Furthermore, the bullets were coming from outside, so I was not quite sure that I wanted to head out there just yet. I would take my chances with the only man who was not shooting at me.

He grabbed me and starting shaking me. It must have been blasphemy for him to see one of Hitler's Nazi soldiers, cowering in a corner. The expression on his face led me to believe he was not very impressed with my performance thus far. I was pretty sure he was going to kill me, if I did not get up. Yet, I still refused. I wanted to figure out what the hell was going on before I moved an inch away from my safety spot. This would prove nearly impossible with all the gunfire, explosions and screaming. I could not hear my own thoughts.

Then there came another blast. The force shook the entire building and the deafening explosion pierced my ears. Haape returned to the machine gun and continued to return fire. Just then unbeknownst to me, Kuhn ran into the room. With the arrival of a second unknown man, my state of mental horror was not improving. Kuhn ran up to Haape and began to talk. I could not hear what they were saying over the gun fire, but Haape handed Kuhn his gun and returned to me.

"Stand up and fight Newmann!" He screeched.

Frankly, I was fucking terrified of him and did not find it in my best interest to stand up. Instead, I looked over at Kuhn just in time to see his head explode. He was struck with a rifle blast, directly in his face. The blast exploded his skull all over the room. Skin and brain fragments covered the walls and ceiling. Once again returned the urge to flee, but I could not with him standing above me.

As Haape turned his head to observe Kuhn, I quickly shot up and tackled him to the ground. We wrestled for a moment and I won the upper hand. He was now pinned to the floor as I unloaded a fiery of punches. I struck his head and face until bright red lumps started to rise. Another blast shook the room and I fell back off of him. When I landed on the ground, I felt something hard underneath me. I had fallen on my gear bag. Sticking out of my gear bag was my knife. I grabbed it and turned back to Haape. As I turned around, he charged head on toward me. I held out the knife and he ran straight into it. It stabbed into his stomach. He made a grunting noise as the blade entered and his eyes grew wide.

We were now face to face and Haape's body fell on top of me, against the wall. I tried to push him off but my strength was dwindling. One last blast blew off almost the entire front of the building and a large shard of metal was propelled into my right side. We fell completely to the floor, Haape nearly lying on top of me. I was becoming light headed from the loss of blood. The shard penetrated my flesh and blood gushed around the piece of metal.

As I looked into his eyes, I could tell he knew his time had come. He was now starting to cry as he gasped for air.

"Why?" He desperately tried to ask.

I stared at him in horror, my only emotion left. After a few seconds, he tried once more to speak.

"Heil Hitler..." He whispered.

I pulled the blade from this stomach and blood seeped out. I used the last bit of energy to throw Haape's body to the ground. The room was now on fire and filling up with smoke once more. I rolled over to Haape's gun and tried to use it to pull myself to my feet. Once I was standing up, I used the gun as a crutch to inch my way towards the door. It was the only clear path I could spot. I went to put pressure on my right leg and almost collapsed. The last blast had also sent debris into my leg. I strained to make it to the doorway and throw the gun to the ground. Grabbing hold of the door frame, I used both hands to swing myself through the threshold. At that point, I did not care what was on the other side waiting for me. Even if I did care, I couldn't have imagined what was waiting for me. I exited the building to find Vogt standing there. He thrust the butt of his gun to the side of my head and I fell to the ground. Once again, I blacked out.

I woke up sometime later. The sounds of gun fire and explosions had ceased. We clearly must have been successful in driving back the Soviets. I felt around me before I tried opened my eyes. I had been laid out on a pile of debris. My head was pounding and sore on one side. In addition, my entire right side was in pain from the incision of numerous pieces of shard metal. I struggled to open my eyes completely, but they were too heavy. Slowly I became adjusted to the light and I could open my eyes most of the way. Standing above me were all the men from the company. I was taken aback by the expression on their faces. I, at this point, had no idea what had happened. Vogt took notice of my awakening.

"Newmann, wake up!" Vogt demanded.

I just tried to roll over, but the pain was unbearable.

"Newmann...." He screamed, two inches from my face. "Wake the hell up!"

"What...?" I replied. "What happened?"

"Well, that's a great fucking question Newmann." He replied spitefully. "Why don't you fucking enlighten us?"

"I don't know what happened." I answered truthfully. "Last thing I remember is running into the shop with Haape."

"You mean, this Haape?" Vogt stated, pointing at Haape's lifeless body.

By this point, I was at least able to make my way to my feet. I stood hunched over, grabbing at the shard in my side. The sight of Haape's body was starting to bring back the memories. I had indeed killed him, but at the time, I truly did not know who he was.

"I don't remember." I further insisted. "The force from the first blast threw me over. I smashed my head against the wall. Everything else is fuzzy."

"Fuzzy? God damnit! Is that your best excuse?" He snapped. "You stabbed him in the fucking stomach for God's sake."

Vogt was clearly livid about my day dream slaughter. Two of the other men had to now hold Vogt back. He would have had my head on a pike, if he had it his way. I looked over to Haape and then to Kuhn's headless body and that is the moment everything shaped into place. I was still hunched over, desperately trying to catch my breath and shake off the fatigue.

"You mother fucker! He was my friend." He screamed.

"I swear... I didn't know what was going on." I pleaded. "I must have lost my memory when I slammed my head against the wall."

"Well, let me tell you exactly what happened." Vogt replied, firmly. "You were dancing around, telling a story like a fucking fairy. A sniper nearly took your head off but we drove him back. Then when we were being ambushed, you were cowering in the corner, like the little girl I always knew you were."

He paused for a second as he started to choke back his emotions.

"Haape..." He stopped again. "Haape was trying to get you up and ready to fight but you fucking attacked him. LOOK! Look at him. You fucking did that."

"Hey now." I replied. "I think there was more than that."

"I thought you didn't remember?" One of the other men interrupted.

"I do, but I don't." I answered, rubbing my head. "I... I just didn't know who he was or what was going on."

"Bullshit!" Vogt shouted.

I turned and gave him a dirty look. He shouldered off the men restraining him and marched over to me. In his hard headed manner, he bumped chests with me as if we were guerrillas or something. I did not budge an inch.

"Let me tell you something, you piece of shit. " He snapped. "You don't think we know this, but we are all aware of your little demotion."

Panic started to build up inside me. No one was supposed to know. I turned to look at the others and they were all just as pissed as Vogt. This was quickly turning into a lynching.

"We all know you were caught trying to smuggle out a goddamn Jew." He bluntly stated.

"Hey!" I yelled. "That god damn Jew was my best friend."

"Don't you raise your voice to me, you fucking kike." He demanded.

"Oh! Now we are resorting to name calling, huh?" I replied, between shallow breaths. "How third grade of you!"

He continued to scream at me as loud as humanly possible.

"Fuck you! You damn traitor." He continued. "First the Jew and now this. The guards should have put a bullet in your head as well."

I shoved him away from me but I was immediately subdued by the rest of the company. Vogt came back and laid a few punches to my already wounded side. My body went limp, from the pain. The others held me on my feet and Vogt continued to lay into me. Two men held me up by my shoulders as Vogt used me as a punching bag. The beating lasted a few minutes until he decided to back off and harass me some more.

"I should kill you right here, traitor." He yelled.

"Fuck you." I mumbled.

"Fuck me?" He hollered in my face.

I used my absolute last burst of energy to lift my head. Looking face to face with Vogt and spit my blood directly at him. His eyes opened wide as the reality sunk in, of what I just did. The look in his eyes was familiar. It was the exact look the prisoners in Auschwitz use to give us. Just like Vogt, they wanted to kill me. Unlike Vogt, they did not have the means to. Vogt did and his intentions were growing quite clear. He wiped the blood from his face and continued.

"Put this faggot on his knees." He ordered.

The soldiers restraining me eagerly obeyed the command. Too weak to fight them off, I fell to the ground. Now on my knees, they let me go. I fell, face first, into the dirt.

"Pick his ass up!" Vogt ordered.

The others held me on my knees as Vogt retrieved his pistol from his holster. Standing directly in front of me he raised his gun to my forehead. I desperately tried to look up, but my neck could hardly support my head, let alone left it.

"Do you have something smart to say now?" Vogt asked rhetorically.

"Yeah..." I mumbled, face down to the ground. "Fuck you..."

Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger. The bullet entered my brain and I immediately fell to the ground. Those were my last words.

As every other time, I was lifted above my dying scene. I could see the destruction of Stalingrad for miles in each direction. Vogt and the rest of the company stood directly below me. The smoke from Vogt's barrel was still seeping out. You could see the same look of malice on their faces. And there I was, laying face down in the dirt and debris. My head with a gigantic exit wound on the back of my skull. The blood mist was still suspended in mid air.

I could not hear or feel, as normally was the case. All I could do was fixate myself on this dying scene once more. I wished I had never left Berlin in the first place. Many people would still be alive if I had stayed including Aden and myself. God, how I wished to see Aden again. I needed to profusely apologize for my actions.

By this point, I knew I was not going to heaven. I would, without a doubt, be returning to earth for yet another try. As I watched the last pixels fade away, my thoughts were hopeful. Maybe this next life would be my last.
Chapter Twenty Two

Damon stopped again, as he usually did to reflect on the end of his story. Unlike the last time he died, he seemed genuinely upset over the outcome. I could see the anger in his eyes.

"I take it this was the hardest life of the three." I asked Damon.

"They were all hard. Just all for different reasons." He replied. "This was just the most sinister, inhumane, vile existence. I saw so many people die. I was almost glad to join them. I don't think I could have seen one more child die."

"I can completely understand that feeling." I replied.

"Can you?" Damon asked. "Have you ever killed someone before Jacob?"

"Yes..." I replied "Unfortunately, it comes with the job sometimes."

"How about a child?" He asked again.

"No, no never!" I replied, quickly. "I could never live with myself, if I did."

"It's a horrible thing, killing kids." He stated. "But it came with the job."

He looked up and gave a wink.

"Do you feel remorse for it now?" I asked.

"Oh yeah, absolutely." He answered. "Every time I see a homeless child, I can't help but think of the children in Warsaw, dying in the snow covered streets."

Damon stopped again to reflect. I could imagine how he felt. I quickly had to shake off that notion. This couldn't be true. Why then was I starting believe this man? I mean, he calls me out of the clear blue sky and now I am supposed to whole heartedly believe him. For all I knew, he was just another New York City whack job.

"You know, Jacob," He stated. "I do have to admit, I haven't been 100% honest with you. The story I told you about that girl you are looking for, well it was a lie."

"Excuse me?" I replied.

Anger swept over me as I realized I had been wasting my entire day.

"Yeah, it was just a ploy to get you here." He said calmly. "The address I gave you was just bull shit. It's an abandoned factory. I figured if you ran out on me before I was finished, then you go there and waste your time. Kind of like a little fuck you from me. You know?"

I looked him in the eyes and he smirked.

"Can we get some more coffee?" He asked.

"No!" I shouted, as I looked up to see the waitress glaring at us. I continued in a low but distinguishable voice. "Hold on, you mean to tell me, that you have been jerking me around all day?"

"Calm down now." He said. "You will still get your blood. You damn cops are all the same. What about me? What happens if I just needed someone to talk to? You are supposed to service the PEOPLE of New York City, aren't you?"

"Yeah, well maybe you should have called a therapist or call a fucking nutcase hotline."

"For one, I am not the nutcase." He interrupted. "For two, I did say you will still get your blood."

"What does that even mean?" I asked, now inflamed.

I couldn't even look him in the face anymore. This man was starting to seriously piss me off. I was about two seconds away from leaving and ditching him on the bill, when he said it.

"Surprise!" He said, with a smile. "There is another person involved here."

I gave him a crocked eye, trying to figure out what the hell he was talking about.

"Who?" I asked. "How are they involved?"

"Who? I will not say. Not yet." He stated. "But maybe if I tell you how, you can figure out the who."

"You know, I am getting quite sick of these games." I replied.

"Oh believe me, you will like this one." He said.

He took the last swig of his coffee and looked back at me.

"Can we get some more coffee already?" He said rolling his eyes.

At this point, I was willing to give him whatever it took to end this game of charades. I whistled to the waitress and made a drinking motion. She slugged her way over with a pot of coffee and filled Damon's cup. Damon took a sip and placed the cup back on the table.

"So, where were we?" Damon stated.

"The other person for fuck sake." I replied, trying to contain my anger.

"Oh yes." He paused for a second. "They are tied up in my apartment as we speak."

"What do you mean tied up?" I asked. "How do I know you are not lying again?"

"You won't want to test it." He said.

"Who are they?!" I grunted.

"Oh, you will see, soon enough. Don't worry." He answered.

"How do you know I'll even care who this person is?" I asked.

"Oh, you will." He said, with a smile on his face. "Oh, this is where it gets fun. You have played that child's game, Guess Who, right?"

"You know what?! I have had enough of this bullshit." I sternly, interrupted. "I am growing impatient with this."

"No, no..." Damon responded. "They will die if you don't have patience. You always gather information and inspect a scene before you take action, right?"

He raised his eyebrow and we were silent, for a few seconds. He kept giving me this glare, as if he was reading my mind. It was making me very uncomfortable. I truthfully just thought this man was a nutcase at this point, but I had a strange feeling that he wasn't lying. I am usually very good at detecting when someone is lying. It comes with the job I guess. If you spent ten to eleven hours a day, talking to liars, you tend to pick up the twitches.

"So... What am I supposed to do with this patience?" I asked, calmly.

"Ahh! So, you do want to play?" He replied.

"Enough of the shit, Damon." I quickly replied. "If this doesn't pan out to something than I am going to kill you. After that, I'll just tell everyone you attacked me and puff, case closed."

"Believe me Jacob, it will." He answered with that damn smirk again.

"Fine..." I said, as I paused to let out a loud sigh. "Is it a male?"

"Nope." He answered. "But good first question."

"Thanks, I think." I said. "Do you mind if I write this down? I figure if it is important enough for you to play a fucking board game over, than I should write it down."

"Of course." He answered. "It is not a violation of the rules."

"OK, then." I said.

I started to think of all the females that were important to me. Which women's abduction would matter the most to me? The only problem is I work with at least five female officers. Then there is my wife, daughter, two sisters, aunts, grandma... This could go on all night.

"Does this person wear glasses?"

"Yes."

"OK." I said, writing down on a napkin. "Does she have blond hair?"

"No. No she does not."

"Hmm... Is she over the age of thirty five?"

"Nope... but I do have to say, you are rather good at this."

"Yeah, quit the sweet talk." I spouted. "Have I seen her in the last week?"

"Came on Jacob, of course you have." Damon replied in disappointment. "Do you think it wouldn't be someone close to you?"

When he said this, it gave my heart a jolt. I was now in serious mode. My mind started to race, thinking of the possibilities of who it could be.

"Does her name begin with a vowel?"

"There you go, Jake, that's a good one." He commented. "And yes it does."

A wave of relief ran over me. There was now no way it was my wife. Her name was, of course, Jennifer; it was not her. I started to think, who was under thirty five, with dark hair and wore glasses. That is when it dawned on me. My daughter Amber was ten years old, with brown hair and wore glasses. I was now starting to get nervous. Could this man have actually kidnapped my daughter? I do not even know if he could have kidnapped anyone. I had to think of one defining feature that would single out Amber without coming out and saying her name.

"Has she even been in my home?"

"Yes." He answered. "And very recently too."

"Is it Amber?" I asked, unable to contain myself anymore.

Damon just sat back in his chair and looked at me. The expression on his changed immediately. He sat there quietly for some time. I was growing impatient with him again. I wanted to hold back my frustrations. I would not give him the satisfaction of claiming I did not have patience. I tried for as long as I could, but Damon was not answering me.

"Answer me!" I shouted, slamming my hand on the table.

The smile returned to Damon's face.

"What are you smiling about?" I asked.

"You are so predictable." He replied. "I knew if I dragged out that response for longer than thirty seconds, you would lose it. And look at yourself, you are losing it."

"I don't fucking care."

"Well, I think she will." He replied.

"This isn't a fucking game anymore." I shouted.

Lucky enough, we were in the far back of the diner. No one really came to a sleazy place like this anyways.

"If you have my daughter, I will fucking kill you. I swear." I continued.

"Well good, because it isn't your daughter." He replied. "I already told you, I don't happily kill little kids. And believe me, you and your daughter are not important enough for me to kill another little child."

"You know what?" I said as I stood up. "I am done with your little games. I am leaving now and don't you ever contact me again. You hear me!"

I stood up and started to walk towards the front of the diner, but not fast enough to cut off Damon's last words.

"I wouldn't do that Jacob." He said.

"Well, I am." I replied, still walking away.

"Come on Jake, don't you realize where you are? Think about Aubrey..." He said, nonchalantly.

I stopped, dead in my tracks. I had indeed known where I was the entire time, but how could he know about Aubrey?

"What do you mean, Aubrey?" I turned and asked.

He was staring up at me from his sit. All smiles again, but no answers. He knew I was reeled back in. I was overwhelmed with tension, anger and most of all, confusion.

"How do you know about Aubrey?" I said, marching back to the table.

"Well, come sit back down and I'll explain it." He said.

I walked over and reluctantly sat back in the seat. I knew something was terribly amiss. As far as I knew, no one was aware of Aubrey. I made sure of it.

"I know about your little affair." He whispered. "I know all about Aubrey. I also know that your wife has no idea. You are a pretty good manipulator, aren't you Jacob."

"Shut up!" I demanded.

I sat there in front of him. I had no clue how he knew about Aubrey. We were so secretive about the whole thing. I had met her about two years ago at a work issued AA meeting. I was caught drinking on the job and instead of firing me, the chief sent me to AA. We were both battling alcoholism. Naturally, we gravitated to each other. The only problem was the fact that she was only twenty five years old. As our little Guess Who game concluded, she was young, with brown hair and occasionally wore glasses. I couldn't believe I didn't see this coming a mile away.

She was so young and vulnerable. I felt, at first, like a father figure. I wanted to help her and she would help me. Week after week, we would meet up before the meeting for coffee. We would discuss any problems that the previous week brought. It was really nice to have the connection. My wife was always busy with work and taking care of Amber. We truly believed that our little pre-meetings were doing both of us some good. Eventually, Aubrey started to invite me back to her place. She always said that she was lonely and just needed someone to hang out with. So we would watch movies, chat, etc... Of course one night, out of nowhere, things just got out of hand.

I did love my wife with all of my heart, but I was suckered into Aubrey's net. I battled with the infidelity every day, but still I never let her go. We had been through so much during those AA meetings...

The meetings! That is when it dawned on me. I knew I had seen Damon before, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I then realized where I had seen him. He was at those meetings, all along. My epiphany read clearly from my facial expression, because Damon quickly reacted.

"HA, HA!" He said. "So he awakens."

I couldn't take his snippy, sarcasm anymore. I reached over the table and grabbed him by the shirt. I pulled his face close to me. Damon seemed a bit surprised for the first time.

"Where the fuck is she?" I screamed.

"Ummm. Is everything ok?" The waitress asked as she stuck her head around the corner.

"Nothing is the matter, please leave." I snapped at her.

"Do you need me to call the police?" She asked, Damon.

"I am the fucking police, lady!" I shouted again, ripping the badge from my belt loop.

I still had Damon's shirt held tight, as I flashed the badge to the waitress. She let out a sigh and retreated back to the kitchen.

"Ok now..." Damon said. "Easy killer."

"That's right, if you don't tell me, I am going to kill you."

"If I am going to tell you, you need to first calm down, and let go of me." He said. "You cops are all the same, no fucking patience."

I let go of his shirt and he fell back to his chair.

"She is alive and well." He said.

"Where?!" I interrupted.

"Ironically, just about six floors above us." He laughed. "Only one floor below hers."

I could not believe my ears. I had not even thought about the fact that Aubrey lived upstairs. I had only been there two or three times. Usually, I snuck her to my place or to a hotel. When I arrived here, I had no idea this was going to be about her. I simply pushed it off. That is what we always agreed to do. If anything regarding our relationship came up, just push it off.

"I take it you know where that is." He replied, sarcastically.

"How though? How did you find out?" I asked.

"Well..." he started. "I had been following her for months, before you arrived. I was actually just about to make my move when you came into the picture. Imagine my frustration when you ruined a perfectly formulated plan."

"So, that is what this is about?" I said firmly.

"Of course!" He quickly answered. "Isn't it always?"

I could feel my adrenaline starting to pump. He claimed she is still alive, but we have been here a few hours. For all I knew, she could be dead by now. I had to get to her before he hurt her. I was not going to be the reason for this beautiful young girl's death.

"Well..." I yelled. "Let me go get her."

"You are seriously willing to lose your wife, daughter and possibly your job over this whore?" He asked.

I reached back over the table again and grabbed him by the shirt.

"Tell me the room number and give me your keys, now!"

"Jacob, with an attitude like that, you are never going to save her." He replied. "What did I tell you about patience?"

"Fuck you and your patience." I said. "Give me the keys, now!"

Damon reached in his pocket, while I still had him by the shirt collar. He pulled out a single key on a key ring. The key ring had a tag that read, 623. He slammed the keys on the table.

"There you go, hero." He said. "Room number 623. You'll find her in the bedroom."

I grabbed the keys and pushed him back into the chair. Before he could land on it, I was heading out of the diner. Trying not to make a major scene, I swiftly walked towards the front. Before I could exit, Damon had one last word for me.

"Patience!" He yelled.

I totally disregarded his insane ramblings and slammed through the front door. As I made my way to the streets, I turned the corner and entered the front door of the apartment complex. The apartment complex was just as trashy as the diner was. I never held it against Aubrey because she was young and alone. The city was rough on the less fortunate people.

I made my way through the lobby, still walking under the suspicion radar. The front desk clerk noticed me and waved. I waved back quickly hoping she would not try and make conversation. Luckily, the elevator door was open and waiting for me. I went up to the sixth floor, as directed. I made my way down the familiar hallway, with its cheap tacky carpet. It lined every floor of the complex, as well as the lobby. It reminded me of the same design that your grandmother would have on her couch. Old, eccentric and flashy. I stumbled down the hall desperately checking each number of the doors I passed.

Finally, I arrived to room 623. I fumbled to get the key in the door handle. Eventually, I was able to pull myself together and get inside. I entered into a living room that was scattered with papers. There was nothing more than a coffee table and a computer desk, in the room. A lamp that was sitting next to the computer monitor was already on. Along the left side of the room, a toy basketball net was suctioned to the wall. Directly below it was a pile of crumbled up papers and coffee cups from a nearby deli.

Stacks of books surrounded the computer desk. They seemed to be thrown on top of each other in no particular fashion. I bent down to read the titles on the sides of the books. Book after book, pertained to the Mayans, French Revolution or WWII. On the computer screen, the screen saver displayed a picture of a SS officer, laying dead in a dirt trench. His gear was still attached to his lifeless body and ironically, a deck of playing cards poured from his jacket pocket. The cards scattered across the ground, showing the dramatic difference between soldier and typical young man.

I grew angry, at the sight. Had Damon really stumped me? I threw the computer screen to the floor and kicked the stack of books. It was then that I heard a noise coming from down the hallway. It was without a doubt, the sound of a young lady. I stormed down the hallway; kicking more stacks of books out of my way. The noise sounded like it was coming from the door, at the end of the hall. Attached to the door was a folded piece of paper and sitting at the foot of the door laid a large envelope entitled, 'MANUSCRIPT'. I threw it aside and tugged at the door handle.

The door was locked and I tried the same key that went to the front door, but it was not a match. I could hear the muffled screams intensify, as I wrestled with the door.

"Hold on, Aubrey!" I yelled, through the door. "I am going to kick the door in."

Her screams got even louder as I stepped back to prepare. I desperately wanted to set her free. I pulled back my foot and slammed it forward. The door swung open violently, with a crash. Simultaneously, there was a sound of gunfire, coming from inside the room. I quickly ducked to the ground. I thought it must have been one of Damon's accomplices. I rolled across the ground and came to a stop against the wall. I looked up to see an empty room. It was completely empty, except of one thing. In the center of the room sat a chair. In the chair, a person hunched over. I quickly stood and approached Aubrey. She had blood pouring down the side of her head. Right next to her head was a handgun rigged to a stand. The stand extended from the arm of the chair to the gun, positioned to her temple. Connected to the trigger of the gun was wire that ran through a pulley system up to the door frame.

The pulley system was set up to trigger the gun if the door opened with force. I pulled up her head and her face was completely blank. She was dead. I panicked and ran over to the door. The folded piece of paper was still tacked to the door. As I looked closer, the paper had my name written on it. I ripped the letter off the door and held it for a second. I stood there with the folded letter in my hand for about a minute before I unfolded it. Finally, I worked up the courage, folded the letter and began to read.

"Dear Jacob, I have a challenge for you..."

I read through the entire letter, beginning to end. With each line, I could feel myself almost become sick. My head was starting to spin. At the bottom of the letter was signed Damon Drake. Under which contained one last line.

"PS: If you open the door, she will die. Patience, my friend."

I read that last line and my head was now swirling. I lost my footing, my sight started to fade to black and I fell to the floor. The last thing I remember was my head hitting a blunt object on the floor. After that, I woke up here. I was strapped to a gurney and my head was woozy from all the drugs. I don't remember how or why I am here. Can you help me doctor?

"Sorry Jacob, but we are out of time today."

But... Please I need your help. Someone needs to call my wife.

"I am sorry, Jacob. We have been through this before."

But... Can I come back?

"Yes Jacob, we will be back here tomorrow. Just like every day, at the same time."

You do believe me, don't you doctor?

"Yes, of course, of course I do. Now follow the assistant back to your room, please. It is time for your medication."

No, you are not listening to me! I don't want any more drugs; I want you to help me!

"We are trying to help you."

NO! I want out, now! NOW DAMNIT!

"I am sorry but I cannot allow that... Michael, get the syringe."

"Sure thing, Doc."

"Please don't resist, Jacob."

No! I don't want to sleep. Please don't give me that stuff!

Fuck that hurts! It hurts!

I should have remembered patience!

Patience... Patience... Patience...

Patience... Patience...

Pati...

