• The story I'm about to tell you, some may believe, some may blow off as rubbish, and some may not know what to think. But I know it happened, well, it happened to me in my past life. It was an unpleasant day on that 26th day of October. The clouds blanketed the sky, a light gray and the drizzle on my face felt like tiny needles of ice. The increasing number of German soldiers in the area was no news to us. It seemed to happen every year like clockwork. We just accepted it as part of the daily routine and kept on with our lives. It was no surprise when the Germans began taking record of our religions. We took the change in name from the name National deutschen Militär to the Nazis as just a change in command we werent told about. How we let it all pass by in front of us without knowing what was going on.... ignorance is bliss they say. But I'm rambling. The route from my work to the graveyard was a long one, but I hadn't seen my father in a week, and feeling his gravestone was just about all that kept the memory of him alive in my head. The cobblestone street shone darkly with the moisture of what had now become a downpour. I took a moment to rest under the arch of the bridge at the almost half way point. A patrol of Deutschen Polizei passed by in their 3x3 square formation, keeping perfect time with each other. I continued past, keeping a wary eye for any Nazis who looked at all drunk, when they were the most violent towards our kind. The building became fewer and more spaced as I closed the gap between me and the Gothic, wrought-iron graveyard gates. Just like a scene from the movies, the trees were dead, the grass brown, and an old owl living in the largest Oak. My father's resting place was the third from the northeast edge and 5 down from the northwest, at the bottom of the slope. The rain had caused the marker to sink a short ways into the mud, and I pulled it up and straightened it. I kneeled down and traced the letters with my finger, this simple action seeming to bring back thoughts of him. "It's been so long.." I murmured, although I expected no one to respond. he had died 20 years ago, defending my childhood home from Scottish raiders. He killed over half of them and still had the energy to finish the rest, but a well aimed arrow pierced his jugular, bringing is beserkish rampage to an end. I was put in a wagon and pushed down the side of the hill, landing in the river and being floated off to a small village outside of Berlin, where my aunt took me in and raised me. He still lays buried under my feet with the head of the arrow embedded in his throat. As I straightened up, I felt a presence behind me. A group of Aryean Nazis, the "perfect race", were standing at the gate, laughing and walking towards me. Out of the five, two carried MP44s, one had a chain draped over his shoulders, the one in the back held nothing, and the one who seemed to lead them all brandished a sword as he addressed me. For the sake of those here, I've told the dialogue in English
    "Jew!", but it came out Joosh as they all were drunk. "Curfew was two hours ago. You know what the price is for breaking curfew is, don't you!?" We all did, the charges of being a traitor to the Reich, which ultimately led to death.
    "My apologies, Wachtmeister. I will be on my way."
    "Wait, I haven't let you go. There is still the matter of punishment, and since there isnt a crowd or an executioner, we'll just have to take it out on you through other means." He smiled, a full open smile with a glint in his eye.
    At that the chain was bound around me, pressing my arms to my sides and my legs together. It was pulled as tight as they could possible manage and I coughed in pain. I was kicked hard in the back of the head and everything went dark. When I awoke it was to the sound of screams and the sight of a gun barrel in my face. I looked at the person holding it and it was a child, no older than those of you sitting here today. He didnt look at all afraid, it seemed more like he was angry with me, and the only reason he hadnt shot me was because he had other orders. I looked beside me and close to 100 ft away, was a woman, bound to a chair by chains like me, stripped bare, and dead. But who can live with their head gone?
    I felt a hard thump and the trickle of blood, the child had hit me with the butt of his gun to keep me from looking around. I heard a clanking as the locks on the metal door to the room were opened and the Wachmeister walked in. The boy saluted, shouting "Heil!" in the form that is assosciated with Nazis, and the sergeant smiled. Then he looked at me, hefted his sword, and everything went black. And now I sit here before you.