- This topic has 6,981 replies, 64 voices, and was last updated 8 hours, 47 minutes ago by
.
-
Posts
-
Oh, sorry. My bad! It just caught me off guard that he hates jews. And I JUST had to read a terrible horrible book called Night which was an autobiography and he, the author, and his two older sisters were the only survivors in his entire family! And like his 5 yo sister, his mother died. And he had to watch his father die. Plus we had to read all the horrible ways they killed the jews and the horrible conditions! Plus how they murdered BABIES too! sorry though. It brought back horrible memories from when I was reading that book!
"This sleeping child you're holding, is the great I AM!"-Mary did you know
@theducktator haha I remember reading about that in one of my history books
"When in doubt, eat cheese crackers."-me to my charries who don't even know about cheese crackers
@anyone who plays minecraft
Seed number -6640657341219389823 is really good. It spawns you in a jungle, and there’s a dark forest, mesa, ordinary forest, and the new pale forest nearby. It looks really cool for a base.
"When in doubt, eat cheese crackers."-me to my charries who don't even know about cheese crackers
You’re good.
I understand the feeling. The Holocaust was a very dark, dark time. Researching about it can be pretty tough. Hans is the Villain of Freedom’s book.
He’s an SS.
But yeah, none of us on here hate Jews!
Man is born for the fight, to be forged and molded into a sharper, finer, stronger image of God
Don’t worry, he will die a well deserved horrible death.
Tempus adest gratiae
Hoc quod optabamus,
Carmina laetitiae
Devote reddamus!@anybody
I created a mock cover my Christmas short story! I’m not 100% in love with the title, so it might change. Once I have some alpha readers give me their feedback, I’mma share it on here for y’all to read! But before then, here’s the cover to intrigue you. 😋
Write what should not be forgotten. — Isabel Allende
Ooo that looks interesting!!
When and if you do share your short story, do tag me—I’d love to read it!! 😃INTP.
This looks really good! I like it!
Man is born for the fight, to be forged and molded into a sharper, finer, stronger image of God
You wanted to read about Werner?……..
“How’s my favorite patent today?”
Liam looked up as Werner peeked around the door. “Doing well,” he replied, a smile touching his pale face.
Werner stepped in and softly closed the door behind him. “I’m glad to hear it.” He crossed over and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Have you taken your medicine.”
Liam screwed up his face.
Werner arched his eyebrows and looked at him sternly. “Liam,” he said, drawing out the word.
Liam pulled the blankets up to his chin.
Werner reached over and picked up the bottle and spoon from the table. “Come along, little man.”
“It’s horrible,” Liam grimaced.
“Ja, but being sick is worse,” Werner told him.
“I suppose,” Liam admitted.
Werner cupped a hand under the now full spoon, and Liam obediently opened his mouth. He took the medicine and made a gaging noise but swallowed. Werner picked up a glass of water and offered it to him. Liam drained the whole glass and then lay back, trying to use his teeth to scrape the taste off his tongue.
“Well, that wasn’t as bad as you thought, was it?” Werner asked.
“No,” Liam replied. “It was worse.”
Werner shook his head and laughed. “Tell you what, next time I’ll smuggle some honey in here, and you can have a big spoonful after your medicine.
“That sounds good,” Liam sighed.
“So, it’s a deal?” Werner asked.
Liam nodded.
Werner reached into his bag and pulled out a folded newspaper. “Look at this.”
“I can’t read, it hurts my head too much,” Liam replied.
“Oh, you don’t want to read all this boring stuff,” Werner chuckled. He withdrew a pair of scissors. “Watch.”
Liam lay with his eyes fixed on Werner, and the young doctor moved the scissors skillfully in and out of the paper. At last, he was finished, and he held out a paper soldier. Liam reached for it, but Werner held up a finger. Taking both ends of the paper soldier, he let it unfold into a long chain of soldiers.
Liam smiled and pushed himself into a sitting position. Werner handed him the chain of soldiers, and Liam held them out. “My Papa is a soldier,” he said.
“Is he?” Werner asked.
Liam nodded. “He’s a very good soldier.”
“I’m sure he is,” Werner replied.
Liam lay back again, the paper chain still in his hands.
The door opened, and Werner looked up. Maria was peeking around the corner, but she pulled back when she saw Werner. “Nurse Krämer, come in,” Werner said, hurriedly.
Maria entered, a tray in her hands. “It’s time for Liam’s lunch, Doctor.”
Werner nodded and held out his hands.
Maria looked at him for a moment, and then slowly gave him the bowl and spoon. Werner smiled his thanks, but she moved to the far end of the room and stood watching him.
Werner helped Liam eat his meal, and then guided the boy back into a reclining position.
Maria took the tray and left the room. Werner looked at the closed door for a few moments, and then back at Liam. “She’s quiet.”
Liam nodded. “She’s nice though.”
“She seems so,” Werner agreed.
Liam snuggled down and held the paper soldiers. He had folded them back into one, and his slender fingers were wrapped about it.
Werner placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder and rubbed it gently with his thumb. After a moment, he began humming in a low tone.
“What are the words to that song?”
Werner started and glanced over at Liam. “I thought you were asleep.”
Liam shook his head.
Werner smiled. “It’s a hymn I always loved.”
“Why?” Liam asked.
“Because… well, because it really touched me during a hard time in my life,” Werner replied. He glanced at Liam and smiled. “Don’t worry about it, little man. You need to get some rest.”
“Will you sing it?” Liam whispered.
Werner hesitated a moment and glanced around the room. “Alright, but softly.”
Liam smiled and closed his eyes, and Werner began to sing, his voice a husky whisper. “Depth of mercy, can there be Mercy still reserved for me? Can my God His wrath forbear, me the chief of sinners spare? Heaven find me on my knees! Hear my soul in passioned pleas. Depth of mercy, can there be Mercy still reserved for me…”
Man is born for the fight, to be forged and molded into a sharper, finer, stronger image of God
You’re welcome. I’m glad you like it!
Man is born for the fight, to be forged and molded into a sharper, finer, stronger image of God
Don’t worry, he will die a well-deserved horrible death.
😅
I still wish his story didn’t have to end that way😭
@rae @ellette-giselle @koshka @elishavet-pidyon @esther-c @keilah-h @grcr @anyone-else-*shrug*A couple scenes from my WW1 WIP👀
TW: MENTIONS/ALLUSIONS TO AB*SE. THREATS. DEATH. MENTIONS OF BLOOD.
“You leave for the front lines in less than a month. The war is not on our doorstep, yet you sent Felix’s wife and your brother far away. You went behind me, behind my back, using my name and my funds. You are either highly intelligent, or far more likely, far too insolent. You stole from me, forged my name and my signature…whose idea was this!?”
Felix drew in his bottom lip, biting down on it. His fists clenched behind his back.
Heinrich slammed a book down onto the desk. “Answer me!”
Felix jumped and knew Hans did the same beside him.
His father frowned, stepped forward. He placed his face mere inches from Felix’s own and sneered, “You don’t take many risks, Felix…you’re my oldest, the one who thinks before he acts rather than acting in the spur of the moment. You stole the money and forged my signature, that much is clear…you’re the one who knows enough to do all of that well. But sending Himmler away and stealing from me to do so wasn’t your idea, was it? Nein,” Heinrich stepped aside to instead stand before Hans, and frowned, “that is more an idea your brother would concoct.”
Hans met Heinrich’s gaze, his coal eyes holding steady, his arms stiff at his sides. “It was my idea.”
“Ja, I assumed such. You will regret going behind my back, you both will—”
“You have more than enough money to help-“
A backhanded slap sent Hans a step backward.
Heinrich’s gaze shifted to Felix, almost cutting through him, sending a shiver up his spine. “You will both regret crossing me. I have guests coming, but the moment I get my hands on you both, you will regret every ounce of insolence you possess, every wrongdoing you have ever committed, and you will be begging by the time I’m done with you.”
But Himmler was safe…he was.
Adinah was too.
It…it had to be worth it. Right?
Right?
Felix swallowed hard. He slowly nodded. “Yessir. We-we understand.”
“Gut. Hans, you are dismissed. Felix, take a seat, my son.”
Hans met Felix’s gaze; his eyebrows furrowed together.
“Hans, leave this office this moment.” Heinrich ordered.
Hans stepped away. Felix’s gaze followed his brother all the way to the door. Hans offered a small, reassuring smile, then softly closed the door behind him.
Felix faced Heinrich again.
What did his father want him for? Hadn’t he already made his point clear?
Heinrich settled behind his desk, pulled out a cigarette from a drawer, and nodded. “Sit down, Felix.”
It wasn’t an invitation: it was a command.
Felix settled in the leather seat and raised his eyebrows. “Is something else wrong, Father?”
“Something is always wrong, particularly concerning your brother. He is reckless, insolent, and thinks with his actions rather than his mind, no matter how much I have tried to steer him in the proper direction,”
Proper direction?
As if Heinrich’s beatings taught Hans something other than to fear their father and hate their father that Felix also both hated and feared with every fiber of his being? As if Heinrich’s constant threats and slaps and smacks did something other than make Hans fear for his life, did something other than make Hans be more careful about not getting caught when he did do something wrong?
Felix’s fists clenched in his lap.
“But he refuses to do good. I cannot trust Hans, Felix, not with my inheritance.”
“…What?”
“In the event of my death, I have already written where everything I have will go. Your mother gets much of it, but if she has also perished, you get most of it, and Himmler gets the rest. I cannot trust-“
“He’s your son as much as I and Himmler-!”
“I have already made my decision, and none will change it,” Heinrich glared, “but I merely wished for you to know. It has become clear throughout the years that I cannot trust Hans with anything.”
“Give him another chance. He just wants to make you proud.”
Heinrich slammed his hands down on the desk. “He has been nothing but a disappointment from the day he was born.”
No.
Hans was loving, sweet, gentle. He cared for others, watched out for others. He tried to do what was right most of the time, but often acted out simply to get Heinrich or Matilda’s attention even though he got beaten for it. He searched for, craved, love and safety.
He couldn’t count how many times Hans told Heinrich that he just wanted to make him proud, couldn’t count how many nights Hans had cried himself to sleep, often in Felix’s or Frau Bakst’s arms when he had been young, because he could never make Heinrich proud no matter how hard he tried.
“He just—”
Heinrich stood, a vein pulsing in his neck. “I told you I have already made my decision. Nein, you will not change my mind…no one will.”
Felix quickly lifted to his feet. “But Father—”
“Enough. Unless you want a taste of what’s coming for you later this evening, I would highly suggest you make yourself absent from this office.”
How could he change his father’s mind? How could he stand up for Hans?
Felix clenched his fists, ran his tongue on the inside of his cheek.
If he weren’t so afraid of what could happen if he failed—nein, he’d never get away with it.
And how could he bear the burden of carrying his father’s blood on his hands?
Even if Heinrich deserved a cruel death and so much more than that.
Felix merely nodded.
He turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, down the stairs, into the kitchen.
Standing close to the stove, Frau Bakst released a deep breath, turned around, and leaned back against the counter, breathing heavily, brushing a loose strand of her curly black hair behind her ear. Her molasses-colored eyes met Felix’s bluish green, and she smiled tiredly. “Hallo liebling. Don’t you mind me, I’m just trying to get this heavy dish out of the counter.”
“I’ll help.”
“Oh, dear, you don’t—”
“Please. Let me help.” Felix interrupted. He smiled and reached into an upper cabinet, setting the dish on the counter beside the short older woman.
She smiled and gave him a quick side hug. “Danke, liebling.”
Felix glanced around the kitchen, bit his bottom lip.
“Please don’t do that, dear. You’ll hurt your lip.”
Felix released his bottom lip. “Did Hans come through here?”
“Nein,” she frowned, “is something wrong?”
“He just left Father’s office, and I didn’t know—”
A door opened. “I’m right here.”
~*****~
Hans stepped through the door into the kitchen. He shrugged. “I needed fresh air.”
Felix released a deep breath and plastered on a smile, a smile Hans knew well enough to know it was completely fake, and whispered, “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t go out and start a—”
“I’m not always starting fights. Good to know you see me as a disappointment just as much as Father does.”
“Hans, liebling, your brother suggested no such thing.”
He faced Frau Bakst and chewed on his bottom lip. He knew she didn’t like it and saw it as a bad habit.
But he couldn’t help it.
Felix stepped forward, eyebrows raised, pressing his lips together. He opened his mouth, closed it, rubbed the back of his neck, and glanced away.
Hans released his bottom lip and whispered, “I’m sorry. I know that’s not what you meant.”
Felix faced him and offered a slight shrug. “It’s almost what it sounded like.”
Hans closed the door behind him and leaned back against the doorframe. “What did father want with you?”
“Nothing important.”
“Your Vati never talks to you about things that are deemed unimportant, Felix, liebling.”
Felix stepped away. He rested a single hand on the counter as if to steady himself, his gaze cast upon the floor.
If their father had harmed him…if he had threatened—Hans released a deep breath and released his fists. “…I can’t know, can I?”
Felix sighed, stepped around the corner, opened the door Hans stood beside, and stepped out onto the large wraparound back porch.
He followed. He gripped the back of his older brother’s shirt. “Felix-“
Felix turned on his heel, fists clenched. “Father has decided that when he dies he’ll leave none of his inheritance to you: he’s decided that only Himmler and I, and Mutti if she’s still alive, will get it.”
None of the inheritance? None of the money his evil father had gained would be given to him once his father got the justice he deserved?
“I don’t want his filthy money.”
Felix blinked, once, twice.
Hans shrugged. “I already guessed he would leave none of it to me. Besides, why would I want anything to remind me of the man he is? Better to forget him the moment he dies.”
Felix turned back around, sighed, and sank onto the first step just off the porch.
Hans sank down beside him. He squeezed his brother’s shoulder. “I don’t need his inheritance.”
“Still. He acts as if you’re not his son, as if you’re worth less to him than both me and—”
“He’s never loved any of us that much. Neither has Matilda. I don’t need his inheritance, and I don’t want it,” Hans grinned and playfully socked Felix in the arm, “besides, I can just bother you until you give me money.”
“I’ll always be here for you, Hans.”
“And I’ll always be here for you. Someone has to look out for the two of us.”
Felix smiled, reached around Hans to wrap an arm around his shoulders.
Gentle footsteps echoed across the wood, and both Felix and Hans turned their heads. Frau Bakst smiled gently, softly, and clasped her hands together in front of her. “I love you both so much. I’ve known and cared for you since you were just babes. You have blessed me immensely.”
Hans smiled up at the older Jewish woman, the family housekeeper, the family cook, the child caretaker, the woman that had been more of a mother than Matilda had ever been and helped his true Mutti so often and so well before her death, the woman that felt more like a mother than a servant. He stood. “We wouldn’t have made it without you.”
She smiled and began to open her mouth.
A loud shout.
A gunshot.
Felix screamed his name. “HANS!”
Hans’ head hit the hard porch.
Frau Bakst screamed.
She fell onto the porch.
Hans leapt to his feet, scanning the area.
No.
The man that had killed his mother and never been convicted, running away, getting away with another attack, possibly another murder.
If only he could catch him, grab his gun or wrap his hands around that man’s neck, if only he could give him the due justice for—“Hans!” Felix gripped his arm, pulled it back.
Hans stumbled, righted himself, met Felix’s gaze.
“Stay with Frau Bakst. I need to go get help.”
Hans fell beside her still frame, tearing his gaze away from the blood seeping from the area where her sternum was, clutching her hand, grabbing a cloth from his pocket and pressing it against the wound. “You’re going to be fine. Talk to me…just…just talk to me.”
Frau Bakst gasped, tilted her head back, met his gaze. Her breath caught. She whispered hoarsely, “I love you, Hans…I-I-I—the Lord is good. He…He—” she gasped. Her mouth and eyes stilled.
Hans squeezed her hand, tears blurring his vision. He shook her hand, ran his fingers through her hair. “No. Please…please.”
She didn’t stir.
Just like his mother…just like his Mama, taken too soon, too young.
No.
He couldn’t lose her.
He couldn’t lose someone else.
“Don’t leave me here!”
Footsteps echoed.
Felix crouched down beside him; other servants along with Heinrich and Matilda crowded around. Felix touched the top of her neck, just under her chin. Tears filled his eyes. “…She’s dead.”
No…please.
Please.
Please!
It wasn’t fair.
It wasn’t right.
“I-I-I—the Lord is good.”
His mama had believed the same.
Hans let go of the cloth.
He stumbled to his feet, vision blurred by tears.
He stared at his trembling hand, covered in blood not his own, blood of a woman he had loved and cherished, a woman that had shown him what love looked like and comforted him in the dark days following his beloved Mama’s death, the woman that held him close, wiped away his tears, rocked him in her arms, told him that he was handsome and wonderful and cherished and worth so much than what his father thought he was worth.
Hans’ bloody hand clenched.
His heart burned with a fire strong enough to commit murder, a fire directed towards the man who had stolen away his mother and the one that had been like a mother, a fire against the God that didn’t give a single time about Hans Baumann.
Because if God was so good, why did He always take the ones Hans loved most?
- You must be logged in to reply to this topic.