THE BLIND GERMAN FIGHTER
The boy was gone.
The gravel stretched beneath him, as did the fading voices of his family. The voices that were once begging now melted from the angered heat scorching off Hans Junior’s turned back.
He had left the light and entered the darkness. His shadow stretched out behind him, aching to remain in the brightness. But he did not hear the pleads of his shadow. Soon Hans Junior and his crying companion merged into one silhouette of obscurity.
Hans Junior continued on his path, rage rhythmically kissing the ground with each step he took. Grey skies, matching his matte eyes, sheltered the red swirls of the clouds which radiated like a beating heart, complimenting Hans Junior’s own burning anger. Thoughts …show more content…
Well, allow me to ease your vexatious guessing game. It was Himmel Street. Or rather, how Himmel Street looked on that particular day – Hitler’s Birthday. Here, let me paint a picture;
Red flags coated every window of every house in the street of Molching, like a new paint job. And like fresh paint it dripped the colour of Jewish blood. Germans of all ages swarmed the street, like ants frantically looking for crumbs. Members of the Nazi Party banged door to door, like children playing ‘knock knock ginger’ hoping to find victims to their prank. However, in the case of the Nazi Party, their victim was literature for the book burning.
It was a strange site, a man gliding through a place of chaos. But it’s often the case that in a world of chaos you turn to the man standing still. It’s like a busy painting; colours flying across the rugged canvas, patterns illuminating the artwork, and the subject seeming to be everywhere. In such a case, one looks for the refreshing white – the plain blotches, the blank spaces, the original canvas. Hans Junior was the white on the busy street.
Although, to Hans Junior, he was an observer, watching the German passion and feeling proud of the cause he followed – the Führer’s
The boy was gone.
The gravel stretched beneath him, as did the fading voices of his family. The voices that were once begging now melted from the angered heat scorching off Hans Junior’s turned back.
He had left the light and entered the darkness. His shadow stretched out behind him, aching to remain in the brightness. But he did not hear the pleads of his shadow. Soon Hans Junior and his crying companion merged into one silhouette of obscurity.
Hans Junior continued on his path, rage rhythmically kissing the ground with each step he took. Grey skies, matching his matte eyes, sheltered the red swirls of the clouds which radiated like a beating heart, complimenting Hans Junior’s own burning anger. Thoughts …show more content…
Well, allow me to ease your vexatious guessing game. It was Himmel Street. Or rather, how Himmel Street looked on that particular day – Hitler’s Birthday. Here, let me paint a picture;
Red flags coated every window of every house in the street of Molching, like a new paint job. And like fresh paint it dripped the colour of Jewish blood. Germans of all ages swarmed the street, like ants frantically looking for crumbs. Members of the Nazi Party banged door to door, like children playing ‘knock knock ginger’ hoping to find victims to their prank. However, in the case of the Nazi Party, their victim was literature for the book burning.
It was a strange site, a man gliding through a place of chaos. But it’s often the case that in a world of chaos you turn to the man standing still. It’s like a busy painting; colours flying across the rugged canvas, patterns illuminating the artwork, and the subject seeming to be everywhere. In such a case, one looks for the refreshing white – the plain blotches, the blank spaces, the original canvas. Hans Junior was the white on the busy street.
Although, to Hans Junior, he was an observer, watching the German passion and feeling proud of the cause he followed – the Führer’s