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Description
The snow was falling gently in the cold December day. Claus sat crouched in a hand dug trench, clutching a rifle in his numb hands, shivering helplessly.
He was only 17, barely out of boyhood and thrust into adulthood. He glances over to his right, giving a small, weak smile to his friend from childhood, Kris. The other boy was a year younger than him, the two having grown up together.
Kris pushes his too large helmet up so he can see, flashing Claus a cocky grin. He reaches into his jacket and fumbles out a pack of cigarettes, offering Claus one.
Claus eyes him warily, sliding the smoke between his lips, "Where'd you get these? Do I want to know?"
Kris grins, lighting their smokes, "Sticky fingers... Grabbed them off an officer!" The boy puffs his chest out proudly.
Claus groans, puffing away on the cigarette, "Dammit, you half wit!"
Kris chuckles and leans back, stretching his legs out in the already too cramped trenches, pausing and listening to the ominous silence filling the air, glancing up to the snowy, dark sky, "You hear that, Clausy?"
Claus pauses, glancing up, cocking his head to the side, "Hear what?"
Kris pulls a face, pulling his legs under him and crouching, "Exactly.... It's fucking silent..."
Claus blinks, "Shit, it is... I got so used to hearing gunfire... I tuned it out by now."
Kris grins, "Like how you tune out the captain's shouting orders?"
Claus growls, "Shut it..."
Kris laughs and stands up, peering over the trenches to see why it was so quiet.
his laughter was cut off as a gunshot rips through the air, Kris flying backwards, a bullet piercing through his forehead.
Claus stares, a horrified scream ripping from his throat as stares at Kris, the silence now broken as gunfire and artillery thunders once more through the air, an American voice distantly shouting, "I got him! I got the Kraut!"
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Claus groaned and shifted in his sleep, rolling over to clutch tightly to his pillow, his skin slick with sweat, mumbling into his pillow, "I'm not a doctor... Kris!" He falls back into another fitful dream, not waking.
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Claus sighs and walks into the kitchen of his family's house, greeted with the warm scent of roast beef and potatoes. He lets a small smile cross his face, spying his sister and mother finish the preparations for dinner.
His sister, Lydia, glances over her shoulder upon hearing Claus enter, giving him a small smile before going back to work cooking.
His father entered the house behind him, roughly shoving Claus out of the way, snapping, "Dammit boy, move!"
Claus yelps and stumbles out of the way, "S-Sorry, father...
His father stamps past, storming to the cupboard where they keep the alcohol. He rips it open and pulls out a bottle of whiskey, opening it and taking a long drink from it.
Claus frowns and walks up to Lydia, helping her with her task and whispering, "Are... you sure you want to tell him?"
Lydia nods, whispering, "Yes... maybe he'll let me be and I can marry Derrick in peace."
Claus sighs, murmuring, "I'll defend you to the end, baby sister..."
Lydia smiles, "I know, thank you, Claus..."
Claus gives her a faint, weak smile in return. He turns, his mother handing him some dishes of food, "Set the table, Claus dear?"
He nods, moving to set out the dinner on the table, afterwards, settling down in a chair across from his father.
Claus' father glared at him. Claus cringes and lowers his head, staring at his lap. He looked very much like his father, just a younger, more attractive version...
His mother and sister joined them at the table shortly, the family starting to tuck in their meal in silence.
Lydia first breaks the silence, her voice soft and gentle, "Father...? Mother? May... May I tell you all something."
Their father snaps, "What is it girl? Make it fast..."
Lydia folds her hands in her lap, sitting up straight, "I.. Me and Derrick... He proposed to me... I'm with his child..."
Their father stared at her in silence, growling, "You... what?"
Lydia stammers, "I... I'm with his child..."
Their father abruptly stands up, so fast his chair clatters backwards, falling to the floor, He stalks around the dining room in an angry, drunken rage, "You're WHAT!? You're with his... Damn child! Damn YOU child!" He stops, grabbing Claus' military pistol off the hutch that Claus was cleaning before dinner, loading it, "No daughter of mine will carry that scum bag's child!"
Their mother stands up quickly, "Wilhelm! Please! Put the gun down, you're drunk!"
Wilhelm snaps, "Shut it, woman!" He raises the gun, firing it once. She lets out a startled, pained cry, crumpling to the ground, clutching her bleeding chest.
Claus bolts up to his feet, "FATHER! Enough already! I'm done with your shit!"
Wilhelm turns towards Lydia, gun ready.
She shrieks and bolts to her feet, trying to run into Claus' arms
She never made it. She collapsed to the ground, a bullet in the back of her head before she could reach him.
Claus stares in horror, white as a sheet, suddenly finding himself staring down the barrel of a gun.
Wilhelm lets out a crazed laugh, turning the gun on himself instead, pulling the trigger and shooting himself in the head instead, crumpling to the ground.
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Claus bolts upright, letting out a loud cry, "NO! God... No..." he pants heavily, burying his face in his hands, letting out a strangled sob, his skin soaked in sweat, back in modern day London.