01-18-2010, 10:16 PM
((Bit of a warning. The story takes place in Germany during WWII. If you get offended easily, I ask just please do not read this story.))
------Start-------
“Mommy, I do not want to go to bed!” my friend called from the other room. Her voice had a very heavy whine to it. One that only a small child could possibly match. Her mother would only shake her head and send her off. My friend came into my room and lay down next to me, hushing me to just sleep.
“Mommy said so… Let’s go to sleep at the same time” My friend then drifted off into a sleep. It was some time after before I did myself. My mind certainly wandered that night. Thinking of how things used to be.
A beautiful clear day shone ahead. Not a cloud in the sky as the two girls played under the beating sun. The air smelled of fresh cut grass while bees hovered around searching for the sweet nectar that sweetened their pretend teas. Her friend took a long sip from the broken glass cup. She was dressed in a raggedy brown dress. That had seen better days five years ago. It had been a hammy down from Selma’s friends sister. Selma’s own outfit had always been well taken care of by the girl. Though a little frayed from the years. It was quite a relaxing afternoon. Even the homeless were enjoying to day. One had even come up to us to start talking. Too bad my friend’s mother shooed him away. Talking about how my friend had to keep me safe from those types of people. Especially in this day and age.
My friend would just shake her head. Not understanding whatever fighting was going on. It was pointless to her childish innocence. She just sipped her tea and carried on her one sided conversation. Suddenly, she looked up before grabbing me close to her chest. I was turned just enough to see gray coats in the distance. My friend’s mother got up and waved to the men. None of them waved back.
“Those men are going to bring Germany out of this infernal dept Zara” Zara was the name of my friend. Her mother had been out of a job for years. Zara’s father, on the other hand, had signed up for the war. We watched the coats marching by. Each one trained with excellent precision. One solider in black started to shout at the men, orders about a certain mission.
“Your father is going to be helping them Zara. Do you understand?” Her mother asked sitting on the grass next to us.
Zara shook her head, “No mommy.”
“Well sweetie, daddy is working right under the furor. He is going to help him save this great nation. I only wish you were just a bit older to attend one of the rallies for children.” She said, hugging the girl close.
“They are going to Poland now. To get back some of our land.-“
“That’s nice mommy,” Zara said brushing through my hair.
I awoke to the present, a voice screaming and glass shattering. Spilling through out the room creating deadly crystals. Jets flew over shaking the house worse than any earthquake. My heart pounded, and if I could, I would have sweated bullets also. Zara was crying next to me as her mother came running in, cursing as her feet stepped on broken glass.
“Zara! We have to go!” She said with her face filled with fear. Pulling her child out of the bed.
“Mommy! I need Selma!” I heard my friend screech from down the hall. The front door opened.
“You are too old for that doll, Zara!” her mother screamed back over the bomb before slamming the front door shut.
I was left alone in the house for quiet a while. Machine guns, jets and bombs filled the streets with more noise that needed to be there. Something that ended up making me go crazy. I would hear voices. I could feel my warred being pulling up to see; just maybe Zara was coming back. Then the after burners of jets came flying over. Then the normal whistling of bombs. This time different. Before I knew it, everything turned into an infernal forest of fire. Burning the house into nothing, along with myself. It was some time after that day before I would be found.
I remember hearing the sounds of digging. Was the war over? I thought to myself. Sunlight started to peek through as a hand reached in and viciously pulled me out. I was looking into the face of a solider. One wearing a light green color. He spoke a language I could not understand.
"Hey! It is a doll" He said turning to another solider. The other solider rolled his eyes.
"Are you kidding me?! You do not need to announce everything you find. Just throw it with the rest of the trash" the other solider said as he threw a shoe behind him.
The man looked down at me, “I bet my grandmother would love it. She loves to collect useless crap like this." He said shoving me into his coat.
After that everything turned into a blur. I remember being put into boxes upon boxes for long sets of time. Even being thrown around against the thin cardboard box walls. I even slept a lot in those times. There was not much else to do besides the occasional listening to men talk about the most vulgar of topics. One morning I awoke to cheering and the sound of an engine.
"Hey Morgan, did you hear!" I heard a man say to the person who found me.
"What is going on?" Morgan asked.
"We are going home. After seven years..."
I heard Morgan get up, "Your kidding right?"
"Not in the least bit. Get ready to leave at 1200."
This Morgan person started getting ready right away. I wondered what was going on. English was such a tricky language to completely understand. I knew it was something about home though. I was shoved into a bag, being thrown to one side of my cardboard box. All sounds were muffled from then on. My latest memory is of the box being opened. Showing the view of an elderly woman. Her frail hands picked up my form. Great care was taken in the trembling hands.
"Thank you deary." She said looking up, her voice very shaky. I could not see who it was at first. "A war torn doll, such a rare gift. I bet she holds many stories."
"You are welcome grandma. I have to get going." I saw the solider kiss the old woman’s cheek before leaving. The old women had not taken her eyes off of me. Slowly, I was lifted into the air, being carried into what seemed to be a workshop.
"Do not worry little one. Old Mother here will fix you right up." I was seated in a chair while many different instruments pounded against my body. Beating any burned parts off of me. The old women worked for a very long time on me, taking little rest. She talked to me also, telling me of her other children. I was going to be excited to meet them. While brushing my hair one day, she told me to sleep. Then I suddenly felt sleepy. My eyes closed. I would awake in a completely different place.
><><><><><><><><><><><
The sun peeked though the curtains little by little as it got later in the day. The gray plaid wallpapered room started to brighten showing the room in greater detail. It was nothing special. Everything was some of a shade of gray. Stretching from white all the way to deepest of blacks. As the orange star rose, so did the brightness. The sun hit on of the buckles on the dolls shirt. Sending light shapes throughout the room.
My mind wondered throughout the long sleep. Thinking only things no other person even dreamed of. My mind echoed with machine gun firing as well as bombs bursting in the background. The sounds of screams made me cringe in my sleep from the thought of others dying. A bomb went off close, blowing out windows. The glass shattering made me awake in a cold sweat. My breathing became harsh, rapid and shallow. I threw my head into my hands, wiping away small tears. Certain memories had been closed off to even my own mind, but the ones that remained were probably some of the worse. Who knew? Not like I could remember. After a bit I got up, getting dressed. Clipping any chains where they needed to be, and buckling all of my buckles. I knew I was most definably one of the more detailed dolls in the house. The chains and buckles proved that. Sadly the outfit reminded her too much of a gray military uniform. She thought more and more about it as she brushed her hair. Mother did not want her to change it though.
"It looks so cute" The old women would always say.
This was my life now. A living, breathing doll. There are more of us living together. Under the watch of the old woman. She brought us all the life, calling us her children. It was a calm life. One even I could get used to.
|
