Ranked Ortsgruppenleiter (Local Group Leader), Nazi Axel Färber runs a small town in Holland. He is ordered to have a daily check in all the apartments on the block, but is hesitant when he enters the dirty home of Sapphira Reznik. The beautiful Jewish woman makes something in his heart ache, and they begin to fall in love.
Author's Note: I'm trying to learn more and more about the Holocaust, and more about the Nazi's rather than the Jews (since this is the point of view of a Nazi), so if anyone finds a false fact about something in my story, please correct me. Thank you.
Everything was cold, dark, red. She was unreachable, dangling by her throat. The rope was so rough, it began to cut into her skin. I didn't want to look anymore, couldn't look. But I was afraid to look away, afraid to have the image of her face leave my mind. I was broken. So tempted to rage, but I couldn't. The peace I once had before, thinking that one day maybe I could sneak her out of this wretched place and flee with her to England, that was gone. She was gone.
I was gone.
"Check under his bed," I ordered. Doing as he is told, my servant kneels down and checks under the filthy Jewish boy's bed. My servant pulls out an odd-looking instrument, which I was assuming was a toy.
"What is this?" I ask, turning to the little boy as I grab the toy out of my servant's hand. The boy does not answer, just stares at me. I could see the fear in his eyes. Once again, I questioned the boy, but my voice was much louder, "What is this?"
He gulped audibly and stared down at his feet, "Sir, that's a-"
"Look at me when you speak."
He looks back up at me, re-stating what he was about to say, "That's a dreidel, sir... It's used for a game..."
I gaze at him intently. "You should know you are not allowed to have instruments like these," I twist the toy around in between my thumb and my index finger, "in your home."
He nods slightly, and looks back down at his feet. His mother stood by his side, her arm wrapped around his shoulders. She would not take her eyes off of me.
I looked at my servants and demanded. "Take away the boy." I could hear the boy's heartbeat. It got quicker and quicker as my servant's got closer to him while his mother screamed and attacked my men. My taller servant turned around and hit the boy's mother as hard as he could, knocking her to the ground. The boy screamed.
"Mom! Mom! Let me go! Let me go! She's hurt! You hurt her!" His mother was out cold. She could do nothing to save him. He was to be shot for his crime, and that was final. I was cold-hearted, and I loved being that way.