My House

Thousands of sparkling stars lit up the still night sky above the city, like candles light up a cathedral. Not a single cloud eclipsed the beauty of the unspoiled heavens over the city of Zahnstadt, on the Polish German border. But the view above was masking the reality below, for at ground level the sadly true contrast was a war torn city with just the frames of a handful of buildings left standing, such was the devastation. Piles of rubble lined the streets which were left, and in other places, huge gaping bomb craters were positioned where houses, churches, or perhaps schools once were in the now gutted city.

Alone on a mountain of debris, which may once have been a house, sat a scantily clothed young boy. The boy drew his knees close up to his chest, and rocked steadily back and forth, and a tear trickled down his cheek and fell to moisten the ground beneath him as he remembered. He remembered the times when he had been together with his family, sharing the joys of his childhood together. He remembered when this pile of bricks and mortar had been his home, and he remembered too, the night they had come, breaking his family's door down with their booming voices, and breaking their hopes down with their angry, menacing guns.

What had happened to Jan's family that night over a year ago when the Nazi storm troopers crashed into their home?

He was asleep when the Nazi soldiers broke into the house, but he woke when he heard a noise outside his door. He jumped out of bed and turned his door handle. The door was locked. He shouted and banged on the door with his clenched fists, but it was no use. He put his head to the floor, and in his parents' room below men were rapping out orders, but he could not catch a word they were saying. 

A Nazi van was waiting outside the front door, and Jan watched helplessly from his bedroom window as his mother was hurled headfirst into the truck. His father was pushed towards it, but resisted and when confronted, spat in the face of one of the soldiers. He was thrown to the ground immediately, and beaten unconscious. Jan turned his head and tried to stifle the inevitable screams when one of the soldiers held a pistol to his head, and fired one shot into his bleeding head. His bloody body was thrown in the truck, alongside Jan's mother. At that moment Jan made a vow that he would take his vengeance on the scum who killed his father in pure cold blood. For it was they who terrorised the city, eating away at its heart, like hungry rats ripping flesh from a carcass, it was they who had devastated this peaceful city, not the supposedly evil people of the city, because it was these 'evil' peoples' city; it was a city of the Jews.

Jan still hadn't found out what his parents had done against the Nazis to deserve the awful treatment they received. Perhaps they did something for another Jewish family, a futile effort just to bring a little comfort to some of the suffering casualties of fascism. Perhaps it was a case of mistaken identity, or perhaps it was a random slaughter attack from the Nazis, out of pure hatred of the Jews. Probably the latter.

So there he was now, alone in the ruins of his past life, with only his most sacred possession to comfort him, his little metal box. The box had been a present from his grandparents when he was seven, five years ago. They had told him that the box carried his hope, and so whenever he had the box with him, he would always have his hope. For this reason he still believed in himself, he still believed that one day his mother would find Jan, her son, and welcome him into her outstretched arms. This was the hope he had lived by for the last year, dodging snipers in and out of the maze of half standing walls, living on what he could steal, or scrounge with his wide, pleading eyes which made even the most hardened soul buckle a little. Alone he had plodded on through the gutted city, stumbling, staggering and struggling on and on, day and night not knowing what he was searching for, or even who he was. Was he Jan, a boy with hopes and dreams of some day reuniting with his mother, or was he another sad orphan roaming the streets in search of some kind of happiness? What was the point of his life now, when his parents had gone, leaving him to fend for himself against the world around him?

Still sitting there in a cave he had made from some of the rubble of his old house, Jan noticed a Nazi wagon drive slowly along his road. He dived behind some debris, and watched as the van stopped no more than twenty feet from him.

Jan knew instinctively. He didn't need the same cold, icy stare to pierce his eyes before he realised it was the same man who had pulled up on the same spot almost a year ago, and had levelled his pistol at Jan's father's head. It must have been some kind of sick gloating, or sadistic reminiscing for this evil man.

Jan remembered the promise he made to himself that night, and he rose to bring himself into full view of the soldier, who was sitting in the van. Jan was told to move away, but Jan moved closer to him. The soldier shouted at Jan, but Jan moved closer still, so close that he could hear the soldier's breathing. Jan felt the power, the anger of a year ago building up inside him. All the pain and agony within Jan had been caused by this man and his kind was now sitting there, in front of him. Jan spat. He spat pure hatred into this man's face, just like his father had done that night. As if to follow the charade, just like the soldier had done that night, he drew his pistol from his belt. The same pistol. Bang! Jan slumped to the ground, motionless. The van pulled away, and Jan's metal box rolled clumsily into the gutter.

Contributed by Kevin Burley