After a mountain of homework, I'm finally updating :D *insane cheering
We walk down the dirty streets in unison, a deadly group that will turn on you as soon as ask you for something. Hans walks just ever so slightly in front of us, proclaiming himself our superior. He had metal put on the end of his boots last night. People part like the sea as we walk, eager to remain anonymous, maybe live for another week or two. It was going so well, not one beating, when he spotted her.
Golden hair has its drawbacks in the ghetto. It's so uncommon it sticks out a mile, especially when it adorns the face of a girl you nearly killed the night before. Hans smiles, a horrible grin that chills me, and walks over to her.
"You got dirt on my shoe," he says to her loudly, pointing at his spotlessly clean boots. She stares down at the floor, not knowing what to do, whether to clean his perfect boots, apologize, or try to run. She goes for the second option, and her clear, musical voice fills the street, which is now nearly decidedly quiet.
"I'm sorry, sir," she says, still staring at the floor. Eye contact kills. She's inferior to us, she isn't worth a modicum of respect, of worth. Hans makes his horrible smile again.
"Clean my shoe." He tells her, brushing away a lock of hair from her face, "Do it now," he adds, just to make it more impossible. She seems to realise she can't win, and defiantly, just like last night, looks him right in the face and tells him she can't. The blow comes quickly, knocking her to the ground. My comrades huddle around, laughing at the Jew, and I am forced to stay with them. I didn't think of this. I didn't know I'd be killing them. It was meant to be fun, something easy. It's not meant to fill your dreams and make you retch in the street. Hans hits her again, and I wince as we all hear the crack that means her nose has broken. She doesn't cry. He bends down to her level, speaking softly, almost as if he cares. I know now that makes him more dangerous.
"Look now, there's blood on my hand. Why don't you clean it huh Jew?" he croons to her, holding her up by her hair. In answer, she spits in his face and mutters something in Polish that I just understand. One of my colleagues draws his gun at her disrespect, but Hans waves him off, instead drawing a knife. For the first time, I see fear in her eyes. A bullet she can take, it's quick, simple. Torture isn't. I don't know how to step in this time.
"Dirty Jews can't have pretty hair," Hans whispers, his intent finally clear. Jewish women don't cut their hair, only when they are married do they cut it off, for their husbands. I clench my fist to stop myself from hitting him as he almost lovingly takes a strand of her hair and cuts it off, letting it fall into the snow. She tries to struggle, but he's holding her fast, and soon she realises she can do nothing but endure as he virtually shaves her head, her golden waves spilling onto the street. Still she doesn't cry. He laughs as he finishes, dragging her to her feet. She looks so vulnerable like that, like her body has shrunk in her clothes. Then he espies me, and his smile grows wider.
"How did you like having her last night?" he asks me, jovially, like a friend. I force myself to smile back with a meaningful look at her as I answer, "Pretty good for a Jew. Feisty though, I wouldn't recommend her unless you want a few scratches,"
"If you want a little break tonight, that would be fine," he tells me, and slowly, he and his group disperses. I don't follow them though. I wait until they've gone out of sight and then go over to Emily, but someone else has got there first. A woman around her age, decidedly normal, brown hair and eyes with olive skin puts her arm around her and pushes me back. "Haven't you done enough? Leave her be!" hisses the woman at me. Another interjects her, looking fearfully at me. "I'm sorry for her, she's just a little, a little on edge right now, she meant no disrespect,"
I nod to the other woman. I'm not like Hans. I'll never be like him. Emily is clearly with her people now. A woman gives her a headscarf to cover her now bald scalp, while another presses a crust of bread on her.
I accept the situation, and walk away.
Da da! On to the next chapter...which will hopefully be up quickly... Please R&R!