Gott Uns: A Narrative Fiction

I ran. That’s all I could remember until, finally, the root of a tree sticking up through the ground grabbed my foot, and I went tumbling over and over, somersaulting over dead leaves and rolling down a slight incline when I hit my head upon the base of the tree itself--or maybe it was another tree. I can’t be sure. The woods consumed me like the arms of a mother protecting her young. They surrounded me with a warmth, the purest of healing heat and cool breezes between breaths of adrenaline.

I’d become a child of the forest---either a child or a hunted beast, but I felt safe--for now, at least. What do I do? My thoughts raced. What do I do? I can’t go back. But can I go on? I don’t think they noticed which way I went. They had dogs, and if they really wanted to catch me, wouldn’t they have let them go? I don’t know.

We were hiding behind a brick wall when they stepped out of their truck with their bright red Nazi armbands wrapped around their left biceps. Their black shiny boots reflected the wet concrete upon which they stepped.

Their belt buckles blasphemed even the existence of the heavens gloating Gott Mit Uns or God With Us. So stands the army of darkness standing somewhere between the shadows of good and evil, as if Lucifer could once more mourn for our miserable race.

A tall blonde officer stood at attention awaiting his minions to return with his prey. His pleated uniform, the hips of which protruded from his thighs like some gargoyle atop the tallest skyscraper, never moving, ever watching.

“Bringen sie hier!” he shouted above the din of voices, the crying of mothers and wailing children. He pulled out a short black whip and put it underneath his left arm and pulled out a piece of paper from his pockets and unfolded