the escape

Reads: 192  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Historical Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
just an idea i came up with in history and decided to share it.

Submitted: August 22, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: August 22, 2017

A A A

A A A


December 1, 1944

 

“There should be an encampment around here,” I wheezed to Aaron. “I think it was worth pretending to be dead so they would dump us off that death train,” replied Aaron as he squinted at the surrounding landscape. The train that had been taking us deeper into Nazi-Germany was full of Jews, 100 to a car. The first stop 15 of us were dead and dropped off the car's side, two days later we heard vehicles and gunfire. The day after we stopped to drop the dead again, but this time Aaron and I pretended to be dead so we could leave the train and find the men who were fighting the Nazi’s. “Eli, get down” Aaron whispered sharply. 20 meters in front of us there were five men with rifles and flashlight’s spread out walking straight towards us. “Forget hiding Aaron, we must run” I whispered as I turned to find a rifle barrel pointing at my chest.

 

I could not control my breathing, I could not do anything but stare the soldier in the eyes While Aaron was spotted by the soldier’s flashlights that danced wildly as they ran toward us. I was so scared, scared that we would be shot or sent back into Germany. Then I noticed the uniform the man wore. The colors did not belong to the Nazi’s, They belonged to they Americans! Relief swept through me so fast that I forgot the situation we were in. I dropped my arms and screamed my thanks to god for remembering us. The soldier’s kept their guns pointed at me but had confused looks on their faces. I mustered what little English I knew and told the American’s who we were and where we had come to after half a day of traveling. The soldier’s looked after that as they finally noticed our clothes and how thin we were.

 

They guided us back to their camp, where upon arrival many stood and gawked at us. The patrol that had found us left us at a medical tent where for the first time in 3 years we bathed. Once  we were examined by the doctor’s the commanding officer came and had a brief talk with us. When that was all said and done we were given soup and and bread. The soup smelled so good. It was filled with vegetables and meat, and the bread had margarine on top that was ever so slowly melting against the lightly steaming bread. I picked it up with both hands as if it might disappear. I lifted it up and closed my mouth.

 

December 1st, 2015 71 years later

 

“Eli? Are you listening to me old friend?” Asked Aaron. I looked up from my wheelchair to see my 87 year old husband complete with his white hair and cane. “It happened again. The PTSD flashbacks.” I replied to my concerned partner. “What triggered it?” enquired Aaron. “The train.” I replied. Just as the whistle blew. “Wipe such things from your mind. We were rescued by the American patrol and returned here to Paris remember.” He said as he walked towards the kitchen. “Hungry?” He called behind him. I called back “Do we have any soup?”

 


© Copyright 2017 G.R. Vasquez. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

More Historical Fiction Short Stories