Broken Wings

Salty Tears, Salty Blood

Else Schüffen-   Munich, Germany: 1943

Often times, things turn out differently than we expect. But really, we see them coming. Our minds just choose not to accept it. Else cuddled with her blankets, perched up right on top of the covers. The moon was perfect that night, a perfect silver crescent in a sea of stars, just like Myna had said it would be. Her fingers painted it on her pillow, forming the curves of the moon and the points of the stars. Her eyes gazed into the eyes of those in her paintings.

And suddenly, her fingers begged to pick up a brush.

And pick up a brush she did.

The paint rolled over the canvas much smoother this time, her wrist a graceful dove flitting back and forth. She absorbed herself in the figure, Max's words echoing in her mind.

I must say, it was the best painting she ever painted. And the most meaningful.

When she finally set down the paintbrush cloaked in black paint, tears came to her heart. It was only half of the way finished, the paint disappearing into a galaxy of white space.

But one could still tell what it was.

A Jew, with crying eyes filled with compassion, and hair caked to his olive face with blood. Scars scratched his skin, with wings like birds stretching out towards the sky. Scars split across the middle of his wings, sewn together again. Sewn together by love, and by hope. He had repaired his wings. And Else had finally figured it out.

She decided she was going to finish it that night.

It took approximately seven hours. By the end of those seven hours, her wrist ached with a dull pain, her mind overwhelmed and overworked, yet pleased. By then, it was three in the morning. But her mind itched to do one more thing. To take one last look at Maximilian's diary. She crept into his room, barely disturbing the still air. How she loved the rough feel of the journal's cover. She hadn't noticed it before.

Much to her disappointment, the next few pages were written in sharp, choppy Yiddish. Somehow he had managed to learn to keep the language over the years. She breezed over them, however, landing on a page where the words looked familiar. His words comforted her; his cool language flooded over her, spreading the smile across her face.

For some reason, tonight his words seemed to affect her more than they ever had before. Tonight, she decided, she would reach the end of his diary. After all, she really wasn't far from reaching the end.

I guess tonight was a night of accomplishment.

When she finally tucked the diary in its usual place under the pillow, his last words rung in her ears, or more so in her heart.

There is one thing that I have learned in the few, yet filled, years that I have lived. Write, paint, love; whatever your talent is, use it. For sometimes, it is the only thing you have. And sometimes, it is the thing that can shape the world.

And she believed it with her whole heart.

❀❀❀

Max's words sparked a sort of rebellion inside of her. It wasn't long until it escaped her mouth, slapping the recipients in the cheeks.

Her cheeks were flushed with the gentle breeze. Blurs of people passed by the two girls, carrying bags and smiles in their arms. Else leaped back, saving her foot from being crushed. Myna laughed at her side. It was a perfect day, it seemed, for everyone. The effects of the war seemed to disappear all of a sudden, invisible to the eyes of Else that moment.

It didn't last forever, as much as we all wish it would have.

But then something caught her eyes. A Jew, or rather two. And an S.S. officer. The sickening feeling grew in her gut. They stood in a back alley, hidden from sight. Hidden from everyone, except her.

She was the only one that could help them.

"Where are you going? Else?" Myna called, her eyes filling with fear. Else's shadow slinked down the street, towards the Nazi and two Jews. One was a girl, only about five years old. The other was a man, in his early twenties.

The same age Maximilian had been.

Myna's feet flew against the pavement, pounding almost as loudly as her heart was pounding. Her gut twisted, threatening to explode. And then she saw Else.

Right in the middle of the S.S. and the Jews.

He beat them with such ferocity, and with such hate, something that either girl never knew any regular person could possess. It killed Myna to stand and watch, Else standing in the middle of it all.

"Move!" The first warning, simply ignored by the girl. Her eyes threatened to break out in tears, again. Fear quivered inside of her, but she ignored it like the S.S.'s warning. The little girl, cowered in fear, blood streaking her face. Her eyes begged for help. Else reached down to help her, her fingers spreading out towards the girl's hand. A gun jabbed the girl's side, a foot jabbed into Else's. Everything became a blur of blood, blood and darkness and gasps.

"Get out of here!" Else stumbled blindly up from the ground, screams erupting from her throat.

"Stop, you're hurting him!" Her shrieks stained the air, staining the hearts of the crowd gathering around her. The Jews lay beside her, their faces twisted in suffering and pain. The S.S. bent down, pushing her away from the dying Jews.

She stuck to the ground, her hands clenching the girl's arms.

Strike three.

Myna shouted her name, fear now visibly present in her voice. But she remained unheard in the ears of Else Schüffen. The Nazi wasn't supposed to pull the trigger, he really wasn't. Yet he did, his temper exploding into a flood of lava.

And then the bullets did their work.

The blood pooled on her side. Staining the cobblestone. Staining the hearts of so many.

Her fate. I wish it hadn't turned out like her Jewish brother's, I wish I could tell you that the shot wasn't a fatal one.

But it was.