Tell Tale Hearts [One-shots]

Memories Of The Broken-Hearted: WWII Story

The man sat in the middle of the cold, dark room in silence. Not a sound was made except for the clock ticking on and on. He had been sitting there for what seemed like forever. Not a muscle was moved, not even an inch. The only movement he actually bothered to make was to reach for the now empty bottle of wine that was sitting there at his feet, collecting dust. His rough, calloused hands hung between his legs as he leaned forward in his seat. They would clasp together every now and then, popping his knuckles and rub his hands together. His knee would shake as if he was trying to get rid of the anxiety that was building up inside of him.

Taking in a deep breath, the man closed his eyes as he leaned back in his seat. It almost pained him to do so, because every time he would close his eyes, even for the shortest of seconds he would relive his past all over again.

Then suddenly the clock had stroked twelve, telling the man that it was now mid-night and that he had spent another night drowning in his sorrows. This wasn't something unusual for the man either. The man did do this every night because his nightmares were just too much for him to handle. He had grown use to staying up all night and getting as little sleep as possible. That explained how he got those deep dark circles under his eyes along with a row or two of bags.

Finally, letting out another sigh, the man got up to his feet and slowly dragged himself over to the bathroom where he turned on the water to the sink and let the bowl fill up. He proceeded with washing his face by dipping his hands in the water and bringing them back up to splash the icy cold liquid onto his face. It felt good to have the cold water hit against his skin in gentle splashes. It was refreshing, almost like a deep breath of fresh air, but of course not even a few seconds later, did that feeling fade away leaving the man back to where he came from. Emptiness.

Cold-hearted emptiness and there was nothing he could do about it. There was nothing that could fix this man. He was numb inside and that's all there was to it. So he let it happen. He was done running away from his haunted past and decided that for once in his life, he was going to face it. Leaning against the sink, with his arms stretched out in front of him, the man slowly closed his eyes, letting his hands hold onto the edge of the sink for support. If they should fail him and let him fall. Then he would let the stone cold bathroom floor comfort him on his journey into darkness.

September 4, 1939

It was like a whirl-wind of dust, only the dust was made up of chaos and anarchy. Judas Viktor Heart stood there completely frozen, shocked and paralyzed with fear. He never meant for this to happen. It was never supposed to go down like this. The screams and cries of the innocent people being stolen from and taken away from their homes against their will. It was horrifying and scarring to the mind of an eighteen-year-old boy. Judas never thought it would lead up to this, but he had no choice but to carry on with escorting the Jews inside of the trucks. Prisoners is what they were now. They were all slaves, filthy and worthless. That was what he was taught to think of them as, to treat them as if they were nothing but animals and so he would have to put them in their cages. It was like taking animals to the zoo. That's what it was, it was like a trip to the zoo and nothing more. That's where they belonged anyways and that's where they would stay.

However, Judas knew better than to let himself think that. He knew very well where they were all going and it wasn't at all good. It was sad, sick, and beyond cruel. Even the children were told a sick lie that they were going somewhere other than six-feet below the earth's crust.

"Judas! Judas, help me! Please, you have to help me! Don't let them take me Judas!" Cried out one of the Jews, reaching out to Judas. The man was familiar looking and it didn't take long for Judas to figure out who this person was. He was an old friend of his. Judas had grew up with this man and was once close with his family.