The Aftermath

Chapter 17

Time was nonexistent anymore. Or it was actually running and he did not realize. It has been weeks, right? It must have been weeks.

Hungry...

Germany was so hungry. After the far away visit from his enemy, no one had showed up again. Not even the door was opend, as far as he knows. Maybe it had and... just didn't noticed. That would be not that difficult, because when he was not passing out randomly from hunger (that was his explaination, it could be the lack of water, the unberable pain in his body or the shock over his loss of himself, for all he cared), he was in deep thought. Even in his terrible shape, Germany's mind was thinking in five different directions simultaneously, ponderinng the same questions over and over again. Who was sadistical enough to let him live again? What would the allies decide as a punishment for him? What goals followed the "gentlemen" in suit and cylinder with his babbleing about living skeletons? How long will I be here? Where do I get food and water? Did they forget me here? Besides the endless questions, some memories decided to show themself randomly, but did not deliver much context (a big castle under attack, a gigantic crowd of people listening to an uniformed figure, cogs turning in a big machine ) to his current situation.  The thinking would continue until he was to weak to do so anymore and black out. A hellish cycle. Especially because he could do nothing else. Moving was tortute, laying down on the cold ground was torture and thinking about endless possebilleties was torture.

Hungry... and thirsty...

His alredy stinging muscles were cramping up from dehydration and slowed  his mind, that was something he rememberd from his father... and far before him. Apropos... the ominous voice had not spoken to him since his nightmares. No orders, no advices. And this in this most urgent time of needs. She left him too... Everyone left him it seems. Did really nobody care about him? The allies of corse not. They wanted to see him dead sooner then later, that was made clear enough. The rest of the world... problably too, or else they would not be so disgustingly happy over his demise. But what about his own people?

Mein Volk!

It hit Germany like a ton of bricks. Did they not miss him? Why was nobody looking for him? The spark of something resembleing hope flung up. Maybe if he managed to give out a sign from the basement window above, someone will notice him and will free him from this inprisonment? The first time after ages, Germany slowly turned his head around to the window. From his perspective on the ground, it looked inreacheble far away in the sky, shining grey light down into the also grey basement. Reaching it or even standing up seemed impossible, no chance he could move a muscle. Calling out maybe? His throat was slodified sand, not flesh. Corase and dry as a desert, the tounge just a shriveld up thing sticking to the teeth. Producing a lall for help or even any noise will be a painfull procedure.

But really, did not even one notice his kidnapping or his messy entrence back then? There were some of his soldiers present, right? Why did they not spread the word around to still free walking supporters? Why did nobody care!? Slight anger brushed over him, a well known feeling in his new crappy life. That was not what he taught! One of the most precious virtues he always made sure to lecture, was loyality. Especially loyality to him and him only. To serve the nation and do everything neccesary to mainain and protect it, that Germany clearly rememberd. He had made sure to lock this virture deep into the mind of every citizen and every true german followed this, because they knew it was the best for all. Only ignorant fools and traitors did not do this and they deserved the absolute worst. So, where are his brave Germans? Why did they not riot in the streets? Why did the let themself capture instead of fighting on to the last drop of blood? An angry grunt ecoed in the basement. Haven't they learned anything? Diese Feiglinge!