Chasing Colours

7. Fate's Game

Warning: Descriptive violent scenes!

(Edith)

I heard careful footsteps coming up the basement stairs while I stood rooted to the ground. I kept staring at broken form of Tommy, scared to face Peter. A menacing terror seized me as various jumbled thoughts started surfacing my mind.

Was it... Was it all my fault?

Had I brought this upon them?

Would it have been different, had I not come?

I felt a calloused hand grasp my arm and took a glance at Peter's shuddering form, almost guiltily. Anguish and gloom had coloured his face.

He whisper-shouted to me, looking side to side with pleading eyes hoping to find someone, "No one in basement. Where....where are they?"

Just then, a shrill, painful was heard from outside. I shuddered at the recognition of the voice.

It couldn't be. It wasn't! Why?

Our hairs stood at the end when the cry rang high into the German sky.

Without caring for Peter's hand grasping mine, I tried to rush outside when Peter abruptly stopped me. I shot back at Peter with a questioning gaze,

"Don't, Edith. Please."

I knew, he, himself wanted to rush outside to the aid but he knew, he couldn't. They were too powerful. Too ruthless.

We took small steps towards the dilapidated remains of the door and peeked outside through the gap, sitting on the dusty floor.

Not far from the broken house, a silent crowd had surrounded the horrid scene that was being unfolded. Some of the faces were filled with hatred while some others couldn't care less.

There in the middle stood three German police officers, badges of pride lining their breasts. No, only two of them! The third, I figured must have been a new recruit for he had his Nazi youth uniform adorned. I couldn't see the third one's face clearly but only his sandy hair in a haze.

The young recruit held a ghastly form of Hans who was on the verge of being unconscious. Blood oozed from his face and arms where he had got gruesome cuts. His voice was hoarse from screaming. He was reduced to sweat and tears. Too tired and hurt to move.

Rosa sat in a kneeling form nearby, with her dusty hands covering her eyes begging the police for mercy while a bruised Arno held his poor mother, wrapping his arms protecting her and averting his helpless eyes.

That's when the horror struck me. A silent scream escaped my mouth as I watched the two older officers hold Eva by her hair, whipping her poor form. Their ghoulish laughs echoed across the street while eyeing the pitiful form of Eva Weber.

Tears of pain trickled down her dust coated cheeks. She had her right hand around her stomach, protectively. Sweat glistened on her forehead and her torn clothes revealed nasty cuts. Her form was exhaustd and spent.

Her bloodied lips mouthed Hans' name as her stormy grey eyes scanned the crowd, pleadingly. Hans struggled under the grips of the young blond recruit throwing pleads and insults, challenging their patriotism.

The recruit landed a blow in Hans' groin, silencing his now wriggling form.

I clasped my hands on my mouth to contain the hoarse cry that threatened to surface. I glanced at Peter seated beside me, pulling on his hair as tears flowed recklessly down his cheeks.