Tʜᴇ Pᴀᴛʜ Tᴏ Hɪɢʜɢᴀᴛᴇs

Tʜɪs Pᴏsᴛᴍᴏᴅᴇʀɴ Wᴏɴᴅᴇʀʟᴀɴᴅ

Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 7

There was no one behind you this time, the soldiers spoke to each other in hushed voices, their tone worrisome and shallow.

The hallway winded in front of you, only illuminated by the yellow hue flooding through the misshapen windows. The sound of footsteps seemed everywhere, you couldn't tell if it was from one of the men or your own.

The air was much cleaner in the hallway, which only just made you realise how stingy your eyes were. No amount of blinking seemed to free your eyelashes from the clinging smoke. Salem seemed to feel it too, her fur quivered against your bag, her nose just barely poking over the top of it, she must have woken at some point. Perhaps when she smelled the fresh, clean hallway air.

You could hear the men's voices still ringing behind you, with you now gone, they spoke their mother tongues, so you couldn't catch a word of what they were saying. You couldn't help but wonder if they were talking about you.

You gazed up, your arms still wrapped around your aching stomach, the hallway seemed never-ending. Its walls intimidated you to such a point you felt more and more nugatory by the passing second. No matter how far you walked it seemed like the passageway you were trodding down never got any shorter, like it had neither a beginning nor an end.

The thought left a hollow mark of agoraphobia on your mind, which only added to the void of your stomach, its empty grumbling doubled by your own anxiety. You look down at your feet, catching a glimpse of Salem nibbling the metal connector between your bag strap and its leather body. The floor below you had a single red rug, scuffed and dirty, lining the middle of the wooden panels. Your feet dragged across it, muffling your footsteps and calming your nerves. It reminded you of something your grandmother would keep in her home.

You looked up as the soldiers veered left, revealing a hallway that seemed much more normal than the rest. This oblique change of difference in design was strangely shocking. Warmth was radiating from open rooms, with no locked doors in sight. The ceiling was still towering above your head, and the window at the end of the hall was bent out of shape, but it still somehow, felt homely.

The soldiers led you to one of the open rooms, revealing a well-lit large kitchen. Pots and pans banged against each other as a middle-aged man ran urgently from each of them, bringing what looked like noodles to a bowl filled with some kind of liquid.

He was short and rather chubby, white and black colours swirled over his fine red skin, which almost looked orange under the ring of the overhead lights. He bore a white chef's hat and a white apron, which was stained with food in the fashion of fingerprints. His kind white eyes were undermined by dark eye bags and sweat, though he took no note of either, he just kept going back to whatever he was cooking.

He was currently setting some food in a bowl, unaware three people were watching him. The bowl was on a counter with bar stool-like chairs standing in front of you. So that 'German Empire' one left to order food for you? That seems... nice? Of him.

One of the soldiers coughed, making the short chef jump before he looked up at the disturbance. He immediately put down the pot he was holding and wiped his hands on his apron.

"Ah, Liebe zere vu are! I vas told to machst du zome food, zis ist for vu!" His voice was shrill and cheery and seemed to put you in a good mood on the spot.

The soldiers turn to you, one jabbed his head in the direction of the cook, subtly telling you to sit on the bar stool in front of you. You stepped forward, and as you did the two soldiers backed off, walking to meet behind you then walk out the archway without another word.