Notes from the End of the World

The Children

Cracking sounds in the woods. Someone was getting closer. The Postman interrupted his reading and took hold of his axe.

"Don't hurt us!" Three children moved out from behind a tree.

"What do you want?" He asked. "Are you lost?"

"No. We need your help."

"I can't do anything for you. Go away! Go!" He threatened them with his weapon.

"We can't go back. Them woman are wicked! Please, help us!" The children, three little girls, were crying now.

"Which women?"

"In Nuremberg. That's where we saw you. They are awful. We were like slaves. Don't leave us here with them."

"I don't believe you. They seemed to be nice people back there." The Postman said.

"They're not. They hurt us. They did horrible things to us." The girls stepped closer to the fire.

"I'm not who you think I am." The Postman said. "You can't trust me."

"We have no choice." Tears ran down their angelical, yet emaciated, faces.

"If I were you, I'd get back now. There, you have a roof over your heads and something to eat. It's not safe out here. I can't protect you."

"But you have to." The girls sat down around the fire, and searched inside a bag they were carrying. "We have food. We won't bother you. Please, takes us to Frankfurt."

"Why?"

"Our father is there. We were taken away from him."

"Fuck!" The Postman lowered his head. "You can't trust me ..." He muttered, but the children smiled to him in return.