The Condemned | ✔️

2

It was as he reflected on his despair that Frank was approached, and by a child.

It took a moment for him to realise the child was addressing him, and that knowledge filled him with dread.

Peeking up, his heart pounded as he saw yet another emaciated figure, rendered a derelict by the horrifying conditions, sleeves rolled up to the extent it almost made him look comical.

But there was something different about this boy.

It was his eyes. They weren't hollow with feverish sorrow or helplessness. They weren't devoid and haunted. They shone with hope and innocence, emotions so peculiar to a harrowed man like him the radiance equalled that of the sun.

Sure - some of his buddies had been jovial as the War had diminished over time, but this child... The innocence and naivety that adorned him like a cloak...

He seemed unaffected by the horrors around him. He even smiled, not caring that his teeth were yellowed, that his gums were raw and bleeding.

In War, such a raptured demeanour was hard to find.

Instead, he had seen dead men's faces, blood and guts splattered in sporadic scarlet, faces contorted with terror.

He had seen the strongest crumble, and the most steady shake. He had witnessed downfalls and victories; he had suffered and seen others do so.

Frank hadn't seen a face so untouched by sin since the last glimpse of his son a whole two years ago...

"Sir?" The child said politely, the German voice high with youth and mirth. "Sir?"

Frank didn't respond.

"Sir?" Slowly, the child repeated the word again. He huffed, before continuing on nonetheless. "I need to ask you a question."

"Go away." He replied in ruptured German, throat hoarse.

"Please," the child whispered, voice desperate. He sat beside Frank before continuing on. "Do you know where the pearly gates are?"

With rising anguish, Frank shrugged, his tongue not responding to his wills.

"I want to know because my parents said they'd meet me there. Do you know where they are?"

Decisively, Frank decided being bilingual was a curse.

After the silence stretched out he sighed. "No one does... My name's Aksel. You look weird. Your voice is weird."

"That's because I'm not meant to be here." Frank replied quietly.

"Really? I don't know why I'm here either. These men... They just came. They burnt our books, then threw me and my mama and papa in a truck. I thought we would be going somewhere fun." Aksel huffed in fustration. "But all it is is work."

"H-how long have you been here?"

"A year. I can't remember much. It just... Blurs. Work, headaches, sick, icky food." Aksel stuck his tongue out, as if the quality of the food was the most of his problems.

"I only arrived here this morning. Just got chucked in and left. I just... Broke down. I didn't fight... Didn't struggle... I don't know what happened."

But Aksel wasn't paying attention. It seemed his mind was a filter, and only the cheerful and happy penetrated his mind.

Currently, his eyes were tracing a fly that was buzzing around a man's body. The man was skeletal. He wasn't moving.

"You get a lot of flies here. I like them." He giggled. "I name some of them."

"Do you have any idea w-why all of you are h-here." Frank made the mistake of following Aksel's gaze. Bulging his cheeks, he closed his eyes, resting his chin upon his knees.

"Most people here are Jewish. That's all I know."