RUN

Allies

      We were lead from the dining hall and pushed into a tight line of other boys. Joining a sauntering herd of kids doomed by the trials. Most hung their heads low or wore grim, dismal faces.

We continued from the dining halls towards the main courtyard. Some of the younger boys stared with sympathetic curiosity from the safety of the side of the road. The camp was built on a precipice overlooking my home town of Strasbourg, France. How tragicomic it was that I would look up at this precipice when I was younger and wonder what was up here.

We were ordered onwards past the dilapidated cabins. Soldiers were swarming around us as they searched for the boys who were hidden or trying to escape the trials. It left a thick unease in the air. Some boys that were found were thrown out of the cabin, and onto the dirt road to join the stream of grieving, dishevelled kids. Distant gunshots pushed us farther to the courtyard.

The trials, over the years, had evolved from a depopulation device. It was now an international event within the German Regime. A game. Soldiers, generals, the powerful and the sick-minded would come to the camp from all over to make bets and participate. As we were packed into the courtyard, soldiers hastily set up a platform. There wasn't much banter among the boys. Those who were making noise were crying or praying for help. Neither seemed like a bad idea. I felt numb in the sense that I could hardly stand. Numb from the cold, the hunger, the degradement, the sadness. Numb in the sense that I couldn't cry. My whole life I've never been much of a cryer anyway. Whether it makes me mature, cold strong or heartless I do not know. I just don't. Maybe its because by crying I give up, I finally accept my fate and my sorrowful circumstances. But who knows. The sombre thought of "what if?" returned once more. Was that what I was holding onto? What they advertised was something hardly anyone could resist, or win it seemed.

After the soldiers had rounded up most of the boys that had tried to elude the trials, soldiers opened the main, rusty, wrought iron gates. Sleek, black cars with swastika flags rolled in the courtyard which was now filled with hundreds of boys. We stepped back as if the car itself had power over us. Soldiers, generals and other spectators stepped out and were escorted to the platform. They needed not to try and show their superiority to us for we were already made aware.

A heavy, stiff man strolled on stage. He paused in front of the microphone, letting his presence wash over us.

"My name is Stefan Müller. I'm honoured to be the host of the 5th, annual trials" the man said in a hoarse, lifeless voice.

"Without any further delay, we will begin registration. Spectators and other distinguished guests who wish to participate in the selection for bets may begin doing so in the roped-off area" Stefan said, gesturing to his left.

        Soldiers quickly began setting up registration desks and shoving us into single-file lines with the butt of their guns. The spectators were some of the worlds wealthiest and probably had more money than my family ever made from tour bakery. It costs a fortune to make bets, so the winner always takes home enough to last a lifetime. Last year, no one's bets won the trials in a surprising outcome so I assume they will be more careful while choosing this year. Of course, I don't think its really about the money. In a world where people are killed and enslaved everyday people lust after watching other people suffer because it assures them they aren't the ones suffering. It costs even more money to participate. People from all over the world come just to participate in the trials. The Japanese seemed to have a peaked interest in the game. The world must have gone mad if killing children is now a sport. Is freedom in an already collapsing world something to try and survive for?

I waited in a long line of boys as the German soldiers checked our papers and registered everyone for the trials. The sharp wind picked up sending dark clouds rolling towards us from the south. Along with booming cracks of thunder that could be heard in the distance. Soldiers hastily prepared for rain, when, finally, it was my turn.

     "Name, city of birth and barrack number," stated a young soldier, without even meeting my gaze.

     I eyed him skeptically. He was a young soldier with round glasses. He couldn't be much older than me. I quickly responded with, "Théo Dubois, Strasbourg and Barrack 24."

     He wrote my information down promptly. I noticed beside my name he wrote "deceased". I looked at the list and all the other names had the same "deceased" mark next to it.

"Why are you writing that we're dead?" I fearfully asked.

"To be honest kid, it's much easier that way for us" he laughed, waving me off.

 I scanned around. Already, some boys were teaming up and strategizing. Did I want to win? Or did I want to survive? It was thought I played over and over again. I was tired of the false hope and prize on a silver platter they gave us. All I could do was try. 

     A stout boy, sitting below a tree a few meters away, happened to glance at me while I stood, shivering and lost in my concentration, so he kindly inquired, "Need this?" while holding out a ragged coat. I turned away slightly and he offered it to me again, without saying anything more.

     "I'm fine," I whispered softly, continuously shaking from chills. I hated being dependant on others. It was weakening that I depended so gravely upon the Germans. So, if I was to do these trials I would do them independently. 

    "Pride won't get you anywhere, mon frère," he shrugged, walking away.  

     I realized that he was probably just trying to make friends, and I may just have offended him. Before I could tantalize myself with thought any longer the soldiers began tightening their ranks and pushing us towards the platform. The same soldier that had spoken earlier began again.

     " We have a record number of 1246 participants. I will now explain this year's trials; Tomorrow, at the strike of 8:00 am, it will begin. 16 hours later, the soldiers will follow. Those who misbehave will start six hours behind. You will start here in Strasbourg. The objective is to make it to Brest on the other side of Old France. If you make it you will join these honourable young men in their life of riches and power as promised."

   Nine boys, a little older than me, stood from where they were seated on the platform. Weak applause followed while their expressions remained cold. The wealth and power shone through their cleanliness and expensive, tailored clothes. But the eyes, it was in their sad eyes I could see a different story. A story of death and betrayal that couldn't be rewritten with all the wealth and power in the world. Is this what we run for? Is this what they ran for?

"The journey will be an estimated ten days. You each will receive one pack. The supplies may vary. It is completely random what pack you will receive. During the trials, Old France is under lockdown. Thus meaning that the border will be surrounded by soldiers. Who, at every hour that passes will advance, making the border smaller. We have always found everyone that has tried to hide from us. So rest up and tomorrow it starts." The soldier said climbing off the platform.

    A wave of terror washed over us as the grim details echoed in our mind. Everyone's fearful expression matched the darkening sky. With the soldiers on horseback, it seemed incredibly unfair. No, not unfair, impossible. Outrunning soldiers on horseback with guns? One slim boy began to cry. He collapsed to the ground in front of me. A soldier came over. I hurriedly shuffled away with the others, forming a circle around the poor boy.

"Get up!" He barked as the boy remained in his spot on the ground.

"I said get up!" The soldier barked again, kicking the young boy in the stomach.

"Six hours deducted" The soldier spit, picking the boy up by the throat and tossing him forward.

     The boy got up and scurried towards his barrack, Bawling. A deduction of six hours was a death sentence. No one ever came back from that. Well hardly anyone came back at all. The spectators laughed excitedly at the action. You never realize how alone you are until you are surrounded by the wicked and the heartless.