Blame

Chapter One; How it al begun

German speaking will be in bold
All other speaking will be French unless mentioned otherwise.

1941, occupied Paris, France

The moment her eyes caught a glimpse of him in the very corner of her eye, her attention was drawn towards this young, attractive man. Her eyes moved towards him, from the other side of the street, sitting on a terrace, following his movements for a brief moment, fiddling with the pencil in her hand. She was quite impressed by this man. She couldn't for the life of her remember when was the last time she felt impressed when first seeing someone. Though that enthusiasm took quite a blow when her eyes fell on his uniform. She wasn't even surprised anymore. She knew everybody in and around Paris, so a new one was always a fucking Nazi.

Most of them only followed orders, just like the American, British, Canadian and French soldiers did. Most of them had nothing to do with the mass capturing and whatever followed of the Jews. And she felt that. She felt that this wasn't one of them. He looked modest, but not too modest. He had confidence, but wasn't egocentric. He was perfectly balanced, like a gift from God, besides the fact that she didn't believe in a god. When his head turned, their eyes met. She could see from across the street where she was sitting, that he had dark, hazel like eyes. They looked bright and shining, and god, where they the prettiest damm things she had ever seen. She turned her eyes away from him, a smile curling up her lips. She caught his eye, and the feeling that maybe she wasn't invisible after all made her feel good. She sipped from the coffee in front of her, and lit another cigarette. She took a slow inhale from it, as her eyes went looking for the young man, but he disappeared from sight. She cursed a soft "Merde.", and took another long puff from the cigarette. It didn't matter anyways. She had way more important things to do than think about this man. Or at least, she could pretend as if she had more important things to do. Either way, she didn't have time -or wanted- to think about this man. She grabbed her notebook, and quickly jammed some things down. She nonchalantly and elegantly chugged her coffee. She was done here, for now at least. There was nothing else to see. She took another big, deep huff from her cigarette, finishing it. She packed her things, and was about to leave, when his face appeared in her vision again. If only she'd been patient, she'd still be sipping on that coffee, looking at him. But she convinced herself she didn't have time for that. She hastily walked across the street, needing to pass the man. Whatever you do, do not look at him. She kept her eyes to her shoes, or anywhere else that wasn't his face, really. She sped up her pace slightly, and immediately regretted that choice when she tripped over a loose stone in the pavement. Her bag slipped out of her hand, as her face fell to the ground. She was able to take the hit quite well, and caught herself on her hands. For a moment she was dazed, laying there on te ground, until she heard a voice. It was harsh, but soft and caring at the same time. A slight German accent, speaking clear French. 

"Are you alright, mademoiselle?" She looked up, met his eyes, and internally died. It was him. She prayed for the ground to consume her right there, but her prayers remained unanswered. She got onto her knees, still slightly dazed. She patted the dirt off of her skirt. "I'm fine, thank you monsieur." Her eyes connected with his, as he reached out a hand towards her. She convinced herself she was calm, and nothing was going on, but her mind ran wild. Was this a movie? She carefully put her slim hand into his rough ones. He gently helped her up, and went to collect her bag. "Oh no, monsieur, please, I have bothered you enough." The young man shook his head, and grabbed her bag and some papers that had spilled out. He carefully handed them towards her, and she placed them back in the bag. As her eyes scanned if everything was still in it, his voice demanded for her attention. "May I ask your name, madame?" He looked down towards her grey eyes, which met his. "Colette." The way her own name could roll off of her tongue as beautiful as that amazed him. "And what about yours, monsieur?" The way she spoke put a spell on his mind, the beautifully pure accent leaving goosebumps on his skin. "Fredrick. Fredrick Zoller." "Fredrick" She repeated, though his sounded like the rough German name it was, with a rough and short i, hers sounded like a love song, soft and tender, with an high i. Their eyes stayed locked for a moment. "I noticed you looking at me." He had a malicious kind of smile on his face, feeling like he did something fantastic. "Ah- yes. I know all the people around here, and I didn't recognize you. Which makes me to believe you're new." A grin formed on her face as she spoke. "Correct. I only got here today."  She took a quick look at the watch around her wrist, and spoke. "Excuse-moi monsieur, but I have to go." He gently smiled, and nodded. "Have a nice day, madame." The way he looked at her made her feel weird, but in a good way. "Have a nice day, monsieur." She started to walk away, her shoes clicking on the stones. Her head turned towards him. "Maybe we'll meet again." A smile appeared on her face, as she continued to walk off.