Broken Wings

Prologue

Our story starts with three things:

A Jew.
A girl.
And some broken glass.

Allow me to explain further.

The date was November 9th, 1938.

"Mama, may I please go with Maximilian on his errands? Please?" Else Schüffen stood in the doorway, glancing back and forth between her mother and her Jewish brother. Her golden hair draped around her shoulders like velvet curtains.

"I was planning a nice dinner tonight," her mother said, a frown stitched on her face.

"Please, Mama?"

The soft hearted woman sighed, her hands dropping to her sides in defeat. "Fine. But don't be out too late. I expect you to watch her, Max."

Maximilian nodded, smiling down at the little girl. Excitement sparkled in her eyes and a pale light from the window accented her features. Youth and innocence dotted her face like freckles.

"Danke, Mama!" Maximilian grabbed Else's hand, opening the door and exposing the two of them out into the chilly fall air. People strolled carelessly by, bags weighing down in their hands. Contentment glowed in his eyes, reflecting the rays of the evening sun. The scene was nearly perfect, minus the flags that dotted the horizon, staining it like blood.

"Where do you want to go first?"

The answer was obvious to the both of them. Why did Max even bother asking?

The bakery.

Upon arriving at the bakery, Else gazed longingly at the rows of frosted goods that lined the counter, confined within a glass casing. Flaky crumbs dotted the sides, taunting the little girl's tongue. Tables were filled with customers, all of which were indulging in some sort of pastry. Maximilian studied the inventory, searching for the perfect treat.

Else pressed her face to the glass, glancing back and forth between strudels. She eventually chose an apple one, cradling in her hands as though it were an injured bird.

Maximilian handed over coins to the owner. Smiling, they found a table in the corner, away from everything else. "Are you enjoying that strudel, Else?" Maximilian asked, wiping a dot of icing off her nose. Else nodded eagerly, visibly savoring every bite. A gentle chuckle escaped Maximilian's mouth. How young and oblivious she was. Yet one could only remain that way so long amidst the scarlet flags tainting the sky with hatred.

Once Else had successfully licked the last of the frosting off her fingers, Maximilian rose from the table, grasping her hand once again.

Three more stops were to be made.

The tailor.
The market.
And the shoe store.

By the time they finished a majority of their errands, the sun had disappeared behind the buildings and the moon glimmered behind the clouds. Gestapo patrolled the street, striding purposefully on the sidewalk, waiting to put their plan into action. Their eyes darkened at the sight of a girl and a Jew.

Else and Maximilian made their way inside the shoe store, bags resting in the crook of their arms. A few people shopped about, yet for the most part, it was empty. Else tapped her foot impatiently, staring at the man behind the counter. And that's where the broken glass came in.

Suddenly, a gasp erupted from behind the counter, its owner pointing his finger towards the window. Confused, Maximilian glanced outside, the sight burning his eyes. Soldiers with their red armbands infested the street like insects. They broke through the glass of shop windows with the butts of their rifles, breaking glass and breaking hearts. Papers fluttered everywhere, like butterflies made out of ash.

"Else--"

His cry was interrupted by another crash of shattering glass. It showered over the entire shop, the shards piercing the floor, even piercing Maximilian's skin. Blood trickled down his fingers, staining his olive colored skin. Else shrieked, her eyes widening with concern. The world seemed to be spinning, the glass and the people blurring together.

"Max! What's happening?" Else's sobs sliced the air. Her brother scanned the streets through the gaping hole in the window, terror filling his eyes. A bed of glass blanketed the cobblestone, stained with blood. Screams echoed throughout the air, the gruesome sounds of abuse ringing in his ears. He eyed the Nazi that shattered the glass. A lit torch was flaming in his hand.

Maximilian gripped Else's arm, dragging her out in the midst of the smoke and fire. A woman cringed on the ground, blows raining down upon her torso.

It took approximately two minutes for Maximilian to be noticed.

"Jude!" A storm of fire came marching towards him. Else stared helplessly at his side, cowering in the shadow of the Nazi. Maximilian quivered beside her, awaiting his punishment.

It came soon enough.

He felt the nightstick jab his side, knocking the air out of him. The girl's screams rang out beside him as his face fell to the blanket of broken glass. It stung his cheeks. Tears streamed from Else's eyes. The nightstick jabbed his back twice more, each time sending a new jolt of pain through his body. Then the Nazi found some other Jew to terrorize. "Max," she sobbed, crouching down next to him. Maximilian weakly lifted his hand, blood pooling on his forehead. Else stumbled backwards, her hand stretched out to help her brother back up. Desolation lay out before them, punching them in the face.

And then Else spotted the woman.

She lay motionless on the ground, her hand dangling lifelessly to her side. She swam in a pool of blood, staining her glowing white blouse. Else ran to her and kneeled down beside her. Tears streaked the young girl's paled face.

Shadows of boots slapped across cobblestone. Else glanced up, meeting the owner's eyes. "Get out of here!" The soldier said, bending down. She felt his hands press against her knees, causing her to fly backwards into Max's bloodied arms. A sputtering of coughs erupted from his mouth.

The girl lay slouched in Maximilian's grasp. His heart pounded against hers, beating like a hummingbird. Blood from his arms trickled on her cheeks, dripping down to her chin.

Allow me to paint an image in your mind.

A Jew, with eyes fogged with fear and smoke, his dark fluffy hair caked with blood. A girl, draped in his arms, his blood trickling down her cheeks. And a blanket of broken glass, blood, and fire staining its surface, while the screams of beaten Jews resounded through the chilling nighttime air.

These images haunted both the Jew's and the girl's mind forever.

In just a few short years, the girl would recall this event with clarity, painting the words on a blank canvas.

In just a few short years, their lives would be drastically different,

and it all started with:

a Jew,
a girl,
and some broken glass.

And it all ended with some words.

Some very wise words, I might add.

The words were first introduced on a yellowed photo, and then spoken to hundreds of Jews that awaited their death.

Sometimes, in order to survive, you must repair your broken wings, and learn to fly again.