Cooling A Fiery Soul

I'm pretty sure I haven't posted this story yet (sorry if I have). It's not one I particularly care for as it doesn't have the best of endings. Or maybe it's the climax. Anyway, you'll understand if you read it. It is historical fiction, so maybe at least you'll learn something :) I would have posted something else, but the couple things I've started aren't finished yet (one is for Faith's challenge. I haven't forgotten!).

Thjodhild stepped out of the longhouse and took in a long breath of clean, crisp Iceland air. It was a beautiful summer morning, and the world was rejoicing. The birds sang as they soared through the air. The geese waddled up the road, and she could hear the moo of the cattle grazing on the rugged countryside. Smoke arose from the cooking fires of the neighboring farm houses. A sudden yank of Thjodhild's hair brought her back from her wondering. Baby Thorvald cooed with delight, his fists full of her hair. “You are an ornery little boy,” she told the baby as she untangled the hair from out between his fingers. “I wonder where your father and brother are.”

Just then a dog barked, and Thjodhild heard her husband's booming laugh. She saw him, little Leif, and the dog running behind them up the road. Leif's little hand was enclosed in Eric's big one. He tried to match his father's large stride while chattering nonstop the whole time. Eric laughed again. His long, red hair was wind blown, and his gray eyes twinkled as they met his wife's gaze. “Good morning, my dear wife!” He gave her quick kiss on the lips and took the baby from her arms.

“And good morning to you, my mighty man! Breakfast is ready. You better go eat it before I decide to eat it all myself.” Thjodhild turned and went back through the door.

“Well, we wouldn't want that, now, would we?” Eric questioned Leif. The boy frowned and shook his head. Eric chuckled and stepped inside, Leif and the dog right at his heels.

“Master Eric! Master Eric!” a loud cry interrupted the family's breakfast. One of their thralls burst through the longhouse door, his face wild with fear.

“What's the matter?” Eric asked in a gruff voice, obviously disturbed by his breakfast being rudely interrupted. “Well, are you going to answer me or just stand there panting like a dog?”

“Eyjolf,” the thrall panted out. “He just killed two of your thralls.”

“What for!? What have I ever done to him?” Eric yelled. He slammed his big fist down hard, hitting the table. Milk sloshed out of the cups, and the dishes rattled. Frightened, the baby began to cry. Thjodhild scooped Thorvald up and tried to comfort him. She loved her husband, but this side of him frightened her, too. His anger often arose unexpectedly, changing who he was completely. Eric stormed out of the house angrily with the thrall following behind at a distance. Obviously he was afraid of what his master might do. Thjodhild cleaned up the dinner mess silently, hoping Eric would not do anything too rash.

Eric did not return until evening. His face was still flushed red with anger; but he seemed a little calmer. Thjodhild handed him a cup of water, hoping it would cool him off farther. He gulped it down but said nothing. “What happened?” Thjodhild asked. She reached up and touched his swollen eye. He flinched and pulled her hand back.

“A couple of our thralls accidentally caused a landslide on Valthiof's property. It crushed his house. Eyjolf, his cousin, killed our thralls. He claimed they did it on purpose because of a fight they had with a couple of Valthiof's thralls yesterday, so I got rid of Eyjolf.” Eric seemed very pleased with himself. “...and a friend of his.”

“Eric, you didn't!” Thjodhild had just noticed the streak of blood on the sleeve of his tunic. Her stomach churned.

“Yes, I did. They won't bother us again.”

“But Eyjolf's family will!” Thjodhild protested. “Your life is in danger now and the lives of our whole family! What were you thinking?” Loud pounding on the door interrupted her. Fear gripped her heart. She could not get herself to move towards the door. If only they could grab the children and run. The pounding continued, and Eric opened the door. The village elders entered, somber expressions upon their faces.

“What do you want?” Eric asked.

“Eyjolf's family has brought their case before us, and we have concluded that you and your family should be banished for murder,” replied the head elder. “You must be gone by tomorrow evening, or we will use force.” The elders then turned and left.

Eric sat down in front of the fire and did not say a word. Thjoldhild let her tears flow. She knew he hurt, too, even if he refused to show it. Her heart ached for him. They had spent six long, happy years building this farm. It was Eric's pride, but now they would leave it behind.

A few months later Thjoldhild stood in the frame of their soon to be new home. “It will be finished soon,” said Eric as he came up behind her. He put an arm around her waste, stood beside her, and examined the longhouse. “Soon it will be just like back in Hawksdale.” Thjoldhild tried to take comfort in Eric's words, but she new it was not true. It would never be just like Hawksdale.

“Thjodhild, I'm going to be gone for a few days,” Eric informed her.

“Where are you going?” asked Thjoldhild, not wanting him to find any more trouble.

“Since I am almost finished with the house, I need to go retrieve those beams I left with Thorgest.”

“Can't you just make some new ones?”

“Thjoldhild, those beams were my father's. They are symbols of Viking greatness and authority. I will not go without them in my house.”

Thjoldhild sighed. It was of no use to try to change his mind. He brushed her blonde hair out of her face, gave her a kiss, and bid her good bye. She silently watched her man leave. Would he ever give up his pride? He still seemed to have no remorse over what he had done. Hopefully Thorgest would return the beams willingly.

Eric stood waiting with five of his thralls at the door of Thorgest's longhouse. A slave girl opened the door. “Is there something you need?” she questioned.

“Is Thorgest here?” replied Eric. “I have some urgent business I need to discuss with him.”

“Yes, he is here. Come on in.” She ushered the men through the door and led them to the table where Thorgest was dining with his sons. Upon seeing Eric, Thorgest stood and greeted him.

“Eric Thorvaldson, it has been awhile. How are you doing, my friend? Come, have a seat.” Thorgest scooted a chair towards him.

“I am fine. Thank you,” replied Eric as he sat down. “I have come to retrieve my posts that I left in your care awhile back.”

Thorgest laughed. “I thought you told me I could keep them.”

“Only until I could come back for them.”

“I am sure that is not what you said. Besides, I have become quite fond of the beams. I cannot return them.” Thorgest folded his arms across his chest and stared coldly at Eric.

“You will give them back!” argued Eric. His face began to flush red in anger, and his eyes turned as cold as Thorgest's.

“No, I will not.” Thorgest motioned to one of his slaves. “Show our guests out.”

Eric balled his hands up into fists. “We will not leave without the posts.”

“Get out of my house, Eric,” Thorgest said firmly. “or I will force you out.”

Enraged, Eric struck Thorgest on the jaw, knocking him out of his chair. Thorgest's sons moved to protect their father, and Eric's thralls stopped them. Eric reached for a knife from the table. Thorgest's wife and children began to scream, and neighbors came running.

Eric sat with his head in his hands, sobbing. How was he going to tell his wife and children that he had been outlawed again? Why did he let his anger control him? Why did he kill Thorgest's sons? Now where would he go?

Thjoldhild heard the dog bark. Her heart skipped a beat. Was Eric back? She looked down the road and saw the thralls coming towards her. Seeing their bruises and somber faces, she knew something was wrong. Thjoldhild hurried towards them. “Where is Eric?” she asked. “Is he all right?” The servants motioned back down the road a ways. Eric sat at the foot of a tree, his head buried in his hands. Relieved and overjoyed to see him, she ran as fast as her legs would carry her. “Eric!” she called.

Upon hearing her cry, Eric lifted up his head. Tears streaked his face. Thjoldhild stopped in her tracks. She had never seen her husband cry before. “What happened?” she asked. She stooped down and began to wipe his face.

“I'm sorry, Thjoldhild, I have failed you.”

“What do you mean, Eric?”

“When Thorgest would not return the beams, I killed his sons. I have been outlawed.”

“Oh Eric!” she sobbed.

“I've learned my lesson. I'll never let my anger control me like that again. I don't want to hurt you and our children more than I already have. Please forgive me, Thjoldhild.”

Thjoldhild took in a deep breath. She had longed to hear those words from her man for a long time. Now tears ran down her face. Her husband meant it, and she would help him in any way she could. She flung her arms around him and just sobbed.

A few hours later Thjoldhild held baby Thorvald in her arms, and Eric stood beside her. Leif held his father's hand. They all watched the shore as it shrunk away, the ocean becoming bigger. Their family was starting anew, and soon they would find another place to call home. Eric took his family to an unexplored land, which he dubbed “Greenland.” There, other vikings joined him and started a colony. Two more children were born to Eric and Thjoldhild, a son and a daughter. Leif began to show great interest in the sea and adventures. Maybe someday he would even discover a new land of his own.

A Dinner With 42

Grace flipped open her mail box and pulled out and odd assortment of business letters, advertisements, and letters from charities. Shutting the little door she turned her steps back up the paved driveway and began sorting through the envelopes. Mostly they were for her parents but an indigo blue one caught her attention and separating it out, she saw it was addressed to her. There was no return address. Curiously she tore it open and removed and ornately engraved envelope. Tucking the other parcels under her arm she opened it and began reading the following:

Miss Grace,

You are cordially invited to join us for a celebration luncheon. See you there!

There was no signature, no time, and no place. Entirely befuddled she closed it back up and took the other mail out from under her arm. In her surprise she nearly dropped it. Her family’s mail had somehow turned into a trim black clasp purse.

“Hey Mom!” She began running toward the house to show her Mom but midstride she froze. She was not on her driveway nor even near her house. She was in a huge room with a large dinning table taking up most of the center. At the table sat a group of 42 men she had never seen. Shrinking back she looked from one face to another for an explanation.

A man in a curly white wig rose from the head of the table, “Welcome Madam. You will be sitting there,” pointing with a finger nearly hidden under a sleeve of ruffles, “Next to Mr. Harrison.”

A man midway down the table stood up and pulled out and empty chair next to him. His white beard made him look a little grandfatherly and though his suit coat was unexplainably long in the back he was more sensibly dressed than Mr. Wig, and Ruffles.

Shyly glancing at the men closest to her she slid into the offered chair and only then noticed that she was wearing a dress. A long, expensive feeling dress whose material she could not name.

Mr. Harrison assumed his seat on her right and the gentleman on her left reached out a polite hand. “I am Mr. Cleveland.” His brown mustache had a humorous way of wiggling when he talked.

The man at the head of the table spoke again, “Now that our guest had arrived, shall we begin?”

A chorus of agreement followed. From across the table a partial blonde asked an entering waiter, “Are the chops courtesy of Mr. Arthur?” A ripple of laughter spread around the table but Grace tried to hide more in her chair. She was completely lost.

They were expecting her? She was being served dinner with them? How did she get here? Who were they?

“You are quite Madam.” Mr. Harrison startled her.

Someone who she didn’t see offered. “Does she say more than two words at once? If not she must be related to Mr. Coolidge.”

A man seven places to her left leaned forward and began to look at her very hard. “She’s not.”

Another ripple of laughter and Grace felt her face heating up at being the center of attention.

“Perhaps Miss Grace would like to hear some about us rather than hear us talk about her?” That came from a gaunt looking man with dark hair and a matching beard traveling around his chin who sat on the other side of the table.

“That is a good idea sir. Though I have a feeling there is not much we could tell her. The world knows just about everything we would wish to tell.”

Grace felt her courage surge. “Please,” She turned toward the head of the table, “Would you tell me who you are?”

“Who we are?” Mr. Harrison echoed. “My dear Madam, isn’t it obvious? We are the presidents!”

I wrote this short little story for two reason: One, because today is President's Day. So, happy President's Day fellow authors and kind readers!

Two, because I wanted to acknowledge someone  very special today. You guessed it--Grace, our moderator! It is her birthday so I decided to  star her in my short story. I don't know how accurate I was in portraying what she would really do if dropped into the above situation but I did my best!

Happy, happy, birthday Grace! Thanks for being a wonderful moderator...oh, and friend too! ;) I hope you enjoyed the story!

Cooling A Fiery Soul

This is the first and last time you will ever see me post historical fiction. This is based off of true events...

Thjodhild stepped out of the longhouse and took in a long breath of clean, crisp Iceland air. It was a beautiful summer morning, and the world was rejoicing. The birds sang as they soared through the air. The geese waddled up the road, and she could hear the moo of the cattle grazing on the rugged countryside. Smoke arose from the cooking fires of the neighboring farm houses. A sudden yank of Thjodhild's hair brought her back from her wondering. Baby Thorvald cooed with delight, his fists full of her hair. “You are an ornery little boy,” she told the baby as she untangled the hair from out between his fingers. “I wonder where your father and brother are.”

Just then a dog barked, and Thjodhild heard her husband's booming laugh. She saw him, little Leif, and the dog running behind them up the road. Leif's little hand was enclosed in Eric's big one. He tried to match his father's large stride while chattering nonstop the whole time. Eric laughed again. His long, red hair was wind blown, and his gray eyes twinkled as they met his wife's gaze. “Good morning, my dear wife!” He gave her quick kiss on the lips and took the baby from her arms.

“And good morning to you, my mighty man! Breakfast is ready. You better go eat it before I decide to eat it all myself.” Thjodhild turned and went back through the door.

“Well, we wouldn't want that, now, would we?” Eric questioned Leif. The boy frowned and shook his head. Eric chuckled and stepped inside, Leif and the dog right at his heels.

“Master Eric! Master Eric!” a loud cry interrupted the family's breakfast. One of their thralls burst through the longhouse door, his face wild with fear.

“What's the matter?” Eric asked in a gruff voice, obviously disturbed by his breakfast being rudely interrupted. “Well, are you going to answer me or just stand there panting like a dog?”

“Eyjolf,” the thrall panted out. “He just killed two of your thralls.”

“What for!? What have I ever done to him?” Eric yelled. He slammed his big fist down hard, hitting the table. Milk sloshed out of the cups, and the dishes rattled. Frightened, the baby began to cry. Thjodhild scooped Thorvald up and tried to comfort him. She loved her husband, but this side of him frightened her, too. His anger often arose unexpectedly, changing who he was completely. Eric stormed out of the house angrily with the thrall following behind at a distance. Obviously he was afraid of what his master might do. Thjodhild cleaned up the dinner mess silently, hoping Eric would not do anything too rash.

Eric did not return until evening. His face was still flushed red with anger; but he seemed a little calmer. Thjodhild handed him a cup of water, hoping it would cool him off farther. He gulped it down but said nothing. “What happened?” Thjodhild asked. She reached up and touched his swollen eye. He flinched and pulled her hand back.

“A couple of our thralls accidentally caused a landslide on Valthiof's property. It crushed his house. Eyjolf, his cousin, killed our thralls. He claimed they did it on purpose because of a fight they had with a couple of Valthiof's thralls yesterday, so I got rid of Eyjolf.” Eric seemed very pleased with himself. “...and a friend of his.”

“Eric, you didn't!” Thjodhild had just noticed the streak of blood on the sleeve of his tunic. Her stomach churned.

“Yes, I did. They won't bother us again.”

“But Eyjolf's family will!” Thjodhild protested. “Your life is in danger now and the lives of our whole family! What were you thinking?” Loud pounding on the door interrupted her. Fear gripped her heart. She could not get herself to move towards the door. If only they could grab the children and run. The pounding continued, and Eric opened the door. The village elders entered, somber expressions upon their faces.

“What do you want?” Eric asked.

“Eyjolf's family has brought their case before us, and we have concluded that you and your family should be banished for murder,” replied the head elder. “You must be gone by tomorrow evening, or we will use force.” The elders then turned and left.

Eric sat down in front of the fire and did not say a word. Thjoldhild let her tears flow. She knew he hurt, too, even if he refused to show it. Her heart ached for him. They had spent six long, happy years building this farm. It was Eric's pride, but now they would leave it behind.

A few months later Thjoldhild stood in the frame of their soon to be new home. “It will be finished soon,” said Eric as he came up behind her. He put an arm around her waste, stood beside her, and examined the longhouse. “Soon it will be just like back in Hawksdale.” Thjoldhild tried to take comfort in Eric's words, but she new it was not true. It would never be just like Hawksdale.

“Thjodhild, I'm going to be gone for a few days,” Eric informed her.

“Where are you going?” asked Thjoldhild, not wanting him to find any more trouble.

“Since I am almost finished with the house, I need to go retrieve those beams I left with Thorgest.”

“Can't you just make some new ones?”

“Thjoldhild, those beams were my father's. They are symbols of Viking greatness and authority. I will not go without them in my house.”

Thjoldhild sighed. It was of no use to try to change his mind. He brushed her blonde hair out of her face, gave her a kiss, and bid her good bye. She silently watched her man leave. Would he ever give up his pride? He still seemed to have no remorse over what he had done. Hopefully Thorgest would return the beams willingly.

Eric stood waiting with five of his thralls at the door of Thorgest's longhouse. A slave girl opened the door. “Is there something you need?” she questioned.

“Is Thorgest here?” replied Eric. “I have some urgent business I need to discuss with him.”

“Yes, he is here. Come on in.” She ushered the men through the door and led them to the table where Thorgest was dining with his sons. Upon seeing Eric, Thorgest stood and greeted him.

“Eric Thorvaldson, it has been awhile. How are you doing, my friend? Come, have a seat.” Thorgest scooted a chair towards him.

“I am fine. Thank you,” replied Eric as he sat down. “I have come to retrieve my posts that I left in your care awhile back.”

Thorgest laughed. “I thought you told me I could keep them.”

“Only until I could come back for them.”

“I am sure that is not what you said. Besides, I have become quite fond of the beams. I cannot return them.” Thorgest folded his arms across his chest and stared coldly at Eric.

“You will give them back!” argued Eric. His face began to flush red in anger, and his eyes turned as cold as Thorgest's.

“No, I will not.” Thorgest motioned to one of his slaves. “Show our guests out.”

Eric balled his hands up into fists. “We will not leave without the posts.”

“Get out of my house, Eric,” Thorgest said firmly. “or I will force you out.”

Enraged, Eric struck Thorgest on the jaw, knocking him out of his chair. Thorgest's sons moved to protect their father, and Eric's thralls stopped them. Eric reached for a knife from the table. Thorgest's wife and children began to scream, and neighbors came running.

Eric sat with his head in his hands, sobbing. How was he going to tell his wife and children that he had been outlawed again? Why did he let his anger control him? Why did he kill Thorgest's sons? Now where would he go?

Thjoldhild heard the dog bark. Her heart skipped a beat. Was Eric back? She looked down the road and saw the thralls coming towards her. Seeing their bruises and somber faces, she knew something was wrong. Thjoldhild hurried towards them. “Where is Eric?” she asked. “Is he all right?” The servants motioned back down the road a ways. Eric sat at the foot of a tree, his head buried in his hands. Relieved and overjoyed to see him, she ran as fast as her legs would carry her. “Eric!” she called.

Upon hearing her cry, Eric lifted up his head. Tears streaked his face. Thjoldhild stopped in her tracks. She had never seen her husband cry before. “What happened?” she asked. She stooped down and began to wipe his face.

“I'm sorry, Thjoldhild, I have failed you.”

“What do you mean, Eric?”

“When Thorgest would not return the beams, I killed his sons. I have been outlawed.”

“Oh Eric!” she sobbed.

“I've learned my lesson. I'll never let my anger control me like that again. I don't want to hurt you and our children more than I already have. Please forgive me, Thjoldhild.”

Thjoldhild took in a deep breath. She had longed to hear those words from her man for a long time. Now tears ran down her face. Her husband meant it, and she would help him in any way she could. She flung her arms around him and just sobbed.

A few hours later Thjoldhild held baby Thorvald in her arms, and Eric stood beside her. Leif held his father's hand. They all watched the shore as it shrunk away, the ocean becoming bigger. Their family was starting anew, and soon they would find another place to call home. Eric took his family to an unexplored land, which he dubbed “Greenland.” There, other vikings joined him and started a colony. Two more children were born to Eric and Thjoldhild, a son and a daughter. Leif began to show great interest in the sea and adventures. Maybe someday he would even discover a new land of his own.

The Family Magdon---Part 2

Sorry these parts are so long. I would have cut them up shorter but I could see no logical way to do it.

           Part Two

I looked out my bedroom window and surveyed the blanket of crisp new snow one December morning as I sorted out the problem of Christmas presents for my family. I could perhaps find something pretty in my limited supply of jewelry to give Maria, and I was sure Carlos would be delighted to carve wooden toys for Pauol and Hamtath. Then I could give Heidi the skein of yarn indigo yarn I had been saving for her. Carlos and Stephono were harder but Alex was the one that puzzled me most.

 I smiled as thought about him; he had changed so much in the four months since his arrival. When I first found him, exploring my cellar, he seemed very stiff and hardhearted. Things had changed though and he was a constant blessing to me; I wasn’t sure what I would do with out him.

I heard a light tap on the removable ceiling in my bureau. 

“I am dressed and everything seems safe, Carlos. You can come down now.”

The noise from my bureau increased and finally the door flew open and out tumbled a large boned boy with hair growing abundantly on his face.

“Oh, well good morning Pauol! I thought you were you’re brother. Did he entrust you with dumping the pail today?” I cringed at the thought. Surely Carlos knows better than to give his brother the attic toilet…

“No Etard! I juth had a thecret I wanted to tell you before all the otherth were up!” his face beamed childishly innocent down at he from his six foot head.

“Pauol! Pauol!”

I looked toward the bureau as his face fell.

“It’s alright Carlos, he’s down here with me.”

I heard a sigh of relief from over head and soon Carlos appeared.

Pauol pouted. “ Tarloth! I didn’t want you down here. I wath telling Etard a secret that you tan’t hear!”

Carlos looked at his brother with some annoyance; I understood that even though he had lived with Pauol all his life there were some things about him he still didn’t understand.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming down here and wanted to be alone with her? I wouldn’t have gotten worried about you then.”

“I didn’t want you to know betauth you said I mustn’t tell her about—”

“Pauol! You weren’t! After we all asked you not to last night! You promised us you wouldn’t!”

I could tell Carlos was getting very annoyed now and Pauol was starting to look hurt so I intervened.

“I am deathly curious to know what you all have up your sleeves that I cannot know but I will sit on my curiosity and Pauol will not give me one little hint; will you Pauol?”

“My lipth are thealed.” Dramatically he stuck his lips out and pinched them shut with his fingers. 

Carlos looked back and forth between me and his brother with an almost pained expression on his face. Then he sighed again.

“I guess I’ll go get the pail. I forgot it in my haste to make sure Pauol was safe.” His trousers disappeared back up the ladder in the bureau.

“Pauol, do you want to help me make breakfast this morning?”  I offered this only as a great reward to him since my selfish side didn’t like the extra clean up later.

“No, I juth want to thit here. I don’t feel good.”

Worriedly I stepped over and felt his forehead, it was not hot. “What is the matter Pauol?”

“I juth feel like thomthingth wrong. I don’t know what.”

“Something’s wrong inside you?”

“No, thomething wrong ith happening.”

“Well there are a lot of things happening that are wrong Pauol. Maybe you should tell Carlos about it when he comes back down. Now I need to go make breakfast, how does a pancake sound? Maybe that will make you feel better?”

“Maybe.”

That breakfast anticipation and hidden excitement seemed to build around the table as I caught my family exchanging pleased smiles with each other. Finally I could hold it in no longer.

“All right, I told Carlos I would sit on my curiosity but I didn’t expect you all to be so open about having a secret and yet so closed about what it is.”

Hamtath looked eagerly up at Heidi, “Could we not just give it to her now? Why do we have to wait until Christmas?”

Heidi looked around at Alex, Stephono, Maria and the others and shrugged. “I do not care.”

Pauol jumped clumsily up, over turning his chair. “I’ll get it!”

Carlos looked anxiously after him but Alex spoke up, “He’ll be fine. It can’t be hurt that easily.”

Pauol soon returned holding something behind his back. “Cloth your eyeth and hold out you handth!”

I obeyed and felt something like a long strip of roughly woven cloth put into my hands.

“Open!”

There in my hands was a intricately braded piece of cloth or rather pieces of cloth all inter woven. It spoke loudly of Heidi’s talented handiwork.

“Grandmama made it out of pieces of our clothing. We all gave something so that it would be from us all and always remind you of us all.” Hamtath piped up eagerly from across the table. He was right, there was Maria’s green dress, Alex’s black suit, Hamtath’s dirty shirt, Carlos’ brown pants, Stephono’s plaid hat band, and one of Paoul’s stained handkerchiefs. 

Stephono explained further, “We thought you might like it for a hair ribbon.”

Tears welled up in my eyes. “Thank you all so much, I love it!”

Alex reached over and laid his wrinkling hand on mine. “We can’t---“

A loud authoritative pounding sounded on the front door interrupting him. All faces immediately went white with at the sound.

“Move!” I whispered fiercely and then called out loudly to the knocker, “Just a moment! Let me finish dressing!”

“Open up! In the name of the Hitler!” 

My heart gave and extra hard thump and I felt as if I was ready to throw up.

“Just a moment!”

I heard the sound of gun butts on the old door and knew I didn’t have much time. I turned and cast an urgent glance towards my bedroom where I could still here sounds of hurried climbing coming from my bureau.

Just as I reached it the door burst open and fifteen Nazi’s spilled into the room and in a moment were rushing throughout the house. I followed hesitantly the head officer who to my horror went strait to my room. As he threw the door open I heard a stifled scream and saw Pauol come tumbling out of the bureau. Alex was still in the room but the other seemed to have gotten up the ladder safely. But something stopped me, what about Carlos? He would have never left Pauol behind. For a second time stood still and I found myself aware of the open window, shouts from outside and then gunshots. My heart felt a pang. Carlos!

Very slowly I became aware of a guns pointed at Pauol’s and Alex’ chests.

“Don’t move or we’ll shoot!” A guard screamed at them.

“You bad men! “ Pauol stepped towards one of them.

“No!!” I screamed and jumped towards him.

I felt a ruff hand shove me back with painful force and I slipped. I heard the gun shot but couldn’t look up. Both brother’s in two minutes?

“Look at him! He wasted his life for a simple minded boy whose going to one of the extermination camps anyway!” I head the mocking voices of the guards and looked up.

Alex lay, shot through the heart at Pauol’s feet.

Why him? Why not me? I had tried to make it me. My heart tore further open—Alex!

Stephono was the only one in the attic who could have fought but he didn’t for the sake of the others with him. They were all roughly shoved outside but no one touched me or spoke to me. I followed anyway.

The officer in command lined them up, “Heidi Oart, Jehovah’s Witness. Stephono and Maria Koath, Jews. Hamtath Sanders, Jew. Pauol Marhoffer, simple minded. The Third Reich has no interest in wasting camp space on these. Execute them!”

Eleven riffles rose. I heard a scream that must have come from my throat and felt myself flying forward, between my family and the guns.

The noise of eleven guns firing was deafening but I felt no pain. Was this what it was like to die?

“Very good! We are done here. Next!” I heard boots moving away and then cars starting than at last all was silent.

I was not dead.

I raised my head unwillingly and looked around.

Heidi, Stephono, Maria, Hamtath, Pauol! My heart broke and I wept, still clutching the hair ribbon they had given me, now covered with their blood. Why had it been them, and not me. I had tried, I wanted to go and not be left alone like I was before my family came. Carlos, Alex, Heidi, Stephono, Maria, Hamtath, Pauol!

Suddenly I felt my hands moving and looking down I saw that I was no longer holding a hair ribbon, I was holding a book, open to the last page. Confused I slowly closed it and looked at the cover.

The Family Magdon as written in black lettering on a background of flames. I burst out sobbing again, what was going on?

I had a weird tingling all over my body and with a jerk I suddenly found myself laying in a bed with my sheets and pillow soaked with sweat. The room was pitch black around me and I could hear my sister sleeping peacefully next to me. I shuddered, another dream? Last night’s had been just as real only it was futuristic and based on euthanasia.

I lay for a moment wide awake and disoriented thinking about my dream. The tears spilled over and fell down my cheeks--Carlos, Alex, Heidi, Stephono, Maria, Hamtath, Pauol! They were only people in my dreams, but their stories had been lived out by others.

*All the events recorded in this story did truly take place in a dream. I fictionalized nothing, (including the order and omnipotent voice,) except for the names (not including Magdon).