Casualties of War - Berlin 1943

In all wars they are those who didn't choose side, those who got dragged into it only because of the greed of so few. This story is for them, the casualties of a war they didn't choose to be part of.

 

He heard the cheerful laughs from the children playing in the streets, the buzzing sounds from the market in the square, not too far from where he was standing. He heard the wind rattle the leaves on a nearby oak, shaking them mildly to see whether they were alive. And then he heard the long looming sounds of the bomb alarm, drowning everything else. For a minute every one stopped in their tracks and looked up at the sky, and everything went still. He saw the worried faces of the older and the curiosity of the young, all waiting to see the planes and hoping that they would pass over. Then it changed. Dull noises from bombs exploding far off began to sound, growing louder by every blink of the eyes. Men and women were standing perplexed and frozen on the ground they had meant to cross moments earlier, dumbstruck by the sudden interruption. And they were all gazing up. It seemed as if some tried to see beyond the clouds to capture God’s gaze; to know whether or not he was watching over them. The answer came with the shrill sound of bombs moments later. First to hit was the old brewery. He had followed the bomb with his eyes, and when it crashed through the timber roof and nothing happened, he heaved a sigh of relief. Then, as sudden as lightning, the whole front was ripped apart in a loud explosion, sending splinters and shattered glass in all its way. Men and women screamed in panic and ran to take cover. Some stumbled and fell over; only to be trampled by the person behind, it was all a complete turmoil. The children on the street had begun to cry and one by one they were snatched up by their parents who ran for safety. All but one. A small girl, no older than six or seven with tousled blond hair adorned by a red ribbon and a matching red mud specked dress was standing in the street crying as folks rushed by. She was afraid and confused. Between sobs she looked up and down the street trying to find her parents, but none came.

 

“Darling. Come here, child.” He called out to her and motioned for her to hurry. She looked at him through her tear-filled eyed, cast one last glance down the street and was about to run over to him when he again heard the high pitched noise from another bomb. Her blue eyes were fixed on him, relieved to find an adult whom could take care of her. She was holding her dress up so it wouldn’t get dirty; worried more of her parents anger should they see her filthy dress than of the bombs dropping. He screamed and started to run towards her, but when the bomb hit it the shockwave threw him back and sent him right into the brick wall of his barber-shop, and he lost consciousness. When he came to everything was a haze. Dust swirled all around him and muffled sounds came from anywhere and nowhere, it was as if he was watching a painting with oily figures moving to and fro. He staggered to his feet and stumbled toward the place where he’d last had seen the girl, stepping over pieces of junk that had been parts of something functional only moments earlier. He moved slowly, almost zombie-like but even as much as he wanted he couldn’t move his feet any faster. Then the wind settled and the dust cleared and he saw a big crater in the middle of the street, but no sign of the girl.

In an oak tree not too far away from the crater a red ribbon was flapping in the wind; a ribbon belonging to no one.

 

 

Author's Note

To the victims of all wars.
When will man learn? You think, you realise, and you quiver.

My first intention with this piece was to write a story with all senses except sight, and then primarily on hearing, but I drifted away and this is the result. Will try with my other attended story another day.