Where I was heading, I did not know. I turned left, I turned right. All I could see were empty streets. I decided to turn left, a decision I was later to regret, and walked down the middle of the lonely road. I felt a drop of rain on my cheek, the botox effect tightening my skin. Looking up towards the almost vacant sky, strangely so for a June afternoon, another raindrop hit my nose and slowly rolled away. I switched my gaze towards the road ahead, it seemed never ending. My heart was now pulsating louder than the rumble of the distant thunder. Rain was falling in bucket loads; I must have been in a torrential downpour. Pulling my coat closer to my body, I quickened my pace. I had never felt so alone in my entire life.
My legs were stiff, my face expressionless. I finally came to a corner, and again turned left. Now I could see where I was heading; toward the village shop. From about 10 metres away I could see that it was empty. The building stood alone, just trees towering it on either side. I forced my lead like legs to walk a few steps closer, and I saw the familiar peeling paint work, and crumbling roof tiles. What light remained in the sky shone on the shimmering brass doorknob, almost as if it were calling for me to turn it and open the door. The lock, of another metal, was eaten with rust and it appeared that a key would not secure this shop. My wet hand slipped on the doorknob and I lost my balance for a second. Steadying myself, I twisted it and the door creaked open. I was hit with the strong smell of newspaper and sweets. The shop was darker than the sky outside so I pawed my hand around the wall to find a light switch. I flicked it and the shop flooded with light. My stomach panged with hunger for the first time since this morning and I mindlessly grabbed one of the few loaves of bread from a shelf, perched myself on the concrete floor and bit into it. I felt energised instantly, and grabbed two apples and a jar of humbugs in my haste.
I was so involved in my food; I didn’t notice footsteps and voices coming from further down the street. Viciously biting a gleaming red apple in my left hand, the footsteps of at least four people reached the door, and it was pushed open. Only this distracted me from my manic consumption of the bread in my cupped hands. I looked up slowly and saw what appeared to be five German soldiers, barricading the doorway.
I tossed the bread over my shoulder and swallowed the growing lump in my throat. I looked behind me, and saw the door leading to the storing area of the shop. Dragging my body from the cold floor, I turned and darted for the door. My shaking hand clasped the handle and vigorously tried to open it; it was locked. I felt a heavy hand place itself on my shoulder, and pull my limp frame around. I was face to face with a cold-faced soldier, around the age of 30. The swastika on his uniform stood out boldly. I looked up to his stern face, his icy blue eyes piercing into mine, and my stomach flipped. After a few seconds, he spoke; “Follow Me.”
I stood motionless for what seemed like a long while. The soldier continued to keep his eyes glued to mine. Again he spoke, the tone in his voice growing more acidic with every syllable. “Move. I said move. NOW!”. I could feel beads of sweat dripping from my brow, yet I was also shivering, even though the room seemed blisteringly hot. Again I did not respond to his orders. The soldier’s face reddened, his unwavering stare intensifying. All four of his comrades stood defensively behind him; it was now dawning on me that it was becoming increasingly unlikely that I would escape. Alive.
Suddenly a hand pushed me hard up against the door, my head smacking sharply against it. Everything blurred before my eyes and the room began to spin. I slipped to the floor, and opened my heavy eyelids. Feeling liquid drip onto my lip I wiped it with my hand, and saw blood. I felt pressure under my armpits, and peered round both of my sides; two soldiers had grabbed me under my arms and were dragging me away towards the shop door. “No!” I cried, struggling to see with my obscure vision to see where I was being directed. I grabbed onto passing shelves, grabbing random items to bring myself to a halt. Down fell a loaf of bread; there went a few blocks of cheese.
“Stop! Please! Where are you taking me….why?…” I pleaded, as I passed the frame of the shop door. I grasped it, holding on for dear life. As my hand was pulled away, it left a smeared handprint of blood. My efforts to stop were proving fruitless.
Outside in the open air, the soldiers were still dragging me along the concrete street, my trousers ripping from the friction of them scuffing the ground; my knees were cut and grazed almost to the bone. Finally, they stopped and shoved me to the ground. “Stand.” spat another soldier who was yet to speak. I pulled my battered body up, attempting to compose myself. This particular soldier grabbed my frail wrists and held them behind my back, and started to push me along the street. At once I noticed another familiar sight; the village church. However, there was something not so familiar bellowing from it; thick black smoke, and a stench of burning. But burning what? I thought to myself. Probably vandals. Why was I worrying about such insignificant things when I feared for my life?
But I did have reason to worry; I was being directed to the church. Up the steep hill, past ancient gravestones, covered in moss, withered bunches of flowers perched next to them. Just a few feet away from the church now; the choking smell and blinding black smoke was overpowering. Once again, the soldiers stopped, next to a beautiful stone statue of an angel; this gravestone, however, was not covered in moss, and wasn’t even weathered. It looked almost brand new. In a daze, studying its elegance, I didn’t anticipate being shoved up against it. How much more could my body possibly take? Another soldier slowly pulled a gun out of his pocket. As if in slow motion, he pointed it up toward my head, then lowered it to my chest.
Finger on the trigger, I heard a click and then a bang. Then I felt a bullet shoot through my chest, and I instinctively touched it. Looking down at my hands, they were painted red. With blood.
Once again, I was being pulled further up toward the church, and the large doors were pulled open. The entire church was ablaze. I was swung, then thrown into the fire…
Sarah Dixon
