Betrayal

Cloaked in the shadows, shrouded in darkness,

Behind the smoke's haze

An armour you think can protect you,

from my gaze.

You believe it sheathed,

Subdued in the cheer and sneer of these slaves.

But I can hear you breathe,

As distinct as in the silence of graves

Try as you might to mask it behind the sweat

And the smell of burning putrid flesh,

I can feel your scent permeating the air,
As crisp as the petrichor in desert air.

You think I do not catch, the silent tear that surfaces, 
On your blackened face, the line it traces.
Its the apathy in the sympathy in your eyes,
I look at transfixed; as my consciousness ebbs away,
Etched in my existence forever,
For I realise, I was the inconsequential play .
They drive a stake through my heart, 
Ending an ever extending agony, 
Finally; mercy on their part?

You think you can hide, 

watch me burn from the sides.

I see you. I see it all.

As I fall in ashes and rise in smoke

I will watch you burn, your living life,

I will watch you fall,

Though I will forgive you, 

The shame of it all. 

Will You Walk With Me?

And then just maybe, beyond the bend, I'll see you,
Just maybe I'll say Hello and you smile,
A smile as mesmerizing with my eyes open as closed.
Maybe we will talk,
As we walk,
Together , while we figure out where it is this leads.
We will tell our stories, our pains, our sorrows,
Braving the rain, merry at the sunshine, dreaming of the rainbow, 'morrow.
For a moment our fates entwine in the fabric of time,

Weaving a pattern both beautiful and sublime.

There it is the fork, where we part ways.
Your and mine: our no more stays.
And then if I ask - "Will you walk with me?"
Your's, mine, our's;  any; as long as you stay with me.
Forever and always
Will you walk with me?

When I Am All Alone

When I am all alone,
That is when it hurts the most,
That is when I allow myself to think of you.
When I am all alone.

When I am all alone,
That is when I spin dreams,
Dreams of you and me, 
Your fingers entwined in mine,
Sitting at a bench in the park,
Your head on my shoulders,
The gentle breeze blowing away strands of hair, slowly, quietly,
Almost hesitant to disturb the serenity of your face,
When I am all alone.

When I am all alone,
That is when I allow myself to think of your smile,
When my eyes would open with the rising sun,
With you in my arms and you would look up at me and smile.
That was my sunshine, that smile.
When I am all alone.

When I am all alone,
I remember our shared moments,
Our banter, Our fights, our makeups and our life,
Now I am in a limbo and they say I am alive.
I go through the motions, I breathe, I eat, I sleep,
I even talk and smile and they say I am alive..

When I am all alone,
That is when it hurts the most,
That is when I allow myself to think of you.
But then without you,
I am always alone... 

The Anonymous Phone Call

At 16, Christian was a grown up man. He had to do what he had to do.

At 16, Christian was gangly and excessively thin. Not uncommon in the Poland those days. There just wasn't enough food and he had to feed his three younger siblings. Christian cursed his parents for dying out on him and leaving him alone. He did not know how to survive this constant hunger, this disease, this constant bickering of his siblings. He did not know how to survive this war.

It was cold. Christian was shivering. He only wore a thin shirt and a trench coat. He had given his only sweater to his youngest sister to keep her warm. Lucja was the apple of his eye. She had in return tried to mend his trench coat as best as she could but it still had holes. And the brutal freezing cold air rushed in through those holes. He felt the cold seep down to his bones. He pulled his trench coat closer. The sole of his shoes was torn. He had fashioned himself a makeshift sole out of his coat's pocket. 

If only he had some money but working as an errand boy for whoever would want him did not earn him enough. Sometimes it did not earn him anything at all. christian was fighting his own war every day of feeding four stomachs at least once every day and he was loosing this war. He was tired. He did not want to soldier on. 

He cursed his fate. Oh why was he born in this cursed country in these cursed times!! Oh why was he born at all?

The only hope in Christian's life was Anne. She was his light. He had met Anne while delivering a sack of potatoes to Mrs. Stoppleman. He liked Mrs. Stoppleman. She was a kind lady and she would sometimes give him food even if he hadn't worked for her. He had tried to run multiple errands for Mrs. Stoppleman always secretly hoping to meet Anne, but he did not get to see her often.

Once while he was cleaning the yard, he heard Mrs. Stoppleman shout out for Anne to hide as someone knocked on the door. Christian was befuddled. Why would Anne need to hide from whoever it was unless...
Christian sank to the ground as the truth dawned on him. There was only one reason why someone would need to hide in Poland those days. Anne was a Jew. As the reality hit him, he was horrified. What was Mrs. Stoppleman doing hiding the Jews!! If any one in the gestapo ever got wind of it, they would kill all of them and their neighbours. Anyone who ever helped Mrs. Stoppleman would be killed. But how would the Gestapo come to know of this? Christian was afraid, but that moment he resolved that this secret would die with him. He loved Anne and he will do anything to protect her. This secret will go with him to his grave.

It started snowing. Christian realized he was late. It was time for him to go home. He did not manage to get any food or money today too. Lucja was ill and she needed medicine and food badly. But how could he buy it when he had no money? He went home which was a sheet of tarpaulin spread atop the broken walls of a bombed house. As he reached home, he saw there was no fire. He cursed Frank, his younger brother. The only task he had given Frank was to take care of Lucja. He kneeled over to check on Lucja and saw that she was shivering. He placed his hand over her forehead to check her temperature. She was burning up. Just as he turned her face towards himself, he saw blood on her face and her neck. His heart stopped. He did not know what to do.

The doctor over at the Gestapo base could help her. He was the only person in this godforsaken place who could. But he was a mean man. Christian carried Lucja on his back the entire way to the Gestapo base. Christian's coat was covered in blood. His sister had stopped coughing blood and was breathing raggedly. Her temperature was soaring. Oh what can he do? How will he save her? She was his responsibility now?
He would do anything to save her, if only he knew what it was that he should do.

The doctor was heavily drunk. He looked at the boy with the girl on his back. The girl was apparently spewing blood. He knew just from the looks of her that she had been ill for quiet a long time now and that he couldn't save her. Why not put the boy to some good use? He met the boy and agreed to save her sister on one condition.

At 16, Christian was a grown up man. He had to do what he had to do.

Christian picked up the receiver at the bakers shop near the Gestapo and made a phone call. He could not bear anyone knowing what he had just done. He then ran over to check his sister at the doctor's place. He stopped as he reached his door. Lucja, his dear Lucja, was lying at the door. What was the doctor doing? Why was she lying there out in the cold? Why was she not breathing? He knocked and knocked relentlessly at the door. There was no response. He kept knocking and after sometime he just stopped. He just sat there looking at his sister.

The dawn came and Christian got up from the doctor's door. He was blank. He couldn't feel anything. He got up, looked at his sister one last time and left her there. He came back to his home, lay down on his bed and tried to go to sleep.

Two days later, Christian sat near the Gestapo base, with a torn out piece of newspaper in his hands. The Gestapo had raided Mrs. Stoppleman's house and killed all the Jews hiding there. Anne was dead. The Gestapo was informed about the Jews' hideout  by an anonymous phone call. Christian sat there staring at the newspaper in his hands. The air was biting cold. Just then the doctor came out flanked by two soldiers.

Christian saw him. He felt the rage rise in him. He picked up a big stone and threw it at the doctor, shouting curses at him. The stone hit the doctor on his head. The soldier standing to the right of the doctor took a careful aim and shot the boy.

At 16, Christian was a grown up man. He had to do what he had to do. Lying there in his pool of blood, Christian wondered why was he born at all?


P.S. - The story is my first attempt at Historical fiction. The only truth in this story is the incidence of Anne Frank's death. The rest of it is just pure fiction.     
   

All in a day's work

He loved the way the sunlight lit her face.

Lying beside her on the bed he felt he was the luckiest man in the world. He adjusted himself and slowly removed his arm from under her head. It had gone numb but he did not mind it. He propped up on the pillow to face her directly and gently removed the curls of gorgeous red hair from her face. He smiled remembering the innumerable times he had heard her fuss about her wavy hair and each of those times he had told her they were perfect. She was perfect. She would always roll her eyes and purse her lips in exasperation and turn away from him but once, he thought he caught her smiling while turning away. Oh he loved her, he loved her so much and lying there beside her he almost choked on his own happiness.

He let his hands trace the contours of her face. She opened her eyes and smiled at him and he was born again.

She said to him - "Sir, your drink !!", in that lovely sweet baritone of hers...!!

Wait, something was not right. He looked into her eyes and then her smile and then into her eyes again - "Say that again".

"Sir, your drink !!", she said in that harsh baritone and suddenly he was in a bar at the counter and there was a man standing infront of him.

"Sir, your martini !!" said the man in that hateful repulsive baritone and he lost it. He wanted to throw the drink on the bartender's face. That damned man! and when he was having such a wonderful dream.

"That's not my drink.", he said through gritted teeth."I want it shaken not stirred !!". 

The bartender looked at him, sighed, shook his head a little, shrugged his shoulders and took the drink back. He looked at the bartender, who the f**k did he think he was? He turned away from the bar, seething. 

His eyes scanned the bar. He looked at his watch, it was time, she should have been here by now. He checked the day, it showed Wednesday today. He also checked the calendar stuck at the top of the wall behind the counter. It indeed was a Wednesday. Then why wasn't she here yet. For the past 3 months she was here every Wednesday and Sunday. He got worried, was she alright  Was she sick? She looked fine this Sunday. She looked in good spirits as she sat at her usual table with her friend. Her friend! He scanned the bar for her. She wasn't in the bar too. He knew they both lived together. Should he try calling her friend? He had her friend's number. After all he had acquired her number after much pain for this very reason. Her table was still empty. He looked at the door again. What should he do? He was really worried for her now. She had never missed a Wednesday!! He took out his phone and started searching for the friend's number. Damn! he didn't remember her name!! What was it? He searched for it frantically and dialed two wrong numbers.

"Can I have two Grey Goose martini, stirred, up, with a twist?", said the soft, silky voice at the other end of the counter and he melted. She was here finally!! He turned to look at her. She caught his eyes and smiled. He quickly averted her eyes and started looking fixedly at the wall behind the counter.

"Sir, your martini, shaken not stirred.", said the bartender with a hint of amusement as he placed the drink infront of him. He involuntary turned towards her and saw her laughing. F**k.Was she laughing at him? Did she think he was another James Bond wannabe. The cursed bartender. He wanted to punch the man so hard.

The bartender brought her drinks. She collected them and walked back to her table. That was it. He will go to her table today and end the misery he had been for the past three months. He would tell her that he is not a James Bond fan and that he truly, madly, deeply loved her. To the extent that he had spent 3 hrs every Wednesday and Sunday at this bar just to catch a glimpse of her. He will walk up to her table today and no he will not be stopped. Come what may.

"You should give up. You don't have a chance with her.", said the bartender. He stood there, with both hands on the counter, looking at her. The bartender then looked at him, sighed, shook his head a little, shrugged his shoulders and went to attend to other customers.

He was frustrated. Who was this man to judge him. He stood up. Straightened his jacket. Picked up his drink and started moving resolutely to the girl's table. He will tell her today. Come what may. She was giggling with her friend. He moved closer to her table. He wanted to turn back, but he kept moving forward. He will tell her. She was in an animated conversation with her friend. He reached the table just infront of her table. He will tell her that she is his life. As he reached her table, her friend leaned in towards her and they kissed. He stopped. Looked at them. They kissed again. He stood there, frozen and blank. She noticed him and asked annoyingly - "Yes?"

He looked at her again. What the hell just happened? He turned back and came back to the counter. He needed to breathe.

"Told you, you did not have a chance.", the bartender said nonchalantly as he cleaned the counter. He looked at the bartender, took his drink in his hand.

"F**k you!!" he shouted as he threw the drink on the bartender's face. Immediately, the bouncers wrestled him out of the bar. He kept shouting "F**k you" at them.

She looked at him. What was wrong with these people she thought. And then she got lost in her girlfriend again.

The bartender looked at him being wrestled away. He looked at her still kissing. Then he sighed, shook his head a little, shrugged his shoulders and got back to making drinks.