Flickering Lights- Ch 1

In front of my glazed purple eyes it is gently swaying side to side, my eyes swollen shut. But through the crack I can see the metronome pointer waving back and forth each time sending an electric current throughout my beaten body. The light flickers in the middle of the room it swings in front of me illuminating them. It leaves me in the dark…then it returns leaving them unseen. I would rather be in the dark then be seen by any of them. I am hoping to my last hearts content that they would forget me here. I can see a double wide window in front of me when the light passes. A guard walks passed the window occasionally on what seems like forever. There is a weak street light outside illuminating half of the sidewalk out front. I twist my head to the right and they are sitting at the table playing poker. A man laughs as he wins the pot. In the middle of the table lies a Tokarev pistol aimed at my body yet nobody is holding it I can feel the bullets pierce my skin. Beside that leaning on the table is my Kar 98. The light shines on the metal and glistens. The bolt action is pushed in and it is fully loaded ready to fire. I can see my other things beside the table as well. My bag leans up to one of the table legs with my journal half open sliding out of my bag. There is more ammunition in my bag as well as some survival essentials. My army issue knife is in there, letters to my sister, razors, and other unimportant things. My helmet is on top of my bag an ace of spades sticking out of the front and a picture of my mother in the top of the roof.

A man gets up and walks past me the light swings and smacks him in the side of the head “Чертов свет” He yells, and he looks for something to destroy in anger. I think fast and translate it back, Bloody Light my limited Russian learned from weeks in and out of these camps. He picks up my Kar 98 off the side of the table. My heart starts to race as I squirm in my chair trying to get out; I manage to break the wire that is electrocuting me and its returns fire with a strong electric current. I drool a bit and spit drips down onto my chest. The current stops, but I still have a major dilemma. The metronome is still there ticking back and forth. And he is still walking towards me with my gun in his hands. He lifts his arms up and all I can do is look up, it is one of the last things I see with my squinty eyes in the night light. He rifle butts me in the face between my eyes. “Пребывание вниз немецкий подонки!” it rings over and over again in my head and I finally translate it back. “Stay down German scum.” Everything fades to black and I slide down in my chair in a slump. And the high pitched scream in my ears comes to a stop.

I wake up it is roughly 5:30 am everything fades into motion. The men are still here one is sleeping on the table the other one is walking smoking his pipe. The other two men are gone then in the darkness I can faintly see men running every which way in the faint light out front. Gun bursts break out all around me; I try to escape my ropes in this wretched chair. My back is stiff and I lean to my side knocking over the metronome it hits the floor hard and breaks the back flips up facing me. Made in Germany it says on the back piece in fine black print I read it and a sense of irony flows over me. I continue to try and tip my chair and finally fall hard much like the metronome but I feel it in my ribs, it is hard to breath. My body feels sharp pains and is suffocated by oncoming pressure. The man that is smoking in the room with me grabs his gun and starts to load it. The other one wakes up and reaches for his and starts to prepare. I hear a tank shell whizz through the air and it lands on the building next door chunks of rock fly up and hit are door and shrapnel pierces the walls. I squirm my way out of the ropes with searing pain shooting through my body like bullets. The legs broke off the chair in the fall and the ropes loosened.

I manage to slide my way out of my chair, I try to climb up but I fall on my face. The gun bursts are much louder now and it is a steady bang of artillery smashing the ground and destroying anything in its wake. I stand up fully this time and walk around sort of tipsy the man loading his gun gets up and decks me again I fall on to my knees. I crawl nearer towards the front window. I stand up and grab one of the chairs and run to swing it at him. A bomb drops right in front of the window. As I turned my head during swinging the chair I am blown back across the room by a shock wave. Glass chunks left in my body, blood drips down. I am now leaned against the far wall my head tipped blood dripping down. I look to my left and I see his leg and I turn my head to the right the other man is bleeding profusely out of his chest. I feel the pain my self and notice my tags on the ground it reads;
Gruppe A
I fall asleep once more and think of home and my life flashes before my eyes during this short sleep.

Flickering Lights- Ch 1


Whitby, Canada

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Artist's Description

If you find any errors leave a comment or note me. I don’t bite and I am not afraid of critique.

By: Jonah Mullen

You may not publish copy or share this work. All rights reserved.
Copyright Jonah Mullen 2009

If you want use, feature or distribute my work. E-mail or bubblemail me.

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