The year was 1942, and I was a young Jewish boy who was sent to the concentration camp, Auschwitz. My brother and I were separated from our parents a couple weeks back, and haven’t seen them since. We were attempting to make it across the border to Russia in order to escape the Nazis, but we weren’t fast enough, and they quickly caught up. My brother, Alois, was two years older than me, and went to Auschwitz when we were caught. Unfortunately, he died on the fourth day from too much hard labor.
I was all alone and on the verge of starvation, for I was younger and weaker than everyone else. When we got our small, disgusting portions of food, the greedy would beat me up and take it from me. I eventually learned to take a bowl of slop and run. Run fast and hard, as far as my feet could take me. Then I would hide. Only after the people hunting me down were gone would I start to eat. I would eat all of it in two or three bites, since the food was scarce, but I enjoyed every second of it.
A couple of weeks later, smoke started puffing up from the ovens in which the Nazis would take a large group of Jewish people and burn them until all were dead.…
It rained over the Rosenberg estate.
A day’s worth of packing luggage into the truck and, soon after it left, the clouds arrived. Inside of the several story house, little life was expressed as it once had. The antique clock ticked away, being the only thing making sound for the last three hours. Günther poured himself another shot of brandy, already finished with the bottle set at the mini bar. There was plenty more where it came from and he intended on finishing every last drop.
Wilfried put out the last bit of his cigarette, grinding it into the ashtray, his previous remainders fashioned into a crooked mess of the day. No matter how many he smoked, his hands still shook at the recent news. The only way he could keep them steady was the urge to occupy himself with his psychology book from school. His eyes went through the words, but none of them stuck in his head. It was as if he was reading ripples in a rainstorm, nothing but chaotic lines with so much going on around them.
Despite being only a few years apart, the two of them couldn’t be any more different. Günther had made himself into a powerhouse though unrelenting training, the scars and bulging veins on his skin showing the effort he has gone through.…
I hate my life. I just made some new friends at this stupid school, and now I have to move again because of my father’s stupid new job. We’re moving to the other side of the country. I just wish we could stay in a town for more than a few months, but no. Every job just gets better and better, so we have to move. I’d been doing some research on the new town we were moving into. I’ll just say that there are some pretty messed up headlines for this place. Most of them about kids going insane, some murders here and there. Nothing shocks me anymore considering some of the places that I’ve been.
When we arrived, I got out of the U-Haul truck, and looked up at the huge mansion-looking house.
“Really? Is a house this big necessary for your ‘needed office space’?” I say in sarcastic tone, looking at the dead grass surrounding this house.
“Jordan, watch your tone!” My mother hisses at me.
“He’s just going through his puberty years.” My dad says, chuckling under his breath.
“Doesn’t matter. He shouldn’t be disrespectful.” My mom says, and I walk into the house carrying my things.…
I awoke to the sounds of a siren blaring down the road. Great, another accident. The traffic was the last thing I wanted in the morning while going to work. Still, I had another hour before heading off, so I started my morning routine of taking a shower and brushing my teeth before heading downstairs for breakfast where I saw my son, Michael, eating cereal before breakfast. I grabbed a bagel and sat down on the couch, grabbing my iPad to read the news.
“Terrorist leader Aamir Hadi has threatened the President!” The same old news… Nothing was “new” about it. All this drama for years between the Middle East and good old America. How long had we been at war? I couldn’t remember. Too long, for sure. All these terrorist attacks, and the President just sends in more and more soldiers, feeding a war without end. Pointless as middle school drama, but with more consequences. Whatever, who needs CNN anyways?
Flipping on the TV and putting down my iPad, I noticed more sirens flying down my street. Just then I got an email from the school saying the buses would be late. Must be a big wreck. “Hey Michael, you’re bus is going to be delayed for a bit, ok bud?”
“Alright,” he replied nonchalantly.…
Growing up, my parents told me never to go into the basement. It is kind of interesting now that I think back on it. I was an obedient kid and never did anything that my parents told me not to, but I also never once questioned, until very recently, why I wasn’t allowed to go down those stairs.
Our house was huge. My dad worked in finance, but grew up a country boy before college so, as soon as we had the chance, we moved us out into isolation, even though this made his commute over an hour into town. I loved it, especially when I was younger because we had lots of animals on our property – some wild and some actually owned by my parents. My mom would stay home and take care of the chickens and the geese while I watched and played with them. My mom would always tell me not to get too close with the animals because we would sell some of them from time to time and she didn’t want my feelings to get hurt. I did my best to follow her instructions, but I have to admit, there were definitely some animals I missed when they got sold off.…
For the past few days, I’ve been hearing this intermittent buzzing sound. At first, I thought I’d become used to it and stop hearing it entirely, but to me, it just became more obnoxious over time. It transformed into something akin to a constant, vibrating noise in the back of my head. It was difficult to focus on anything. It became so bad that I had trouble sleeping, and it’s beyond me how my parents never noticed it. You know what they say though. You lose hearing with age, so I wasn’t surprised when they gave me confused looks. Tyler, my neighbor, heard it though, and I was relieved at that. It meant I wasn’t going crazy. He’s actually the one that brought it up when we were in my bedroom playing video games. With him at my side, I became determined to find the source of this noise.
We searched my house first and placed our ears all over the walls. The buzzing sound never seemed to become stronger or weaker, so we went outside. My original thought was that something was wrong with the air conditioning unit. If I was right, it would explain why the sound transferred throughout the entire house.…
Detroit has a bad rap when it comes to crime, violence and drugs. But nothing is worse than having an arsonist plaguing the streets, destroying homes and neighborhoods with a single match.
In 2006 an arsonist managed to destroy a library, a school, an apartment complex and a nursing home within an eight week period. The police were using every resource available to locate this sick ‘firebug’ but they never found any clues or suspects in the devastating crimes.
Two months after the last fire there was a 911 call that made the news, as the call claimed that the arsonist in question was about to strike and sure enough, he did. In the call you can hear the panicked screams as the residents of yet another apartment complex fled for their lives and tried desperately to put out the flames. But the most startling moment came when the caller began crying out in pain as he had become trapped in the burning building, the flames scorching his entire body.
No one knew what became of the mystery caller and it was believed that he had perished in the fire. The building was burned to the ground, leaving almost a hundred people homeless.…
[Author’s note: The historical context of the time period has been altered than what actually happened in history due to the nature of the story being derived from another one of my projects.]
August 19th, 1915
Corp. D.H. Griffin, 3rd Infantry Battalion, US Army
The following testimony is about the occurrences that had happened a week prior as part of the “Thames’s Plan” undertook by the First Rifleman Squad of the 3rd Infantry. The mission objective was to extract a German defector, Col. Hans Dieter von Hendrix, from his family castle behind enemy lines and bring him back to HQ in order to learn of enemy troop movements for the upcoming battle at Strasbourg, on the Rhine. Our detachment consisted of ten riflemen that included myself, a machine gun crew, a captured German armored car, and our CO, Lt. Benjamin Hobbs.
We wore captured uniforms and were armed with German weapons in order to avoid suspicion. On the day of the mission, we went out at dusk around 1900 hours and proceeded to the woods outside our forces’ entrenchment. It was decided to take the long way, in order to avoid being accidentally shot at by our own troops as well allowing for us to sneak behind enemy lines more easily.…
I was staying at a hotel in Chicago Illinois during a business trip and I was going to stay for the whole weekend. It was an older hotel, one that still used small keys rather than keycards to enter the rooms. I didn’t mind, it seemed nice to get away from the onslaught of technology.
When I checked into the hotel it was packed full. A nasty storm had struck, standing many tourists and cancelling flights. No more rooms were available and many people were being turned away because of the lack of vacancy. When I approached the front desk to check in I noticed that all the keys for the rooms on the eighth floor were still on the wall. Not a single key was missing. It seemed odd that an entire floor would be vacant when so many people were all clambering to check in and get to their rooms.
I could see the clerk was stressed out and he was ready to to just give up and go home, so I tried to lighten the mood. “Kind of weird, isn’t it?”
“What is?” The clerk asked.
“How everyone on the eighth floor is missing.”
The clerk gave me an odd look and his face paled.…
Growing up, I always had plenty of books to read. Now, my family and I lived in a modified schoolhouse from a long time ago, so my house always had a creaky, creepy feel to it. It used to be two classrooms. One upstairs and one downstairs. The lower floor became the primary classroom, after leaks had ruined the upper floor. But, renovations made it a house today. Probably why a lot of kids never wanted to come over. Being an only child was, as you can guess, quite boring. Most of you who were only children will know what I mean. I could always go out and get friends, but I just wasn’t very good at talking. So, my parents thought that books would be a good way for me to kill my time. I was only about six when they brought me a whole bunch of books from my childhood. They were those cheap, paperback kind that you see at the bottom shelf of most bookstores, with bright illustrations of kids riding bikes, or dragons, and having adventures with their friends while finding lost treasures.
There were so many, I wasn’t able to finish all of them. In our basement, we had a row of wooden cabinets below a counter top against the wall.…