Response to picture prompt from Doctor Mikhailangelo (BA Hons)

Upon emerging from the shelter the child was greeted by the sight of a necropolis.

Around him the groans of the dying disturbed the calm of the night air. The child, apparently unaware of his surroundings, yawned, stretched and promptly lay down to sleep in the damp grass of the garden.

As had happened before the air raid, a light rain began to fall gently. Several minuites passed. The groans of the dying ceased gradually as they each completed their metamorphasis into cadavers.

Still the child slept.

An hour passed. And another. Other than the young boy no survivors, if there was any, had appeared in the dead streets, or had even left their shelters. The light rain stopped.

Eventually, the child woke with another yawn and stretch. He coughed lightly and began to walk, seemingly without destination.

Quite some time passed. The child's apparently aimless march came to a conclusion. Right outside the derelict ruins of a bakery.

The first sight which greeted the child was a charred corpse. Undeterred, the boy climbed over the shop counter and, in a manner that mos would call callous, stepped over another unidentifiable corpse as he made his way to the back.

"Mutter?" The child shrieked. No response. He tried again, his small voice louder this time, once more to no avail. Feeling scared and alone, the child began to cry, tears flowing freely down his young face.

A light tapping could be heard above the childs sobs, though he took no notice himself, instead electing to continue his hopeless weeping. The tapping came again, louder this time. The child looked up. The tapping repeated itself once more, then stopped. The young boy got to his feet and walked over the trapdoor to the basement. A woman's muffled voice could be heard. Elated, and hoping to find his mother, the child grabbed hold of the handle and pulled, opening the trapdoor.

The face he was greeted with was not that of his mother. Instead he saw the elderly woman who had lived accross the street from his parents bakery for years.

"Danke!" She exclaimed, barely looking at the childs face. Sheer glee had overpowered her. She lauched herself at the terrified child, wrapping him in a tight embrace.

A second figure emerged from the trapdoor. A young, bearded man who looked around twenty. A man who had a face littered with scars and a nose that had been broken so
many times that it was completely flat. The child recognised him as the womans son.

Unlike her, he did not appear pleased to see him.

"Juden!" The man yelled, his voice filled with venom and rage. The woman gasped and released him, stepping back. Sure enough, the boy had a star of David poorly sewn onto his cheap and dirty jacket.

"Mein Gott! Was sollten wir tun?" The woman asked, wiping his hands as if she had just held a rat.

"Wir müssen es töten. Können Sie sich die Unehre vorstellen die würde unsere Familie belasten, wenn es gefunden würde, dass wir von einem Juden gerettet wurden?" The man replied, malice never leaving his tone. From his grey military trenchcoat the man drew a pistol. The woman nodded, a smile coming to her face.

The boy did not even have time to start crying again before the bullet smashed through his skull.

HOLY CRAP!

What?

That was great. The apparent oblivious nature of the child at first was greatly described and the ending was quite nice too. I can imagine the shot being fired in the bakery.

It was an EXCELLENT write. I didn't see that coming at all. HOLY CRAP seemed to be the only response my brain could find.

Oh.

Thanks alot, really

As amazing a write as that was, I thought I was the only doctor here, Mister. <.<