The Lost Nishmas Brother

The story of a Jewish man in a workcamp during the Great Depression.

“Today:

I signaled for my boys to aim at them.  “All we need is your supplies,” I said as I pointed my gun right at her wrinkled face.  She looked like she was in her 40s.

I told my men to take the other women away.  “Do what you want with them.”  I moved closer to her, my rifle still aimed at her head.  She handed over the supplies with a look of hatred.  As I took the supplies away from her, I noticed she was reaching for a gun that was next to her.  That’s when I shot her.”

I look at my father’s journal entry in disbelief.  The idiot actually wrote down that he murdered this woman.  My philosophy on murder is as follows: “Only for the family, and don’t leave any evidence.”  I throw the book in the fireplace, watching as the evidence turns into ashes.

“Father, you can be very stupid sometimes,” I say to the fireplace.  I sigh and get up off my knees.

Then, I hear the sound of footsteps behind me.

I turn around and see a little boy in pajamas, holding a teddy bear. “Mommy?” he says, whimpering.

I point to the corpse on the wall to my left.  “Her?“  I ask innocently.

He turns his head toward the corpse, and then looks back at me.  “Mommy?!”  He runs to her, and goes on his knees.

“Oops!”  I say with a smile on my face.  I walk out of the room; the sound of the boy’s crying lessens as I walk down the hall.  I look behind me one last time before I jump out a window.

I open my eyes instantly.  I look around to see I am back at the work camp. It’s 1935 and I’m still one of Bennett’s charity cases, working for 20 cents a hour.

“Wake up, failures!” the sergeant yells. 

I get up and look at Peter.  “I need to tell you about a dream I had last night,” I say quietly.

Peter sighs.  “Okay,” he says, standing up.

“Help me up.”  I extend my hand toward him.  He grabs it and pulls me up.

“Thank-” I get hit in the stomach by the sergeant’s rifle.

“Today is going to be hell for you, Samhisn!  You better get your damn act together.”  He growls a bit and gets close to my face.  “You got that Jew-Boy?!”

He grunts and walks away.

Peter smiles at me.  “Come on, Jew-boy,” he teases as he walks out.

        I look at him with a confused expression on my face.  I get out of bed, the blankets slipping off me.  I put on my worn-out brown shoes and walk outside.

        I gaze ahead to the breakfast area as I run to satisfy my morning hunger.  I hope it is eggs.  That’s what I need to start a day of forced labor.  Digging, moving heavy things, no women….it’s horrible. 

I walk into the circular building; the bland smell of porridge fills my nostrils.  I sigh before I walk over to get a bowl of porridge.

“Good morning, Sam,” the Major says.

I feel my stomach tighten.  “Hello, sir,” I reply quickly.

He turns toward me, holding his coffee in his right hand.  “You okay?” he says to me as if he’s reading my mind.

I quickly decide not to tell him about this morning.  “Yes sir, thank you for asking.”  I say in the same tone I have been using with him this whole morning.

“Good,” he answers, then he walks to the officers’ table.

I walk to Peter’s table with a bowl of cold porridge in my hands.

“Can I sit?” I ask anxiously.

“Of course!” Peter says, laughing.

I sit down, my head low.  I look around before I start eating my porridge.

A look of disgust is seen on everyone’s face.  “Yes?” I say aloud.

“Why are you eating the porridge?” one of them asks.

“What do you mea-” I look at their plate, which has eggs on them, scrambled eggs. 

“Perfect,” I mutter under my breath. 

I finish eating my porridge and walk outside.  I feel the cool breeze blowing against my ankles.  Such a relaxing breeze feels really nice on a day like this.  But in there, all I feel is sadness.

The sergeant yells:  “Go! Go! Go!”

Everyone runs outside and takes their shovels.  They begin to dig.

I take my shovel and walk there.

“Only a Jew,” the sergeant mutters under his breath.

I look behind me to see the sergeant walking towards me.

Run, I think to myself.  I try to run, but I can’t.  Fear has frozen my body.

“What the hell are you doing?!”  He yells as he approaches closer.

I quickly get my act together and run to the digging site.

From the corner of my eye, I see him walking away. 

“Phew,” I start digging.

I am not a bloody slave, I think to myself.  Why is it that people treat me like garbage in this place?

 

Part 2: Evening

 

“JEW-HERE-NOW!!” the sergeant yells from a distance.

“When will this guy let up?” I mutter under my breath.

I walk over to him, scratching my scalp.  I look him in the eyes.  “Yes?”

“Come inside,” he says, walking inside his office.

I shrug and follow him.  I am not oblivious to the fact that he is going to hurt me.

“This here is a silencer,” he points the gun on the table as I walk in.

“And?” I say, my lack of respect evident.

“And?!  And I will shoot your Jew-face with it.”

I roll my eyes.  Just kill me already, I think to myself.

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?!”  He walks over to me and knees me in the stomach.  The pain is almost part of me after his daily beatings.  “Is that all?!”

He takes my head and slams my face into his desk.

I fall to the floor.

Filled with rage, I feel no pain.  I get up and throw him over his desk.

“You wanna fight, Jew?” he taunts.

“No, I just want to kill you already.”  I grab the silencer and shoot him right between the eyes.

He falls to the ground.

“I’ll meet you in hell, you b*****d,” I bark.

I take the gun and point it to the side of my head.

“One, two…three!”  I pull the trigger.

Nothing comes out.

“No…No!”  I run outside and yell at the top of my lungs.

“Shut up!” I hear someone yell.

I ignore the comment and walk to the room where I sleep.

“Where have you been, the sergeant could be coming any time soon,” Peter says.

“Doubt it,” I reply, biting my tongue .

“Tell me about that dream,” Peter says.

“Alright, so it starts off with a letter…”

When I finish my story, Peter looks at me, his face covered by the darkness.  “You’re screwed up, buddy.”

“Damned depression, it could really do a number on you,” I reply.

I go to sleep and, in my dreams, I replay the murder of the sergeant, over and over again. It’s another night of death for me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

---

 

Author's Note

I am going to put more detail in the story after I finish my book, Publishing Darkness.

Reviews

[Donna M. Burr]

I love the story idea, but it could use some polishing. Though with it being a rough draft (or so I assume) this is normal. It would be a good idea to re-read through it. There are some repetitive problems which can make the story lag a bit, and some parts of the story are very confusing, and would do go with some rewording. If you want to message me we can talk about what to fix and stuff. :3

However, overall, I adored this concept. I am normally not a fan of this kind of story, but reading it made me very interested as to what happened next. I wanted to know about the dream, what significance it plays, and I kept hoping, as I read, I would find out something about the lost Nishmas Brother which is mentioned in the title. Unless I am having a complete blond moment and not seeing it. lol I also wanted to see what consequences come into play after the murder of the sergeant. In other words: I want to read more! :3

[Tea And A Cheshire Smil..]

I really enjoyed reading this actually :) The death of the sergeant as a little short though. It was over and done with in a few lines, so I think you could've added some more action in. Just my opinion though. Over all, a great read. Keep it up and welcome to the site!