A Single Flame
Soft shadows scatter across the room like mice, as auburn flames dance and sway beneath a heavy mantelpiece. The crackle and hiss of the fire is accompanied by the rustle of turning pages; the only sounds inside the small lounge room while the rain thumps steadily outside. The room is cosy and warm; the light from the fire casting a muted glow across the dark wood of the walls and ceiling, catching on a silver tea set placed on a low coffee table and lending the room a comforting, homey air.

A bookshelf stands to the left of the fireplace. Its flimsy shelves bow under the weight of many heavy books, all shoved haphazardly beside and on top of each other, fighting for space amongst many well-loved stories.  Well-used and slightly worn, a brass gramophone rests proudly on the mantelpiece above the fire, centre stage and surrounded by sentimental trinkets and treasures gathered from many adventures. Two wing backed chairs sit facing the fire place, both framed in dark birch which gleams dully in the soft firelight as two people sit, a man and woman, reading contentedly while a storm rages behind the walls.

The woman sits closest to the bookshelf; body slumped comfortably against the chair as she flicks through the book in her hands, uncaring and utterly comfortable in the warm room. Her feet are bare as she stretches her legs out languidly to warm her toes before the fire. A roll of thunder rumbles overhead and she sighs softly, secure in the knowledge that she is safe stuffed inside away from the storm.  

The man looks up from his book and squints at the window beside the fire. Old curtains are drawn across the dirty glass, but the two sides do not meet, and the man looks up in time to see a streak of lightning sever the night into chunks of obsidian. He bites his lip worryingly. He does not like the rain, or the storm; the threatening way the thunder roars in the clouds and the lightning strikes like a gunshot across the sky. The man turns his head to look at the woman, studying her soft features and blonde hair, the way her gray eyes flit across the pages as she reads. The woman notices and looks up, the lines around her eyes crinkling as she smiles fondly at the man, and he smiles back, returning to his book feeling more comforted and safe.

They stay that way for a while, the two of them lost in the worlds of literature as the flames dance gold and orange. Night grows older and the man eventually puts down his story, marking the page with a scrap of fabric and rubbing wearily at his eyes. He reaches across and picks up a teacup filled with stale, cold tea. He takes a sip and grimaces, hurriedly placing the cup back on the tray. The woman looks up and huffs out a small laugh, her lips pulling up in fond amusement, and she too closes her book, placing it carefully on the edge of the table. A doorway is set in the wall opposite the fire, opening up to the rest of the house which remains shrouded in darkness.

The woman raises delicate eyebrows and inclines her head towards the doorway, signalling to the man that it is time they retire for the evening. They move to stand up when a sudden, loud banging interrupts the tranquillity of the house.

The man draws in a sharp breath and the couple stare at each-other, wide eyed and fearful as the night shatters around them.

Loud shouting begins to drift through from the door in the hallway and the woman moves quickly, shoving the man into a small cupboard beside the doorway and closing the door, concealing him as she rushes to grab a lantern before pulling open the front door. A gust of icy cold wind permeates the hallway, causing the fire to leap wildly and the shadows to gallop around the room, pulsing and growing darker. A storm of men push through the doorway, their faces’ hard and unyielding as rain water splashes from their uniforms and onto the wooden floors of the hallway. The woman takes a stumbling step backwards as the man watches from a gap in the cupboard door. She tries to keep her face from showing her fear, but the man can see her hands trembling, and he too shakes from forces other than the cold.

The soldiers stomp their way inside, intruding on the humble home and surveying the fire lit lounge room with scorn and disdain. Red and black bands encircle their arms and they display the Federal Eagle proudly atop doe skin caps.

The man watches from inside the cupboard, breath held in fear as a tall soldier approaches the woman. The soldier stares down at the woman, dark eyes hard and cold, the light from the flickering fire throwing shadows across his cheekbones and stiff jaw. He holds his head high, thin lips twisted into a snarl. Rivulets of water run steadily down from beneath his cap to pool on thick, dark eyebrows and the hollows of his eyes. The woman stares up at this menacing figure, her eyes wide and mind racing.

Opening his mouth, the soldier speaks, the words grating and harsh against the sound of the rain, “I am Officer Heinz Brandt, rank Leutnaunt der Reserve, unit Panzergrenadier-Regiment 103.” He takes a menacing step forward as a crack of lightening breaks outside, his silhouette dark and foreboding. “My men and I are here to search your home, we have been informed of a Jewish man seen at this residence.” Here his lip curls in distaste and the other soldiers spit in contempt. “If this is true you must give him up immediately to the Wehrmacht to be punished accordingly for his crimes against the State of Germany and the Third Reich.”

The man in the cupboard shivers and clamps a hand quickly over his mouth to stifle a frightened whimper. He must not be caught. He knows he has done nothing wrong, these soldiers believe him to be a criminal, but he was not even aware of his Jewish heritage until the Führer declared all Jews unsafe and a danger to the nation. He cannot be taken away, he has heard the stories; horrible tales of concrete prisons where joy and peace are sucked from the hearts of many innocent men. Only darkness and pain await him if he is taken, and he knows he will do anything to prevent that from happening.

The woman swallows and shakes her head quickly, “N…no sir, no Jews here sir, just me alone by myself.” She shuffles nervously on her feet, pulling her hands behind her back to stop from wringing them as her eyes dart frantically from soldier to soldier. She attempts a small smile but it fades quickly as the officer stares her down. “I live by myself sir, and I wouldn’t dare keep one of the Judenschwein in my home. Never sir, you’ll find none here; I am loyal to Germany and her Führer,” she had to resist the temptation to flinch as she uttered the derogatory insult, hoping that it would help to convince the ferocious soldiers.

Holding his breath, the man watches through the cupboard doors as the officer steps into the lounge room. The officer surveys the room with narrowed eyes, sweeping over the drooping bookshelf and fireplace, the flames still leaping wildly as the cold wind continues to gust through the still open door. His gaze lands on the tea set, taking in the two cups gleaming in the light; one drained with only the dregs of tea left, the other still half full with cold liquid.

The man watches horrified as the officer steps back, his face twisted with rage, and slaps the woman full across her right cheek.

“You lying b****!” The officer roars and yanks the woman up by her hair as she whimpers and closes her eyes against bitter tears and the harsh stinging in her cheek. “Where is it you traitor, where is the abomination!”

Crashing and hard footsteps fill the air as soldiers up turn the house, the woman still whimpering as the officer continues to pull on her light hair and strikes her again, the skin splitting across her cheekbones. One soldier tears the bookshelf from the wall, casting it aside. Heart breaking as he watches many precious books be trampled underneath harsh boots and lay forlornly amongst puddles of dirty rain, the man feels tears well in his eyes. He aches to go to the woman, to push aside the brutal officer and banish these intruders from their loving home. But he doesn’t dare. He knows that if he reveals himself, it will all be over. They may release the woman, but he will be taken forever and broken by the fury of the Führer.

So he remains hidden away in the cupboard in the hallway as the woman begs and pleads, he voice thick with pain and desperation.

A clap of thunder roars overhead and the wind picks up, fluttering the pages of the books strewn about the lounge room and bringing with it new sheets of rain to coat the wooden floors of the hallway. The fire splutters beneath the mantelpiece, and highlights the sneering face of the officer as he lunges forward to shove his steel boot pitilessly into the woman’s stomach. She gasps and doubles over, chest heaving in pain and fear. She looks up at the officer and he backhands her across the face, splitting her lip and causing her to fall to the side, arm thrown out to brace herself against a chair.

Bloods curls thickly down her chin, gleaming copper and russet as it falls to mingle with the rain on the floor.

A soldier stomps into the hallway and through a doorway into the kitchen. The man can hear as he opens the cupboards, the hinges squealing in protest as he yanks them roughly open. The man can feel his heart beat as it thumps steadily in fear, his breath is coming shorter and he feels as though a storm of wild animals are rolling around inside his chest. Another soldier breaks from the lounge and makes his way into the bedroom, wrenching open drawers and shoving aside the bed. Still the man crouches in fear amongst dusty coats and muddy boots.
Becoming impatient, the officer reaches across his body and pulls out a Luger, pointing the muzzle straight at the woman’s head. The iron barrel shines threateningly in the firelight, as the woman stares up into a chamber of death.

The officer takes a slow step forwards, bringing the end of the barrel to press against the side of the woman’s temple. Her breath is short and ragged as he leans over and snarls in her ear, “Tell me where it is, b****, or I’ll blow off your pretty little head.” The woman gasps and her eyes flicker over to where she knows the man is hiding, safe. The man catches his breath as he see the pure terror on her face, but what horrifies him the most, is the look of resignation shining in her eyes. She knows she will die, and she knows there is nothing that she can do to prevent it.

In that moment, the man truly loathes what he is. If only he weren’t a Jew, he would not be watching as his home is destroyed by barbarians. If only he weren’t a Jew, he would be able to live a happy, peaceful life with the woman he loves as they spend their days exploring the world through the pages of a book, drinking tea and finding joy with each other. In that moment he wants for nothing more than to forsake his heritage and be recognised as a proud German citizen. He never asked to be what he is, he never did anything to deserve the way the soldiers have come into his home and destroyed his life, and he cannot fathom how or why this is what the world has come to; the destruction of the Jewish race and the implantation of the superior Aryan race.

The man makes a decision.

His eyes narrow dangerously and his lips pull back into a snarl as he bursts out of the cupboard and towards the woman and the officer. He reaches for the first thing he can find, the lantern, and brings it up to smash against the shocked officer’s head. The woman looks up at him in surprise and he reaches for her, but the officer has already recovered, and the man finds himself being thrown against one of the birch wood chairs with a shout.

The breath leaves him in a harsh gasp as he topples over the chair, and he hears the woman screaming his name. Running footsteps pound down the hallway and the officer raises the gun, face painted with rage, to aim at the fallen man. He gropes around until he finds something hard, and he pulls up a book, pitching it hard straight at the officer’s face. The officer cries out in shock and anger and trips over the coffee table, falling hard against the sodden floor. Staggering to his feet, the man stumbles over to the woman and grasps her by the hand, pulling her out into the hallway.

Two soldiers crash into the couple, and the man manages to duck just in time to narrowly miss a fierce jab to the face. He yanks the woman forward, stretching his arm being him as he streaks his way to the door.

Rain stabs him viciously in the eyes, soaking his jumper and trousers in seconds as he makes his way past the doorway. Suddenly a loud shot barks through the night, and the man turns in horror to watch as the woman jolts, letting go of his hand as a crimson flower blooms to life against her chest. The woman’s eyes widen in shock and her mouth gapes open in a soft ‘o’. Her blonde hair clings pitifully to her skull and her bare feet slip and fumble against the wet wood of the threshold, and she tumbles to the ground, eyes open and staring lifelessly out into the night.

“No!” the man cries, reaching forward, towards his lover in despair. To hold her, one last time, only to be forced backwards as something hard and cold buries itself in his chest. Glancing downwards he sees a matching flower spread itself outwards from a gaping hole above his heart.

The man looks up, over the dead woman’s body and through the darkness to see the officer, silhouetted against the doorway, gun smoking and a triumphant grin smeared across his hateful face.

As the man falls, the last of his life washing away with the falling rain, a single flame dances beneath the mantelpiece. Forlorn and alone, the flame flickers once, and is snuffed out, leaving only darkness in its wake.