I stare down at the subhuman filth in front of me in disgust, my eyes roving over her weak less than human body Her hair is dark and curly her eyes darker still with little light still in them her pale skin a sharp contrast to her dark fatigues and hair she would almost be pretty were she not little more than an animal. So small so weak... I sneer even as something uncomfortable and tight begins to grip my heart.
"I'm going to repeat this one last time" I draw near her as so to make sure she realizes the situation she is in — not that she needs to be broken since all the work she has been forced to do in the camp has taken care of that for me.
"Where are they" I query, sternly... no response. It doesn't move at all, I can barely notice her chest rising as she breathes, and her eyes show no life at all. Heer Hauptmann is such a pig for making me waste my time with this thing — I can't have fun with a living corpse, for God's sake! I pull out my nightstick and make sure it sees me doing so, this thing will tell me what it knows and it will suffer what it must in doing so.
The child that is what it is is it not? looks away from me and sniffles softly I ready myself to strike it with my nightstick when that pain in my chest caused me to freeze. I stare at it... no... at her, at her frail form, her red misty eyes, and the tears that trail her pale gaunt cheeks and I feel dirty, I look to the stick in my hand and feel like some foul monster, a disgusting ogre crushing an innocent lamb with a stump... I put the baton back in my belt.
What am I doing? I look at her again at her ratty clothes and her skinny form and I shiver she is just a child, how will this accomplish anything? How will torturing this girl, this kid, bring about a better world for my people? How would anyone respect our proud nation for slaughtering lambs?
I suddenly feel ill what has happened to me? This is not what I wanted was it? Was this what I trained and studied for? Is this what I was fighting for what my brothers were dying for? Would my father be proud of me could my grandfather even look at me? What a great man I have become beating up and bullying a starving child what a noble soldier I am. My stomach twists and I cannot even bring myself to look at her anymore, my hands are shaking.
She reaches a hand out to me and when I look at her face instead of the scorn I expected and would deserve I see a look of concern it hurts me more than I ever thought a look could, here she was hungry, weak, and afraid yet she sought to help me? This girl should hate me, absolutely detest me and yet, she was worried for me? If possible the pain I felt in my chest only grew worse.