The Condemned | ✔️

3

Men were starting to get restless in the cramped confines of the room.

Things were off-schedule; they were supposed to have started work by now. They were scared.

Frank made feeble attempts to reassure them, saying how his Company was coming to save them, how he was sure that they would notice he was missing...

But they didn't hear. They didn't understand.

Why is this man plunged into their depths? Why is he healthy? Why is the only detection of sadness the brooding shadows under his eyes, the shaking jibbery of his hands?

"Sir?" It was Aksel again. "They're right you know. We're meant to be working by now."

"You won't work again, with any luck. The Germans - they're fleeing. This place will be liberated soon." His voice grew stronger as hope was planted in his chest, a small seed that could kindle into something life-saving.

"What does liber-liberated mean?" Aksel inquired, tilting his head to the side. His eyes continued to sparkle, despite everything.

"It means you won't have to suffer any longer. A few more hours of being stuck in here, then my friends will come. They'll open the doors and everyone will be free."

"Free. I like that word." Aksel nodded and sat down on the filthy floor, crossing his legs like an eager school boy. "Where do you come from, then?"

"America." He said softly, wistful, bittersweet memories racing through his mind like the hyper course of a fast car, tracing tracks of darkened nostalgia through the maze of his brain.

"Do you have family? I liked my family. My mama's hugs always filled me with warmth."

The sad statement was enough to make Frank sigh. This boy had seen Hell - was still in it - and he didn't understand. What a blessing; what a curse.

"I have a wife. She's beautiful." Frank's voice was now a mere whisper. He tried to picture her euphoric face in his mind, but the image was distorted, grainy... "Evelyn..." Sporadically, his hands shook.

Kissing as the last rays of sunlight painted their bodies pink... Crooked smiles... The shy declaration of love as hands were hold in union... Cascading flowers as they were united forever...

Ha, forever. There's no such thing.

Aksel was nodding. "She sounds nice."

"I had a child, too. Richard. He was about your age." He felt that sensation come on again, the feeling of helplessness, like he was drowning.

"Two years. Two years. Two years." He whispered the words - the separation - over and over again like a prison sentence. He was a prisoner. Not to the law, not to the Jury, but to the War. Held captive in a literal mine-field of horror and hate, blood and gore, hate and suffering.

And for what? AND FOR WHAT?

He started crying again, the tears tracing down his face like his wife's soft kisses.

Aksel reached out and curled up against him, clutching Frank's calloused hand in his own grimy, small, immeasurably thin one.

"It's alright. Everything is going to be okay."

Their roles had been reversed. The adult was meant to comfort the child, but now Frank was the baby gripped in the tantrum, and sweet, innocent Aksel was the one consoling and drying the tears.

It was chaos. It was wrong. It was War.