My name is Karl. That's what I've been told anyway. Everyone gets a name I hear. My friends at the bottom say they're called Hans and Anna and I have known them for quite a while now. I was born in the Reich like everyone else I know. But my teachers says that there were more. Were.
From a young age I've been told I was special because I was the son of a general. I knew it too. I wore a fantastic uniform to school everyday, yet everyone else only wears normal ones without bright colors. This had puzzled me for a bit but I have learned to ignore it.
My father Heinrich Erik König was a new general in the Reich. I don't see him at all anymore and I don't even know him that well; only that he has blonde hair and brown eyes. My mother, on the other hand, I have grown quite attached too. She was loving and caring, taking care of my every need. Her name was Klara. She also had blonde hair but blue eyes. She taught me the German alphabet, all the numbers, and Die Wahrheit. My mother always kept a copy of it on the third shelf in the living room. We even had the same birthday, April 27. Though I was born in 1968 and not 1939.
My mother would always tell me if the times before the war and during. The scream of air raid sirens and the booms of distant explosions. She said that the war dragged on from 1939 all the way to 1946. "After seven terrible years," she said "it ended. We won"
Now, though, it was 1958, and I have to get ready for school. This is Karl Klaus König signing off.
