A short story I did back in the 8th grade about World War 2 and divine absenteeism. This piece won a gold key regional medal and a national silver medal in the Scholastic Art and Writing Competition.
When the Wehrmacht came, a large flock of birds retreated from the ghetto.
Like smoke, the group rose and dissipated rapidly, leaving the community in the midst of clanging helmets and violently waving rifles. The ghetto had been officially cleared out the day before―the Jews were relinquished of their inhabitancy and transported to an unknown destination. It had all been conducted in an efficient manner―the previous search was indeed thorough and the expulsion prompt. But it would have only been safe to state that the ghetto was nearly empty. For though the chatter of devout rabbis could no longer be heard, and the scent of food was absent from the buildings, somewhere in the closets, floorboards, and attics hid the survivors―the very remnants of the previous liquidation. Somewhere concealed, they lay crying, praying, hoping. When the Germans entered the deserted streets and the seemingly unoccupied houses, no remaining Jew knew if the clop-clop of feet were those of their oppressors, or of a liberating force sent by the heavens.
A fusillade of gunfire erupted in the streets. The sky looked on as houses were riddled with bullets. The armed men released their vile fury in its entirety. One battalion unleashed a terrible barrage of munitions at a seemingly deserted kitchen. Another tore into a bedroom and shredded the furniture with a machine pistol. Gradually, screams began to reverberate around the ghetto. The soldiers brutally attempted to silence the pleas for mercy―and in this intention, the violence escalated.
A number of children were found huddled in a bathtub covered by a tarp, and they were mown down by automatic weapons. A young, blonde haired private rolled up his sleeves and proceeded to plunge a bayonet into the mass of mangled little bodies. Blood rolled down the drain.
A woman wrestled with a colonel. She was clubbed and then executed in front of her shocked family. The body was then tossed out a window.
One middle aged man pleaded with an officer.
“I am a German!” shrieked the desperate individual.
He was shot by a handgun and thrown into a pile of cadavers stacked in an alley.
By nighttime the operation was complete, and the soldiers left the way they came…
When the sniper found his prey floundering through knee deep snow, he pressed the trigger of the rifle. A crack echoed throughout the winter scene. The victim, a diminutive infantryman, fell to the ground without a cry. His bowl-like helmet tumbled onto the snow, and blood began to ooze from the gaping wound inflicted on his chest. The sniper calmly loaded another round into his firearm, and scanned the pure white landscape.
The trees swayed in the wind, releasing a payload of ivory colored fluff. The clouds blotted out the sun, blanketing all vibrancy and smothering the radiance of light. Delicate, ornate snowflakes tumbled from above, twirling with elegance. Suddenly, a quiver in the snow covered foliage disrupted tranquility. The sniper’s reaction was instantaneous―in a moment he let off a shot. The bullet soared and impacted a bush.
An agonizing scream.
A soldier charged out of the hiding place, gripping his forearm. He was bleeding profusely. The sniper redirected his gun to the location of the wounded man. Cautiously, he aligned the scope with the soldier’s breast.
The bullet arched downwards. Instead of impacting the chest, the projectile slammed into the soldier’s left thigh. It dug deep into the flesh, burrowing right next to the bone. Blood pumped furiously through the hole, and the soldier fell to the ground with a thud. The sniper, aghast that he had failed to finish off his foe, irately aimed and fired again.
The other leg.
In the sniper’s haste, the bullet struck the right calf. A moan emanated from the fallen soldier’s body.
“Curses!” thought the sniper. “Am I to strike his other arm as well?”
The wind blew harshly as the sniper reloaded his rifle. The ground on which the soldier lay was now scarlet red. He kept on moaning.
“Now I have you―“
That was precisely the moment when The Maker paused the video. You see, he had been watching the turnout of events from the very moment of the ghetto raid. As The Maker sat on a sparkly cloud in heaven staring at the frozen image on his TV, he couldn’t help but wonder on which planet the events were occurring. Accessing his rather convoluted console, he gazed upon a comprehensive diagram of solar systems and interplanetary masses.
“Ooh, I didn’t notice that black hole there!” he thought to himself.
Finally, after some extensive searching, The Maker found the planet he was looking for: Earth.
“I should have known,” he thought. “Where else would these acts of violence occur?”
Zooming into the locations of the scenes he had viewed on the television, The Maker was greeted by an array of data. He was appalled at the statistics given to him.
“How could 11 million Jews have been murdered under my watch?” he pondered. “And why is there a conflict in the Ardennes? What! 200,000 people have been killed there?!”
At that moment, an aide stumbled into The Maker’s office.
“Sir, the war in Europe is nearing an end!” Squealed the assistant. “See, you can look at the tiny people partying on the console there!”
“Wait, you knew about this conflict?!” inquired The Maker, suspiciously. “Why didn’t you tell me?!”
“Oh―we did,” replied the stunned aide. “We’ve briefed you on the war starting 6 years ago.”
Suddenly, The Maker realized that the aide was correct. He had attended numerous meetings discussing the procession of the terrestrial strife. How silly to have forgotten!
“Well, glad the humans could deal with it in their own way,” The Maker whispered.
And then he went back to the television and watched football… But on the open screen of the console, a mushroom cloud formed over Hiroshima. The sound of the blast was drowned out by a touchdown.