Blitzkrieg: Awakening

= 𝐁𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐳𝐤𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐠: 🅐🅦🅐🅚🅔🅝🅘🅝🅖 By 𝖑𝖎𝖋𝖊𝖔𝖋𝖙𝖔𝖆𝖘𝖙 =
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 THIS IS NOT AFFILIATED WITH THE PASTA “MEINKRAFT: WELTKRIEG”. IT’S IN AN ALTERNATE UNIVERSE FROM OUR REALITY, AND EVEN THOUGH IT MIGHT GIVE YOU DEJA VU ABOUT MEINKRAFT: WELTKRIEG, THIS PASTA IS COMPLETELY DIFFERENT FROM THAT.
=== Chapter One ===
On the 7th of February, 1947, a boy was born. When he was conceived, a firebomb only 2 kilometers from the house he would be born in was launched by Nazi Germany, the fifth firebomb that week. Miraculously, that boy survived. It was a tale told for decades after World War II.
In his toddler age, the child kept asking why the world around him was made of geometric blocks, and his mother told him fantastic tales of folklore, and without her help, he just got used to it after a while. Before that, though, it seemed strange to him why everything was cubic, and why trees never fell down, even after the Nazis blew them up with rocket launchers.
When the boy was old enough, his mother told him tales of World War II, about the tragedy in Hiroshima, even though the family had to keep moving to different areas every week. The boy’s name was Eragon, of all things. His mother and his father, even though the second World War was raging on, and the world seemed like it was about to end any second, tried to carve a good life for their son. When they used to hide in small bunkers they could hardly breathe in, they assured Eragon that this nightmare would end soon.
Two years later, young Eragon was twelve. He got used to screams, blood, and gunshots. Every month, he saw the Nazis put fifty people in a line, take a machine gun, and shoot them all until they were a messy pile of flesh. On Christmas Eve, however, his parents were some of the people in that line. Eragon was overcome with distress. The Nazis’ guns were so large, and he knew he would be blown to bits the second he came out. He had nothing to do. He didn’t even know whether his parents knew that their son was watching them die.
BLAM
BLAM
BUDDABUDDABUDDABUDDABUDDA
”PLEASE”
”NO”
”I BEG YOU”
”SPAAAARE UUUS”
And that was it. Eragon felt his eyes become damp. It was just a small cry at first. Then some sniffing. Then weeping. He had his arms in his heads, and he dared not go out. He sat there for two hours, trembling, and he sat there even after the Nazis were long gone from that place. That night, he cried himself to sleep. When he woke up…
He found himself in some… camp. One of those ones that his mother told him to avoid, one of those ones where his father said that Hitler killed the Jews, which he heard the Nazis shouting about. “Put him in tze concentration camp,” they said. And he could see a nice big wall in front of him made of iron blocks and electric barbed wire on top. By now, he didn’t know what to do. He was done for.
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2 HOURS OF SILENCE LATER
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Eragon stayed there, shivering. He saw no one in front of him. He was starving. The sky seemed to be blood red, and his head throbbed like hell. His paralysis ended only when he got to his senses and brushed against the ground, standing up. It felt strange to be standing after so much time. His legs were asleep, but he limped towards a cabin near him. He opened the door a tiny bit and peered in. Empty.
He wondered why it was so silent there. Normally he expected to hear the screams of dying Jews and gunshots. But there was only stillness in his vicinity. The sun was setting. When he entered the cabin, he caught a whiff of the aroma of a loaf of bread. He ran towards it and wolfed it down, crumbs all over the place. He stayed there for thirty minutes and ate some food and water he found.
Then, at the moment he was finished with another loaf of bread, he heard footsteps. Eragon froze. He hastily tried to stand up and slipped. Before he could groan, he slid under a cabinet and hid the breadcrumbs only seconds before someone burst through the door. “Vhere is tze boy?” A tall muscular man inquired. On his pixelated torso lied many medals. He looked like he was the one in charge, like he was important.
Another man just by him handed him a file with Eragon’s name on it. The man thumbed through it, grunting. “Another Jew. Deliver a bullet to tze head.” Eragon, for one, knew he wasn’t a Jew. His parents weren’t religious. “But… sir…” said the other man. “Vhot?” snapped the man. “Sure, tze superintendent said vee should spare tze children, but, and I mean zhis in tze sincerest way, but fuck him.”
Eragon was careful not to make a noise. He knew that these people must have killed hundreds of men, women, and children, and after all that, they decided all Jews are scum, regardless of age or gender. I’m not religious, fuckers, he wanted to scream at them, but at this point he wondered whether it really made a difference. “I’m not searching tze facility for some insignificant boy. Let him be.” He heard this coming from the same man ready to kill him. And it seemed to him he said this as if he was being stopped from doing something he wanted to do.
Eragon was relieved, but still tense. He wasn’t completely calm, because if they found him without having to search the whole camp, they would completely change their mind and blow his brains out. He waited impatiently for them to exit, and waited a good ten minutes before he crept out. The electric barbed wire wasn’t working anymore and wasn’t as painful. He finally decided to squeeze through a small hole he found on the bottom of the gate.
When he forced himself to get in the hole, he could hardly fit in. He painfully pushed himself through. Then he emerged outside, his arms greatly bruised. He was at his knees, sobbing and eventually running away from the camp. Over the following days and months, he lived a traveller’s life. He kept walking through miles of thick forest and lived off of sour berries and nuts. He hated the taste of them, but he was happy to be alive. After a few weeks, he found a village not too far from the forest.
He could see it in the horizon. Hundreds of tiny little lights. He followed a road that went on for 3 miles before he came upon a small cliffside, and on the valley under it the village was built. He summoned his spirits and jumped down, surprised at how little it hurt. And, when he saw the village, for once in many months, a true smile came upon his face.
=== Chapter Two ===
The boy walked on with a thoughtful look on his face. He was certain that when they saw the hole in the concentration camp, they would immediately assume that he escaped. At least he could lay low in this village for a while. Up ahead, there was a sign which proclaimed to Eragon: “WELCOME TO ERZAGRAD”. Just as he was about to enter the town gates, a guard suddenly appeared in front of him. “Wait, boy,” he said. “Are you a Jew?”
Eragon frightfully replied “No, sir. I-I’m non-religious.”
”Well, boy, it looks like the Nazis are going to take hold of this town, and we want to remove all the Jews in advance.”
Eragon was remorseful. In Hitler’s wake, every area in Europe was sharing his same hate to the Jews. For a second, he wished he could stop that, but a second later his brain told him that such things never happen, and it’s no use wanting do them. He was brought into the town and lived in the orphanage, but he was sure that having new parents wouldn’t help the situation of World War II. He wished more for an end to this nightmare, and heartily wished to avenge his parents.
Then, he sorrowfully thought of his parents’ demise. They got killed along everyone else. They were insignificant in the pool of other people who were going to be killed. He felt that they at least could have died heroes. And he was ashamed of this thought. He looked on at the ceiling and silently cried. His parents were dead, and he couldn’t do anything about it.
He was the oldest boy in the orphanage. But he didn’t care about that, and by day he mindlessly helped people do daily chores and raise money, and by night he suffered nightmares of him being shot… being killed. One thought flowed into another, and he was thinking about his parents. Then off to politics. He was so confused about politics. He just couldn’t understand who were the good men and who were the bad men.
He always wondered why there were no good people in World War II, rather people that both killed million and saved millions. It was like a terrible gray area for Eragon. At this point, he was so upset about World War II that one day, he simply burst. He burst into tears in the middle of a history lesson at school. It was terrible. He worried less about being humiliated by his students and more about the fact that this war was not ending… but merely beginning, and that meant more grief for Eragon.
One night, he crept out of the orphanage dormitory and ran away. He ran down the main road and outside, exiting Erzagrad. He had such a good time there, but he had to keep moving. He figured the firebombs would get the rest of Europe easily, and he got to emigrating from Europe as fast as humanly possible. Over the months, more and more firebombs erupted. He kept moving down the coastline until he saw the border, a large wall made out of cracked, mossy stone bricks.
Eragon could get a good grip on the stone bricks easily, and climbed up. There was no barbed wire at the top like the concentration camp, maybe because this decaying border was made somewhere in 1874. When he was at the top, he sat down and looked at the lands beyond. He quietly sobbed.
Then he climbed down and started his journey.
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1 HOUR OF TRAVELLING LATER
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Eragon could see the sun setting in the horizon. A part of his brain felt like he was in no man’s land, but the other quickly silenced the first and reminded him he was in Switzerland. He hoped that he could be safe from Hitler’s propaganda here. He was sweating, so he laid down and rested.
Hours later, he woke up with a start. He had no idea whether it was a bad dream or something else, but he forgot whatever woke him.
[WIP]
Category:Dramapasta
Category:Blitzkrieg Series
Category:Long Pastas