2009-05-08, 05:31 PM
[COLOR="DarkRed"]English paper. Short story. Huzzah.
Better them than me he would always say.
Better them than me. I always wondered what Albrecht meant when he said that. I guess he meant that he would rather the Jews die than he. I thought that the saying could backfire all too easily; if one of these so-hated Jews won the lottery, would he be saying Better them than me? I doubt it. It would be Better me than them, then. You never hear anyone say Better me than them. It makes one confront the feelings of selfishness that Better them than me alleviates. But that's beside the point. The point is, of course, that none of these Jews will be winning the lottery. No, there are no lottery tickets here.
Isn't that funny though? What if there were lottery tickets for sale here? Every day, a serial number gets drawn out of a hat. If it's yours, you've won big! If not...well there's always tomorrow. Right? Well regardless, I don't need the lottery. I've got bread on my table and a roof over my head. No, the lottery will be for the Jews. Better them than me.
I walk out of the guards' living quarters to find several of the lottery contestants huddled together near one of the bunkers. They looked at me and dispersed quickly. I hadn't made any sort of sound or face to suggest I was upset about their meeting this way; it was just the uniform that threw them off. It's always the uniform. It must be glaring at them when I'm not looking. Well in any case I made my rounds and saw the shaved head and thin figure of a man I knew once, in a previous life.
It is four years ago. Please, don't do this! he cries out. I don't flinch. I don't flinch much now and I won't in the future, either. I feel pity for the poor man, but my uniform shuts the van door before I have a chance to say anything. So I do what any man would do; I say to myself, Better them than me and keep on going. I round up Jews from every major city in Germany this year, and I see a whole bunch of different people. I work with the whole range of uniforms. There are muscular, enthusiastic uniforms that always shout and punch the disobedient Jews. There are uniforms like me, quiet and efficient; doing a job because they believe in a greater cause. There are uniforms that are the polar opposite, not wanting to exist, not wanting to face the fact that they are slaughtering their fellow man. They are the smart ones. The people like me, we don't realize it's a slaughter. The people that are loud and enthusiastic? Well, they are idiots. Better them than me.
I walk past that man in the present timeframe and take a glance at his number. With a slight chuckle I walk away. His cell block wins the lottery today.
Alright! Everyone in Block 5 come with me! I shout, with the full authority of the Third Reich behind me. No fewer than 100,000 people follow me to the large clear bubble with several large hoses attached to it. It reminds me of the stomach of some hideously large alien, constantly being fed and re-fed.
Alright, inside! Now!
Like a herd of cows, they all silently file past me into the chamber. The last man asks me, What's happening?
You've won the lottery. I say. I don't have much emotion in my voice. There's bread on my table and a roof over my head. Better them than me.
I push a green button. The chamber seals itself. I push a red button. Digestive gasses pour into the stomach of the beast. 100,000 people just won the lottery.
Better them than me.
It's eight years ago. My wife is sitting across from me in my old apartment. We're nearing the end of the worst depression in German history. I don't know that now. We're eating dinner. In eight years, I will push a red button that kills several of her distant relatives. I don't know that now, either. I am eating pasta. My wife made it. We're listening to the radio. We're selling it soon to get through the depression, but at least I have it now. Adolf Hitler is talking. He speaks so brilliantly. His words are of a better tomorrow. I am enticed. My wife says something, but I don't hear it. All I can hear are the words of Hitler, mesmerizing me. I'm sure others feel the same way. My wife says something, louder. I tear myself away from his words, turn down the radio, and say, Sorry, what was that?
I said, since when do you care about politics?
Have you heard him speak? He's going to save us from this mess! I am in awe, amazed that she doesn't see what I see.
Well yes, but I don't know. I've got a bad feeling about him. she speaks timidly, as if afraid she will offend me. She's right to be timid. I am offended.
Don't be ridiculous! He's a savior. I said.
It's 6 months after our conversation about Hitler. I've joined the Nazi party. My wife refused. I told her she's missing the revolution. I told her to convert to Catholicism and we would forgive her. I say we because I believe I am bigger than myself. I am on Hitler's side. The greatest speaker to ever live. The greatest man to ever live. I tell my wife to convert and be spared, to join the conquest. I tell her that she could be with me. She told me to choose between the Nazi party and my politics, or my wife and her religion. I choose the Nazi party. She's crying. She'll be dead in a few years, but I don't know that now.
Better them than me.
It's five years ago. I've just enlisted in the military of the Third Reich and been released from training. I've received my first orders. I walk down the streets where I used to live. I knock on my ex-wife's parents' door. They open it and look perplexed, seeing my uniform. I arrest them. Better them than me. They come quietly. One year later, she will experience a freak accident and die in a concentration camp factory. He will develop the common cold, and I will push a green button. Then I will push a red button.
Better them than me.
It's the present. I've just pushed a red button. 100,000 people have just died. I walk away. It's nothing new. Albrecht walks up to me. He is an idiot.
Which cell block was that? he asks.
Five I respond.
Alright, I'll put them there then. he says to himself and walks away. A new arrival of lottery contestants must be here. Better them than me.
As I walk back from the gas chamber to the holding cells, my commanding officer walks up to me. He is tall and handsome, with chiseled German features. He is like me. He believes in revolution. He tells me that there are too many new lottery contestants for Cell Block 5. I am to take the extras to the gas chambers immediately. Better them than me.
I file them into a line, like before. They follow me like cows, just like before. Everything is the same. The lottery contestants all file into the chamber, silently. My ex-wife is the last one in the line. She looks at me. I look at her. She cannot speak. I will not speak. She files into the chamber. I hit the green button, then pause. There is the red button. The end-all button. The revolutionary button. The button that changes history, 100,000 winners at a time. I think about Adolf Hitler and the coming revolution. I think about money and foreign people and the problems with the world. I think about what Hitler has said. I think about what Hitler has promised I hit the red button.
Better them than me.[/COLOR]
Better them than me he would always say.
Better them than me. I always wondered what Albrecht meant when he said that. I guess he meant that he would rather the Jews die than he. I thought that the saying could backfire all too easily; if one of these so-hated Jews won the lottery, would he be saying Better them than me? I doubt it. It would be Better me than them, then. You never hear anyone say Better me than them. It makes one confront the feelings of selfishness that Better them than me alleviates. But that's beside the point. The point is, of course, that none of these Jews will be winning the lottery. No, there are no lottery tickets here.
Isn't that funny though? What if there were lottery tickets for sale here? Every day, a serial number gets drawn out of a hat. If it's yours, you've won big! If not...well there's always tomorrow. Right? Well regardless, I don't need the lottery. I've got bread on my table and a roof over my head. No, the lottery will be for the Jews. Better them than me.
I walk out of the guards' living quarters to find several of the lottery contestants huddled together near one of the bunkers. They looked at me and dispersed quickly. I hadn't made any sort of sound or face to suggest I was upset about their meeting this way; it was just the uniform that threw them off. It's always the uniform. It must be glaring at them when I'm not looking. Well in any case I made my rounds and saw the shaved head and thin figure of a man I knew once, in a previous life.
It is four years ago. Please, don't do this! he cries out. I don't flinch. I don't flinch much now and I won't in the future, either. I feel pity for the poor man, but my uniform shuts the van door before I have a chance to say anything. So I do what any man would do; I say to myself, Better them than me and keep on going. I round up Jews from every major city in Germany this year, and I see a whole bunch of different people. I work with the whole range of uniforms. There are muscular, enthusiastic uniforms that always shout and punch the disobedient Jews. There are uniforms like me, quiet and efficient; doing a job because they believe in a greater cause. There are uniforms that are the polar opposite, not wanting to exist, not wanting to face the fact that they are slaughtering their fellow man. They are the smart ones. The people like me, we don't realize it's a slaughter. The people that are loud and enthusiastic? Well, they are idiots. Better them than me.
I walk past that man in the present timeframe and take a glance at his number. With a slight chuckle I walk away. His cell block wins the lottery today.
Alright! Everyone in Block 5 come with me! I shout, with the full authority of the Third Reich behind me. No fewer than 100,000 people follow me to the large clear bubble with several large hoses attached to it. It reminds me of the stomach of some hideously large alien, constantly being fed and re-fed.
Alright, inside! Now!
Like a herd of cows, they all silently file past me into the chamber. The last man asks me, What's happening?
You've won the lottery. I say. I don't have much emotion in my voice. There's bread on my table and a roof over my head. Better them than me.
I push a green button. The chamber seals itself. I push a red button. Digestive gasses pour into the stomach of the beast. 100,000 people just won the lottery.
Better them than me.
It's eight years ago. My wife is sitting across from me in my old apartment. We're nearing the end of the worst depression in German history. I don't know that now. We're eating dinner. In eight years, I will push a red button that kills several of her distant relatives. I don't know that now, either. I am eating pasta. My wife made it. We're listening to the radio. We're selling it soon to get through the depression, but at least I have it now. Adolf Hitler is talking. He speaks so brilliantly. His words are of a better tomorrow. I am enticed. My wife says something, but I don't hear it. All I can hear are the words of Hitler, mesmerizing me. I'm sure others feel the same way. My wife says something, louder. I tear myself away from his words, turn down the radio, and say, Sorry, what was that?
I said, since when do you care about politics?
Have you heard him speak? He's going to save us from this mess! I am in awe, amazed that she doesn't see what I see.
Well yes, but I don't know. I've got a bad feeling about him. she speaks timidly, as if afraid she will offend me. She's right to be timid. I am offended.
Don't be ridiculous! He's a savior. I said.
It's 6 months after our conversation about Hitler. I've joined the Nazi party. My wife refused. I told her she's missing the revolution. I told her to convert to Catholicism and we would forgive her. I say we because I believe I am bigger than myself. I am on Hitler's side. The greatest speaker to ever live. The greatest man to ever live. I tell my wife to convert and be spared, to join the conquest. I tell her that she could be with me. She told me to choose between the Nazi party and my politics, or my wife and her religion. I choose the Nazi party. She's crying. She'll be dead in a few years, but I don't know that now.
Better them than me.
It's five years ago. I've just enlisted in the military of the Third Reich and been released from training. I've received my first orders. I walk down the streets where I used to live. I knock on my ex-wife's parents' door. They open it and look perplexed, seeing my uniform. I arrest them. Better them than me. They come quietly. One year later, she will experience a freak accident and die in a concentration camp factory. He will develop the common cold, and I will push a green button. Then I will push a red button.
Better them than me.
It's the present. I've just pushed a red button. 100,000 people have just died. I walk away. It's nothing new. Albrecht walks up to me. He is an idiot.
Which cell block was that? he asks.
Five I respond.
Alright, I'll put them there then. he says to himself and walks away. A new arrival of lottery contestants must be here. Better them than me.
As I walk back from the gas chamber to the holding cells, my commanding officer walks up to me. He is tall and handsome, with chiseled German features. He is like me. He believes in revolution. He tells me that there are too many new lottery contestants for Cell Block 5. I am to take the extras to the gas chambers immediately. Better them than me.
I file them into a line, like before. They follow me like cows, just like before. Everything is the same. The lottery contestants all file into the chamber, silently. My ex-wife is the last one in the line. She looks at me. I look at her. She cannot speak. I will not speak. She files into the chamber. I hit the green button, then pause. There is the red button. The end-all button. The revolutionary button. The button that changes history, 100,000 winners at a time. I think about Adolf Hitler and the coming revolution. I think about money and foreign people and the problems with the world. I think about what Hitler has said. I think about what Hitler has promised I hit the red button.
Better them than me.[/COLOR]