Men make history, but we make men.
Every winter, pretty snowflakes descend from heaven. They seemed to extend their warmth and love down to Mankind. That was what many children called christmas. I used to imagine myself as the knight in shining armour, rescuing my fairlady and the innocent people of the world, from the Evil one.
But, on that fateful winter night, I found myself, out in the cold, as part of the Evil forces.
They were unarmed incapacitated russian children! Why did all of you have to lie and tricked us into such a despicable act? Shameless prevaricator! All they tried to do was to run away from danger, into the forest. I never expected such brutal acts from you, Generals.
I tried to cease the bleeding, I tried to sew up the wound, but to no avail.
Then, of all people, my father came.He dragged me away and took the boy's last breath away with a shot of the pistol. Where art thine conscience, respected one?
-Winter landscapes in Germanic sagas.
I reckon if Albertsch would been given a chance to write a poem,just before he died, this could be what he might have penned down.
Innocent blood shed, on my hands.
Doings that were never mine.
Guilt inflicts me down to my chest
Its time to clear this utter mess.
So regrets not, this i decide,
Beneath this slab of ice, i shall die.
Heartwrenching, thought provoking, tear jerking.
Here's Napola for you.
