Works of Fire

One day in English III AP/DC, we had nothing to do, so my teacher decided to make a fun activity. We read "Lottery" (forgot the author's name, how irresponsible of me) which had a really dark twist to it. And so for the sake of Halloween, we created our own story, but I had a chance to polish my friends' concepts into something *more beautiful*. Story is based on Wolfenstein: The New Order and the song "Haus in Neu-Berlin" (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A_ryo87sWXo). Oh yeah, first time uploading something on this website, so it's not //that// stellar, but either way... critique if you like! That's how I get better... Also keep in mind that this was written within a span of 45 minutes (AKA in span of one class period).

WORKS OF FIRE

JULY 4, 1950 – 6:30 P.M.

A crowd of hundreds walks into a large stadium, built upon pillars of concrete. Excited laughter and chatter filled the stadium with liveliness which broke the calm evening air. The radiant sun hung low over the sky, settling slowly over the horizon and bringing forth the shadows of stadium.

The crowd continued to talk until a loud voice boomed over their heads, silencing and calming the eagerness.

The deep voice announced, “Welcome to the Flash Stadium.” The crowd looked around in awe. “It has been hard evacuating the district, but we did it. We moved you to a safe place to care for your children and existence.” The crowd cheered in approval.

“So since the process was very long and that our sacred holiday is nearby, we decided to… present a show of brilliant Fireworks,” he continued as the audience settled in. “The show will begin at 7, when the sun sets. In the meantime, stay at rest.”

JULY 4, 1950 – 6:45 P.M.

The sun remains low, but continues to fall, dragging the warmth and light with it as it descends into its nightly sleep. The crowd still shifts excitedly, waiting for the sunlight to make way for the colorful fireworks. But the sun doesn’t want to match its energy to the crowd. Instead, it takes its time, enjoying the last few moments and memories of the day.

The children ran around, screaming in glee as they chase each other. The adults sit on the stadium field, looking up at the beautiful sun that illuminates the clouds in a bright orange that drift in an elegant gust that blows from the west to blow the Sun away. But the Sun remains calm, and slowly sinks.

JULY 4, 1950 – 6:50 P.M.

The screen on the west side of the stadium lights up. The screen stuttered before displaying a countdown of 10 minutes. The children looked at the clock as each second ticked away, flickering a new number as the sun falls. The sun now has entered the horizon and its aura begins to fade as the sky darkens. The last lit spots of the sky twinkles as it begins to lose life.

But the enthusiasm of the crowd negated the approaching darkness. They moved around, lighting the dark corners of the stadium with shouts of glee and chatters of happiness.

JULY 4, 1950 – 6:51

The stadium lights flicker, making sharp snaps before finally shutting off, covering the entire crowd in partial darkness. The Sun’s rays remain in the sky, lightly illuminating traces of shadows, but the rays have been weakened against the shadows.
A child runs up to her mom and hugs her. “Child,” she said. “Why do you hold me so tightly? Your friends are over there, go off and play with them”

The child tightly clenches his fists on her dress. “It’s a little dark,” he replied as he nuzzles to her arm. “I don’t like the dark.”

The mother smiled and stated, “Well my dear child… The Sun maybe weakening in its strength to stay in the sky, but remember my dear, there’s always another light to replace it.”

“Like the fireworks?”

“Yes,” she said, tilting her head. “Just like the fireworks.”

“But what about the warmness of the Sun? Fireworks don’t have warmness!”

The mother held the child’s shoulders, “There’s plenty of warmth here. The community, neighbors, friends, family, and me. But if you don’t find that satisfying enough, just remember, the one who thinks of the cold, will be cold. The one who thinks of the warmth will have a blazing heart.”

JULY 4, 1950 – 6:57

The Sun has fallen, pulling the aura of warmth and light with it. The shadows have fallen upon the crowd, but they still had an energy that synchronized with one another.

JULY 4, 1950 – 6:58

Slabs of steel now enclose the crowd, making a loud thudding echo in the stadium. Titanium curtains fall, covering the windows, making loud metallic noises. The crowd then fell silent.

A voice came on the speaker, “There will sparklers and small harmless fireworks to your right. At 6:59, they will open, and feel free to grab as many as you want, children and parents. At seven, they will be available for use. Until then, they will be locked.”

JULY 4, 1950 – 6:59 P.M.

The children run to grab the small sparklers and fireworks. They grab them by the handful and shove them into their small pockets. The child came back to his mom and showed her the small metallic ball. “Ah, new looks for new fireworks, huh?” the mother said. She held up the ball and looked at it. The fireworks were coated in a brilliant red wrapper, lined with reflective gold and silver strips and streamers. A plastic pin was firmly bolted into the top of the ball. Engraved on the pin were the words, “PULL ME” with a small smiley face drawn all around the pin.

The child exclaimed, “You can’t pull the pin yet mother, it’s not 7!”

The mother smiled and nodded as she handed the small ball of fireworks back to the child.

JULY 4, 1950 – 7:00 P.M.

The crowd is oblivious to the spectacular event that is about to occur. “The time has come,” the announcer announced. “Enjoy… the lights." The adults pulled the pins and threw them far from them, but the children, assuming that the fireworks were harmless, threw them at each other.

The balls then flashed a bright white light, emitting a sharp metallic ring throughout the stadium.

JULY 4, 1950 – 7:30 P.M.

Two tall men walk through the stadium. Their shoulders were broad, and their structure overall large and muscular, both standing over six feet. They were uniformed in a black trench coat, decorated with medals of black silver and black stripes traced with lines red; boots were black and shiny, polished last night with care and passion; hats were streamed with strings of brilliant gold and scarlet which was highly visible from a distance; black leather gloves covered their large hands, but still appeared large and strong. Gas masks covered their faces, black and sleek, replacing their eyes with a reflective orange, giving them a soulless look. The taller man carried a large, red container which contained a liquid that sloshed around as he walked.

The shorter man reached down and picked up a ball. The ball is much lighter than originally. He tore the wrapper off of the ball, revealing a metallic ball. He turned the ball around, showing a large hole that bore into the ball. Small words were engraved on the ball which read, “J5-FLASH GAS (HYDRO-CHLORATE)”. He stared at the ball for a long moment before throwing it aside and continuing his walk with the other man.

Bodies were scattered throughout the stadium, most with missing limbs and or pools of blood that formed under. A thick mist of white lay low to the ground, entrancing the bodies to ensure their seal of death. The mist crawled slowly and steadily, claiming the last few traces of life that remained on the field and absorbing the warmth left behind.

The shorter man then pulled out black pistol from under his trench coat. The shorter looked at the taller men and asked, “So, no firing squad?”

“Nah, too boring,” the taller one replied with his deep resonant voice, slightly shaking the container, chuckling.

“And no artillery shell?”

“I called the team off. It’d be a mess to clean up. We can re-use the stadium again if we do it this way.”

A child then crawled from the mist with a path of blood, opposite of his direction. “Mom… I’m so cold… It’s so dark… Where’s your warmth…” He coughed out blood, shaking uncontrollably while gripping the field’s grass with unskilled hands.

The shorter man grabbed the child by the scruff. “Hey, you got a live fish. What do we do?”

“Well he is cold,” he pointed out as he showed the shorter man the red container. They both nodded in unison.

“Well, if you’re going to do that, you’ll need a lot more than just one container.”

“One is enough. Their clothes will catch on.”

The shorter chortled and turned his head to the taller man. “So, how about a song?”

“Russian or German?”

“You know the answer,” he replied as the taller man chuckled.

“Es gibt ein Haus in Neu-Berlin,” he began as the shorter man chuckled and bounced in rhythm.

As they continued to walk into the stadium, the kid uses all his effort to pry his hand while the taller man unscrewed a red container. The child whimpered softly as he squirms under the robust hand but eventually gave in to his doom. Drops of his life continued to pour out of him.

The taller man continued to sing a deep voice. “…man nennt es Haus Abendrot.”

“Please,” the child whimpered softly but the men ignored the plea of the dying child. What more is there to feel pity for the child when the men’s heart already bore a hole from the troubles of past times? Such heart only leaves cold and dark memories, leaving no room for mercy or happiness. The only room left was the lust for blood to quench the thirst of their deep anger. These men were the singers of death, taking death as a normal behavior since life has refused to offer them the luxury of what would be considered a normal life in society.

“Es war der Ruin vieler guter Jungs…” the taller man sung as he swerved and placed his hands behind his back.

The men walk into the mist, dragging along the kid. He choked and convulsed violently as death seeped deeply into his lungs, claiming the last traces of his warmth and life from his heart and soul. He squirmed more and more but the hand continued to have a firm grasp on his neck. He then ceased resistance but continued to shake and convulse. The men eventually disappear into mist, leaving only a trail of blood left behind from the child’s already present wound.

“…von mir, mein Gott lebt ich not.”

Liquid sloshing was heard, then the sounds of fire crackling.