Blackbird [One Shot]

My daddy used to say that blackbirds were always the best of the birds. They were the strongest and most intelligent, and they'd always protect their young. But I had never seen any blackbirds where I lived, and when I had asked about them to some of the cooks who I worked with, they would always tell me that I was being foolish, and I should concentrate on my work and staying alive. I never knew what they meant. Why should I concentrate on staying alive? What would happen if I stopped working? I never knew whose potatoes I was peeling, or where the beans that I would split would end up. I never questioned anyone. I had no reason to. I was only a girl, barely 11 years old. The only thing I had ever known was that I was meant to prepare food for the cooks, and help clean dishes when needed. I stayed in the kitchen, and when I was finished for the day, and managed to find a few scraps for dinner, I would head down a narrow hallway, passing by doors that were booming with noise behind them, and retreat into our room - my daddy and I.
My daddy's name is Kasch. I never call him that. He has always been Daddy. I remember when he and I would stay up late into the night, until I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer. We'd just sit there, me leaning against him and him cradling me, telling me stories that he grew up with. Like The Rye-Mother, or The Elves. But my favorite was always the story about the blackbirds. My daddy's name, Kasch, means "like a blackbird." So when he was little, his mother would tell him the story of the blackbirds, and explain that they were better than all other birds, like he would with me.
But I have not seen a blackbird. I do not go outside. And if I did, I doubt I would even see any. For where I live - a place called Dachau - it is too loud for birds to want to stay. I hear booms late in the night that wake me up. Terrible, cracking noises that make me flinch. I do not know where they come from. My daddy just tells me that the noise is only to let the Bad People know not to be bad. He says that when they hear the Boom, it scares off the Bad People, and they go to a place that only they can go to. They stay in that place and never come back. My daddy's job is to scare off the Bad People. He is one of the men that make the Boom. But during the day instead, so he can spend time with me at night. I always ask him to switch jobs, so he can spend time with me in the kitchens, helping to prepare food. But he only shakes his head and says, "Mathilda, someone has to scare off the Bad People. It is for the best."
My name, Mathilda, was my mother's name. It means "strength" or "battle maiden." I like that. I always like to think that I am strong, and will end up a battle maiden. But I am only a small girl. I am never strong. My daddy is the one that's strong.
My mother died when I was only a baby. My daddy never told me why. He just said she's in a better place. I think he misses her. Some nights, when we stay up, I'll pretend to fall asleep, and I see him cry. I wonder if it's something more than my mother. I wonder if it's something I've done. I don't know. All I know is that I love my daddy, very much.

I remember one day in particular, a very important day in my life. I don't know which day it was. I never knew the days. No one bothered to tell me. I was too young, too unimportant. I remember working in the kitchen - like any other normal day. I was sent by Frieda to take out the garbage. Frieda was my favorite maid. She was kind, and gentle, and she never yelled at me. All the other maids were bitter and cruel to me. I never knew why. I figured that bad things had happened to them. Because some days, tall men in dark uniforms would come into the kitchen and approach some of the cooks or maids, inform them of something, and then just turn around, leaving behind a devastated woman. I remember once that after the man left, a woman I knew, Lorelei, had crumpled to the floor and began wailing. A noise I did not like. It filled me with a feeling of dread and sadness. I felt bad for her. I remember the other maids whispering amongst themselves after that, pointing to her every now and then. I wonder if that's what made her so cold to me. She used to be nice before that. But the man had changed her. Maybe it was the other maids. I do not know.

But I do know what I saw that day that I took out the trash. I do know who I saw. And I do know that I did not like it.

I had thrown the bag of garbage into a large bin, and like most days, I could hear voices in the background - always unfriendly, frightening voices. But today, I heard something else. There were wails, like the kind that Lorelei had made when the man left. Mixed in with loud, angry yells. And then I heard it. My daddy's voice. He was part of the angry voices. His was loud, and fierce. My heart beat sped up. What was he doing? Was this the bad people? I had to see. I had to make sure he was alright. I had to make sure the Bad People didn't get him.

I remember my legs taking control of my body. They sped towards the yells, around buildings and through alleys, until I reached an open area. I remember the smell when I first stepped onto the open grounds. It overwhelmed me. It was a horrible smell. A disgusting smell. Why did it smell so bad? I opened my mouth to try and escape it, but it was useless. I gagged and held my breath, but the smell was far too strong.

I remember what I saw there, standing before me. I remember my legs coming to a halt, and standing there confused, gazing across the fields of bodies, to where my father stood - in one of those dark uniforms. What was he doing? Why were there people lying on the ground? Why weren't they moving?

My daddy was with a group of dark uniformed men, all of them lined up. And in front of them, people that didn't look like people at all. They were skinny, and dirty, and looked horribly miserable. They scared me. Is this what the Bad People looked like? They looked so scared, and helpless. But why would they? There was no loud Boom. I wanted to cry out to them, comfort them somehow. I remember seeing what they were wearing: tiny rags, barely covering their miniscule bodies. I remember thinking how much I pitied them; they're shivering, cold forms. How could these be the Bad People? They look like no more of a threat than a bug. And they were so sad looking. Oh, how they were sad. And then the sadness changed to something else. What was it? I remember seeing it on the women's faces when the men in uniforms talked to them. I knew what it was. It was fear. And it scared me.

But then I noticed something else. I noticed the uniformed men in front of them. They were no longer just standing there yelling. They had something in their hands - something that I learned to hate. My father had one in his hands too. What was it? Is that what creates the Boom? Why aren't the Bad People running? I watched as he and the other uniformed men lifted the large Black thing, and aimed it at the Bad People. I flinched as a deafening crack filled the air, echoing off the walls, and my very own soul. My heart stopped. My body froze. A deathly chill ran up my spine, flowing through my body; my legs and arms, to the very tips of my fingers.

What just happened? There was a Boom. But they did not run. They just stopped. They just fell. Why hadn't they run? They just laid there, quiet and still. I felt as if their lifeless eyes were boring into mine. I knew what just happened. I knew what my daddy just did.

Daddy? Why did you do that? Why didn't you make them run? What did they do?

My mouth was dry, and large lump had grown in the back of my throat. There was an ache in my chest that filled my body with pain. I didn't like it. I didn't want it there. It didn't belong there.

I felt like screaming. I felt like pounding on Daddy's chest and demanding him to bring them back. They did nothing. They did nothing at all.

My mouth opened in a silent scream; my voice had failed me. I didn't want to be here. I didn't want to see this. My eyes burned as emotion took over my body and tears tumbled down my cheeks. I crumpled to the ground as my knees buckled. I couldnt take this. I didn't like this feeling. I didn't want it.

I tried breathing, but I couldn't. The pain took over me, my entire body. I hiccupped violently as my body racked with grief. I felt betrayed; furious. Daddy had become the monsters that he told me about in stories. He was not the best of all birds. He was not strong or intelligent. He was a monster.

I wanted to run. I needed to run. But my legs had failed me. I was so pathetic and weak. I didn't deserve my name. I was not strong. I was not a battle maiden. If my mother were here, she wouldn't have let them die. She wouldn't be sobbing. I hated how I was so pitiful. I hated myself. And I hated my father.

I shouldn't have been there. I needed to leave. I wasn't supposed to see that.

I breathed shakily. As I looked up, I froze. What caught my eyes horrified me even to this day. My daddy's widened eyes were locked onto mine. But they were not fierce, nor angry. No, they were filled with something I did not understand. They were filled with fear. He was terrified.

I felt like I had betrayed him, like I did the night I saw him cry. I had crossed into a land I did not belong in. I had seen something not meant for my eyes. I knew I shouldn't have. I felt like I had seen something that was a part of his soul. I had entered a place very dangerous, and there was no turning back.

I panicked and did the only thing I could think of. I ran. I ran as fast as I could, back to the kitchen. But what I didn't see was the other uniformed men seeing me. What I didn't see was them yelling at Daddy and demanding to know who I was. What I didn't see was them hitting him with the Black things. What I didn't see was my daddy crying. Not for my mother; but for me.
The rest is in the results.