Four Hours Until Berlin
Hatred filled the bucket Werner had for a soul. Pain wracked his body. He pressed his eyes tightly shut. The smell of death had entwined itself in the antiseptic scent that permeated his room. He felt sick and attempted to sit up. Her voice told him not to.
“Where am I?” he asked.
“You’re in the hospital,” she replied.
Voices scattered through the fog in his mind. He grappled to release the blankets. Other hands suddenly assisted to hold him down. Bastard! He tried to murder me! The words he screamed never left his mouth. Whirling into an inky darkness, he fell to the bottom of a deep, murky well. “Welcome Werner,” the unwelcome voice said. “Bitch! You can’t have me!” he exclaimed. “But I already do,” she replied.
When the mist and spider web that entangled his mind lifted, he slowly opened his eyes and tried to focus. Clarity arrived slowly. His bed was one of many stuck in a wedge of speckled greyness. “Nurse!” he called out. But nobody came. He drew in a deep breath and bellowed, “NURSE.”
“Shush, you ingrate! Can’t you see that others are in greater need? What is so urgent?”
Werner cringed from the harshness in her voice. Her eyes flared with anger. A round, unfriendly face, it sat directly on a plump body with no discernible neck. Werner stared up at her while his hands knotted the blanket. He cared only for his won needs. “How long have I been here?”
“Not quite a day. Why do you ask?”
“It does not matter. Help me sit up.” Beads of sweat formed on his forehead with the effort. He took in several deep breaths before swinging his legs over the sid...