The Power of Darkness and Fear

Chapter VIII

I was told once that cherished memories shall never go unfazed or become devalued. For they are precious to the mind, important to the psychological health and instantaneously, with each fond one we grow a bit closer to quintessence. With each sunrise, with each song sung by a blue jay we receive justification that hope is possible and that life can endure. That's what I was told by a fellow named Nikolay Kiselyov, in August of 1942.

I suppose to you I would be called Death, the Grim Reaper, and the Angel No One Wants Around. But to the Narnians, I am merely a threshold, a doorway, a key to salvation and they have given me the name of Thanatos.

The morning of December 10th of that same year (1942), the same morning that the first shipment of Polish Jews arrived at Auschwitz, was the same morning that Aslan, Lord Principium of Narnia, visited Caspian to discuss business affairs. It was a casual meeting of short conversation, nothing significant was said and to be honest I was more focused in Southeastern Poland than anything. If I were to be completely honest with you I would say that Southeastern Poland was my lover and the affairs of Narnia were simply my child yearning for attention which I dutifully ignored.

"Well, it seems that you conduct business well King Caspian," Aslan said, as he stood in the hallway, "It seems I was right about you."

"Right about what, sir?" Caspian asked.

"Why," the lion said with a smile, "the simple fact of choosing the right person for the position." He left the library as he were leaving an adjourned Senate, regal and confident, clairvoyant in all future things. For several weeks now, Aslan had been visiting Cair Paravel to see how Caspian was administering the land, from what he gathered everything was functioning perfect save for one incident.

"Aslan!" Someone called.

The lion turned around and beheld a boy of twelve who like most twelve year old children, had a sense of eagerness amidst the waiting of results. Nikiv Popov, a recent entry into this world, was wearing brown trousers, white shirt and brown vest. His hair was unkempt but hair tends to be that way when one first awakes from a nap.

"Is he back yet?" Nikiv asked.

"No, but he should be here relatively soon." The lion answered.

The boy nodded. He wasn't satisfied but at least there was an answer. "Do you think my father's alright?"

"I don't know, but I do know that if he has something to live for and something to believe in that even if something were to happen then he would be safe."

Nikiv's eyes darted straight into the lion's, and Aslan noticed that Nikiv's blue jay pin, the one his father gave him, was slowly starting to come off his vest.

"You may want to readjust that pin of yours." Aslan said.

Nikiv looked down, "Oh yes, thank you."

The lion nodded in response and turned back around towards the empty hallway.

The night of December 10th, 1942 bore the longest silence in human history. No one was alive. Even those people who were constituted as breathing, living souls had nothing to live for. In a span of six hours all hope, all reassurance of security and safety were diminished by a single look of three words that created the most believed lie in the world. I can tell you this, during this time I was busy. I was so busy in fact, that I hadn't the time to look down on the souls there and apologize for my negligence. Apologize for my lack of attention on them. I heard the pleas, the cries, wanting the mercy of God. The depressing news is that I can administer it, as instructed, be the reaper for them, forbid anything else from happening to them and just haul them to the Lord in a big loving embrace and say "Here they are, let them be with you". But I can't. I can do no such thing. I was kept at bay. I was told to "Wait!" So I did. I waited. I waited and prayed that someone, anyone would realize the brainchild of Adolf Hitler, Heinrich Himmler and the Damnable Council of Wannsee and put an end to all our miseries.

Believe it or not, my prayer was answered in the form of a simple question:

"Can I please have a drink of water?"

"A drink of water, is that what you want?"

The boy who asked this relatively simple question nodded. Water, a basic necessity that is so easily obtainable, is taken for granted in places where light never reaches the Earth. Yet, this simple question, a question of reassurance and hope, gave me something to latch on to. Even though he could not see me, I turned to this child and wanting ever so much to give him what he wanted. A simple drink of water.

"I'll give you water."

A man in a black iron pressed military suit exited the building and closed the door behind him, leaving the child and the rest of them in darkness. I rarely ever come into the public view, for I think it not my place- but on occasions such as this, where humanity is threatened specifically by means of manipulation and faux salvation, I have the tendency to get myself involved.

"Hey," a prisoner said, "can you keep it down? I'm trying to sleep."

"Sleep is useless in hell." The boy answered.

"Hell is a strong word isn't it?" A voice asked rather matter-of-factly. The owner of this voice, a person, well, being of respectability, was someone whom upon seeing made my heart feel somewhat at ease. I knew if there was one individual who could instill some vigor in these people, it was him.

The two prisoners laughed.

"Moi droog," the one who asked the other to keep it down said, "I don't think you know where you are."

"I was told a prison." Said the crusader, "I take it by your accent and use of phrase that you're Russian or at least Slav?"

"Valery Popov," the man said, "To whom do I owe the pleasure?"

"You can call me a friend for now, we can discuss my name later."

The German re-entered the room not bothering to close the door, letting light spill into the floor giving just enough light for Valery to see that he was talking to a mouse. I sometimes wish that I could be seen in light, because if I could then that would make my line of work simpler and easier to grasp. No wonder I'm always portrayed as a dark, cynical, and sadistic- I work in "The Evil Realm" when I would much prefer the other. It is a shame that I have to be restricted to it and this person, this German of idiocy, was free to do as he pleased. Granted, he was human and lived in the world as all humans tend to do. But theoretically he was invading my space, and even though I am not fond of it, it is still my territory of expertise. Unfortunately, it was also someone else's.

"Who was it that wanted water?" The man asked with a small cup in hand.

"I did sir."

The man turned, seeing a boy in a urine stained work uniform standing in a cell with a woman who appeared to be somewhere in her late thirties. This boy, whose name was Isaac was someone whom I had been unfortunately well acquainted with. I do not like causing Grief, for that is not my pseudonym and in truth, is heartbreaking to see. It wasn't like it could be helped. The boy's father, whom I called Vestige because of an interesting tattoo he had on the right knee, succumbed to scurvy and typhus one month prior. His mother, the woman accompanying him, whose name was Sarah, was very biblical. She had the disposition of a mother who did not approve of her husband's administration of life. She knew of Vestige's past drinking binges and extravagant galas and narcotic drug use that in his former line before this, was commonplace and weekly. She knew of this and resented him for it. Even now in hell she resented him for it and she posed the same resentment and pent up aggression towards the German solider- whom I knew to be a fellow of discontent anyway.

"Did you ask for this?" The man leaned down and performed the devil's torture, placing the cup just out of his reach. The boy got down on his knees and carefully stretched out his hand. He could just barely touch it. It was here that I wanted to kill that sadistic militant brat but I knew my place and there is such a thing has timing.

"Come on," the man said condescendingly, "reach for it!" He laughed, stood up and spitefully kicked the cup away, spilling that sweet elixir onto the floor. He turned for the door.

"You can turn on your little lights now." He said, and closed the door once again.

With a flip of switches, small halogen light bulbs gave each person some light. You couldn't read in it but you could at least see what was in front of you.

"So," Valery said, turning towards the mouse, "you're a-"

"You might be better off if you just stop right there sir."

"Oh sorry, didn't mean to offend." Popov replied.

"No trouble, just tired of that idiotic phrase." The mouse turned towards the door seeing the boy's hand still reaching out. "If you'll excuse me for one moment."

He scurried over to the cup and gently pushed it so that Isaac could reach. The simplest kindest in the world and I was glad to witness it.

"There's not much left I'm afraid." The mouse said, a bit disheartened.

The boy took the cup which still had a drop of water left, and handed it to his mother. She behaved as if it were the fountain of youth- there wasn't a moment's hesitation as far as consumption. Although I knew the water was bitter I also knew that to her it was sweeter than honey and more sustainable than the meager light or the ability to stand.

"Thank you," she said, turning towards both of them.

The mouse bowed, following his credo. Isaac turned towards him (as well as me) with fixation.

"I've never met a talking mouse before." He said.

"I've never met someone so endearingly selfless. May I ask your name?"

"May I ask yours?"

"Reepicheep," the mouse said, bowing again, "and you are?"

"Isaac." The boy answered.

Reepicheep smiled and laughed inwardly a bit, "Do you bring joy to your house?"

"I'm sorry?" Isaac asked, a bit confused, finding the question a bit odd.

"Do you bring you bring joy to your house? Laughter, amusement, something to look forward to?"

"I don't think I understand."

"It's what your name means," Reepicheep said, "laughter, joy. Bet you didn't know that."

"No," Isaac said, "I didn't. What about you, does your name mean anything?"

"Not really." The mouse said. "I'm almost certain a islander came up with it."

"Why is that?" Isaac asked.

"Because only an islander could come up with such a name."

The mother sat the cup down, her hands a bit shaky and her eyes sleep deprived but nevertheless a smile of curiosity and hope was on her face.

"Do you like your name Reepicheep?" She asked.

"I wouldn't change it if that's what you're implying." The mouse said, "If I were to guess yours I'd say it was Sarah."

"It is." She said. "How did you know that?"

Reepicheep shrugged, "Call it a lucky guess, stroke a genius, what-have you."

He looked a bit more closely at the two of them, something about Sarah's eyes and shakiness made him search for a reason. He turned to Isaac and noticed a similar problem. Both of their eyes were tired, their hands were shaky and in a certain light, their skin was slightly discolored in some areas as if I were trying to take them too prematurely.

"May I ask a few questions?" Reepicheep asked.

"Only if we get to ask some." Sarah said.

"Fair enough, do you want me to go first?"

Sarah nodded.

"How long as it been since you've last eaten?"

"Three days." Valery called. "It's been three days since we last saw food. If you don't hurry someone might snatch you up."

Reepicheep laughed, "I highly doubt that."

"You'd be surprised." Valery said.

"So," the mouse turned back to the pair, "it's been three days since you've eaten and how long has it been since you've bathed?"

"Three months." Sarah said. "That's how long we've been here."

She turned away for a moment to cough up blood and mucus. She rolled up her sleeve revealing a serial number on her forearm, A19013, as if she were part of a series of sardines being packaged, sorted and shipped out into the expanse of the world only to be discarded and placed into the trash. No one, not even in the right mind would eat sardines. Isaac stretched a moment and gravity being what it was, his sleeves rolled down just enough for the mouse to see the number '1' crudely tattooed on as if by an amateur whose only reputation or justification or certification he has for being a tattoo artist is simply calling himself that. If a man who is not certified calls himself a doctor and operates on a mother giving birth he will surely kill one or the other. The most likely outcome of that hypothetical but not impossible to grasp scenario- one hundred percent fatality. Just like everyone else. The only difference being there is that the human mind believes it can do my job when it simply wasn't meant for it.

Across the hallway a man was mumbling a hymn to himself in Hebrew. Reepicheep could not see him, for the lights were dim but he could hear him and from he guessed it wasn't a good song to be singing.

"Does anyone know what that man over there is saying?" Reepicheep asked.

"We walk the streets of silence." Valery called over again. "It's something he sings whenever an execution is about to take place."

"Does he possess psychic abilities?" The mouse asked believing it to be a fiasco.

"I think so." Valery said.

Sarah and Isaac looked up at their light bulb, it was slowly but surely going out like their hope. I was beginning to step in, even though I didn't want to. I wanted to give Reepicheep time. Time to collect their hearts and mend them before I took their souls into Blessed Ether. As previously stated I do not wish to cause Grief especially to people like Reepicheep whom I consider an asset in preserving willpower.

"Why are you here Reepicheep?" Sarah asked, closing her eyes and rubbing her hands together.

The mouse stood silent. He felt that his answer would prompt a chain of rage, excuses and resentment. If he spoke truthfully it would, but if he spoke roundabout it still would. Lying, that is simply more deception which is something that these people do not need more of. I turned towards him.

Tell them the truth. I said.

He wisely said nothing and excused himself. "Forgive me a moment," he said, "I have to see if everyone else is alright." He scurried back over to Valery.

"Mister Popov," the mouse said, "I am pleased to tell you that your son is safe."

Valery's chest moved down, "I've been waiting for some good news like that for a while now."

"Well it's here." Reepicheep looked up at the cell lock, deciding whether or not he should pick it or not, nevertheless, he pulled his blade anyway.

"May I ask a personal question?" Valery asked.

"I don't see why not." Reepicheep said, scaling the cell door.


"Why what sir?" The mouse asked, reaching the lock and fitting his blade into the keyhole.

"Why the sword, the feather, you in the first place?"

Reepicheep laughed as he turned his blade's hilt, using it as a lockpick, "Having trouble with the whole talking mouse thing?"

Valery nodded.

"Well," Reepicheep said, pausing a moment to listen to the lock's mechanics, "think of this way: you're in a cell in a prison that barely feeds and bathes you, you're sitting decrepitly, and I just told you that your son is still alive. I personally don't think you care if I'm a talking mouse or not. I could be a talking moose and you'd still listen to me because you so desperate that you'll believe anything. Is that right?"

"Well you don't have to be so condescending about it." Valery said with a huff.

"Apologizes sir," the mouse said, "but to be fair, you did ask."


The lock clicked open. Reepicheep, blade in hand, jumped down to the floor.

"Well," Reepicheep said turning towards Valery again, "what are you waiting for. Let's go!"

"I somehow knew it would be that."

Reepicheep turned and saw Isaac, looking at him as if he had placed him and his mother there. The rodent sighed and although it wasn't the first time he played someone off like this, it was the first time he didn't mean anything by it. Out of respect, the mouse walked back over.

Feelings of lowness and pity are nothing something I am used to dealing with. Usually it falls to Gabriel, who whispers in ears and tells people of the just and moral thing. I usually just wait and watch until you are ready and take you where you are needed. I do not deal in emotions. However, this was something that even a being like me couldn't help but intervene with. I stepped inside the prison cell and placed a hand on Sarah's shoulder. I told her that the world needed her to continue living but she did not listen. Psychotherapy only works when people to the psychologist.

"I'm sorry," Reepicheep said, "but I only came for him."

"Let me guess," Sarah said, "you can't take anyone else with you."

Reepicheep nodded, "That is the situation at the moment."

Sarah laughed out of insanity. "The situation at the moment," she said, "is that we're dying in this fucking hell!" She beat her hand up against the wall, not caring if it bled. Her tears were like weights and Reepicheep was straining to hold it up. I was straining myself from committing murder for I could feel her heart break and beat and burn with the willingness to die but yet- something stopped me.

"You know," Isaac said over his mother's grief, keeping consistent eye contact with the mouse who couldn't stop staring at Sarah.

"I'm perfectly okay with it. Being forgotten again. That's what they all do anyway."

"Those who forget are fools." Reepicheep said.

The door opened again. The same man as before entered. He strode into the place as if he commanded the world and me to believe that this was normal. Judging by the fresh mud on his boots, it was raining.

"Schluss mit dem Geschrei!" He shouted, having half a mind to open the door and beat her down. I secretly wanted him to then, I knew that if he did, I had justification for murder and thus be as evil as Lucifer- which is someone I will not stoop down to. Instead he grabbed the cage and shook the bar, sending a rattling sensation of fear down Isaac's spine. Reepicheep curled himself up next to the large door and noticed a Colt .45 revolver in the soldier's left hand pocket. I already knew that it was there and for Isaac's sake I wish he would have used it more.

"I said, stop that crying!" The solider shouted, his German accent butting in a bit. Sarah wouldn't stop, she was too heartbroken and too weak to care. All she wanted now was peace and with Reepicheep's denial of salvation she was content to have any sort of escape. A reason to fall into my arms and be carried out of hell and into heaven.

"Do you want this to be how you die?" The German asked, pulling the revolver out.

"Yes!" Sarah screamed. "Just kill me now so this evil can end!"

"Very well." The German aimed his weapon and fired without blinking. Sarah fell gently to the ground. I held up her head, smiled a bit and escorted her home. As I did my required post the German turned towards Isaac.

"Because of her insistence," he said, "you shall join her." He aimed his weapon and out of spite slowly applied pressure. Isaac didn't flinch, he didn't move, he just looked him in the eye, and admittedly, Reepicheep smiled as he slowly stood up about to take the defensive end when he heard Valery call him over.


The German moved his pistol slightly to the right, wasting a bullet to the wall.

"Who calls?" Friedhold asked.

"It's me you idiot." Valery said.

The German turned militantly towards Popov's cell and walked towards it like a general about to punish a private for speaking out of turn.

"What is this gate doing open?" Friedhold asked, wolf-like eyes staring deep into Valery's calm veristic face.

"It wasn't locked properly." Valery said. "Now do yourself a favor a leave the boy alone."

"Oh yeah," Friedhold replied, edging him further, "what happens if I don't Rabbi?"

I keep forgetting that Valery was a former priest. He was already committed to God and all he had to do was die. I will gladly give him admission to whichever realm he chooses. The former priest turned towards where he perceived Reepicheep to be, hoping that the rodent would provide some sort of solace in this.

"Then a certain someone isn't going to be happy."

Friedhold looked towards his left shoulder, noticing that Reepicheep stood there blade extended pointing to the most lethal part of the neck- the jugular vein.

"Alright," Friedhold said, seeing no room for cooperation, "you win." He sheathed his pistol but the mouse did not sheath his blade, for he had the right to be suspicious as all men do when faced with the literal incorrect personification of me. I do not know why I am perceived as demonic entity of spite and maliciousness. I do know why people die. I do know why people like Reepicheep exist. I do know- I just choose not to make a career out of my knowledge of goodness. That is His job and he does a great job at doing it.

Friedhold turned towards the door, whistled, "Kilian!"

A man who appeared much younger than he was rushed to the door. He wore a similar dress as the other German save for a helmet. The dog, Kilian, walked towards his master as if he were carrying a leash in his mouth wanting to go for a walk in the park.

"Lead them to the showers." The German said.

"Yes sir." Kilian replied. "Everybody up on your feet!"

Reepicheep sheathed his blade. "Good, you finally have some common sense."

Naivety is such the intellectual's downfall as much as it is the fool's. If I were to tell the mouse of the reality he would pass it off as folly. He did not call me rational then.

"Thank you for noticing." The German said.

Kilian unlocked each person's door and filed them single-file in a line. Valery was somewhere in the middle while Isaac lead the group. Reepicheep took advantage of the opportunity to jump onto Valery's shoulder. I filled in right behind Mister Popov.

Earth to rodent, I whispered, time to am-scray.

"Alright," the mouse said, for once adhering my advice, "now's our chance to get out of here."

"I don't think that's going to happen Reepicheep." Valery said, voice less optimistic as he exited the building.

"What are you talking about?"

"You'll see." Valery said.

They exited. Fathers, brothers, sons, mothers, sisters and daughters left the abyss of malice and entered the unwelcoming light.

Passing through the courtyard a man wearing a coat, his prescribed uniform and a robin pin. He was Ermenegilde Favre, a Frenchman who went to Germany at the wrong time of year. Two months ago he was a shoemaker- making beautiful leather apparatuses for children to wear. His face, which was calm and unafraid caught my attention- for even in the face of me, there was no fear. Ermengilde knew. He was clairvoyant and understood that he was to die here in the face of me. As the group marched on to meet me later, I stood and watched as a German officer walked to the center of the square. His boots sloshed around in the mud like a pig and also like a pig the German called in his tongue for the Monsieur Favre to turn around and face a wall of block cement. He raised his rifle and counted only to two. As the German placed his finger on the trigger, Favre turned around and said his final words:

"I am a Frenchman."

The officer fired. Regardless, due to physics, Monsieur Favre would impact the concrete. Like the Liberty Bell which produced a crack, so did the cement which also produced a crack. Two months ago Monsieur Ermengilde Favre was a shoemaker- making beautiful leather apparatuses for children to wear.

They passed the ancient domiciles of workers who were just as lame and desperate as they were. As they slowly made their way toward the barracks and kitchen, Reepicheep who was still on Mister Valery's shoulder, saw a large fence, a large empty ditch and noticed a pungent smell.

"Smells like rubber." The mouse said. "Is there a factory nearby?"

"You could say that." Valery replied.

A train pulled in slowly. Crowds of mass confusion and ordered chaos could be heard as they continued toward their destination. Two lines were made, an officer directing one, a truck, directing the other. One towards the barracks, the other towards a group of trees. Apparently no one in Valery's group noticed that they were also headed in the same direction, towards the same group of trees.

Looking out through the fence, Reepicheep saw mothers and their children walking with no luggage and no means of hope. He saw the sick, the elderly, the weak, the young and the infant all in a single file line. I was in the back of that single file line. I put my hands against a widow, giving her comfort that her grief shall be over soon. I shut the eyes of children, for I did not want them to see and I did not want them to know and I did not want them to die. I looked towards Valery and noticed his blue jay pin was gone. I looked past him and the group and saw Monsieur Favre being dumped and burnt as if he were in an incinerator.

Snow began to fall gently onto the ground like some petty assurance.

"A bit warm for snow." Reepicheep said. "Must be your climate."

Valery nodded, "You could say that."

Isaac approached a building labeled 'IV' and walked through the doorway. Everyone else followed suit like a group of ants. Forever circling, never knowing that eventually one day they will die if they keep it up. As they entered, the single file line of mothers and children merged with them.

It was here that I began to cry.

"I bet you are looking forward to this shower," Reepicheep said once Valery sat down on a bench and began undressing, "but we still have a chance to get out of here."

"No we don't Reepicheep." Valery said. "Not me anyway."

"Again," the rodent said, "what are you talking about?"

Valery sighed, "You'll see."

A man who looked slightly better than the majority of the group opened a large steel door on the other side of the room. People flooded in like sand in an hourglass, Valery, Reepicheep and I included.

Naivety is such the intellectual's downfall as much as it is the fool's. If I were to tell the mouse of the reality he would pass it off as folly. He did not call me rational then.

When the people were inside and all could be fit in, the door closed. The life, the last chance of breath, had been and had been over. I was about to get very, very busy. I arranged myself to be in the shadow of a room, for I could no longer stand next to anyone and when the hatch opened I heard Lucifer laugh.

They screamed. They pleaded. They asked me to take them. I did. I gladly did. I gladly welcomed them, all of them to me and quickly released them to the Blessed Ether. I watched and I stood horrified as those who still believed that they could live contorted themselves into manifestations of the German stereotype of them. Ugly, deformed, demonic, sadistic, thieving capitalists, corrupt politicians, unholy priests, prostitutes and bastards.

Valery slowly succumbed to me. Falling ever so slowly to the ground like a drop of rain on a window pane that only goes down with friction. Reepicheep was less enthusiastic but he was quick to go. His soul meet mine.

I was told as a rule that I can only give up three persons. I had already given up one. Her name was Anastasia. Even though she technically is not alive today, I gave her soul up to the mourners. It is through them that she lived on. The second, this time, was a conundrum. Give it to the father or give it to the rodent. I assessed that Valery, despite his son wanting him so badly to come home, was willing to go. I ushered him in, saying that it might be best to watch over both Nikiv and Reepicheep for a while, at least until someone else can fill the guardian angel spot. I gave Reepicheep back. I shall reserve the third for another time.

When he gained consciousness, the mouse looked around and beheld my stillness, my requiem and in this he cried and in this he cried and in this he cried. The fathers, the mothers, the sons, the daughters, the bankers, the businessmen, the police officials, the gardeners, the caretakers, the lovers, the disabled but the gifted, the strong, the weak, the just, the wicked, the representation of Europe and the populace of the world. This and more stood and mine and Reepicheep's feet and this and more stood at the hearts of the angels and this and more and this and more and this and more. From the steps of the Reichstag to the steps of the White House to the steps of the Winter Palace- the voices of this and more were heard and only the angles, Reepicheep and I seemed to notice, and only the angles, Reepicheep and I seemed to notice.

If I were to tell the mouse of the reality he would pass it off as truth. He called me rational here.

The door opened again. This time, a man by the name Oswald Ludwig Pohl, stood in the doorway with Lucifer's smile clear on his face. Reepicheep, tears flooding his eyes, looked up at Pohl and stood as tall as he could. He whispered.

"I'm sorry," Oswald said, in a heavy German accent, "what was that, I couldn't hear you?"

Reepicheep repeated his phrase a bit louder, but it was still inaudible to hear.

"You're going to have to speak up!" Oswald shouted, being half sarcastic.

The rodent scolded him and repeated his words a third time. "Damn you," he said, "Do you want me to say it louder?"

Oswald laughed. "Please, do."

"Damn you!" Reepicheep shouted, advancing this time, repeating the phrase louder and with more conviction with each stride. "Damn you, damn you, damn you, damn you, damn you all to hell!"

He jumped to the ground and stood out of reach of the doorway, keeping his stare of malice intact. Oswald laughed again, this time a bit more hardy, like an evil Christmas elf.

"What are you going to do mouse?" He asked. "Kill me?"

Reepicheep said nothing. He simply jumped onto the man's shoulder, whispered into his ear and exited. When the mouse was out of the room, Pohl laughed again, this time like a cackling hyena on laughing gas.

Following Reepicheep back to his entry pointed, I noticed that his demeanor was somber and grave. Forget the fact that he passed on and I admitted him back, he was physically and mentally changed.

By the time Reepicheep reached Block 11, the rain had stopped and another execution was taking place in the courtyard. He was Illich-Svitych, a Russian who visited Warsaw at the wrong time of year. Two months ago he was a retired banker- handing money to respectable people, closing bank accounts, and opening new ones. Just as Mister Favre had done, Illich-Svitych turned towards the German officer and said nothing.

Reepicheep was half tempted to thrust himself in front of the bullet and let it take him. Be the martyr for someone. He quickly realized that his sacrifice would be for naught.

The German officer fired.

"I wonder what's taking him so long." Nikiv asked.

"Well he's going to a very dangerous place," Aslan said, "it could be hours before he returns."

Nikiv turned towards the library, seeing that Caspian was reading a book on seafaring and that Peter was engrossed in one about Narnian political law.

"I hope he's alright." The boy said. "He seems likeable."

"That's because he is." Aslan replied. "He should be here any moment now actually."

The mouse appeared via the adjacent hallway with me in tow. Reepicheep said nothing as he passed superiors and colleagues. He continued down into a room and in this room he cried and in this room he cried and in this room he cried.

I was told once that cherished memories shall never go unfazed or become devalued. For they are precious to the mind, important to the psychological health and instantaneously, with each fond one we grow a bit closer to quintessence. With each sunrise, with each song sung by a blue jay we receive justification that hope is possible and that life can endure. That's what I was told by a fellow named Nikolay Kiselyov, in August of 1942.

Continue Reading Next Chapter

About Us

Inkitt is the world’s first reader-powered publisher, providing a platform to discover hidden talents and turn them into globally successful authors. Write captivating stories, read enchanting novels, and we’ll publish the books our readers love most on our sister app, GALATEA and other formats.