Trapped in the night,
With nothing but his fright,
The little man,
He cries,
As he contemplates the lies.
The world around him spins,
As he does not know his sins,
Sink deep into the earth,
As he forgets just what he's worth.
He acknowledges his love,
For someone he can't have.
He cannot find the glove,
Of happinesses hidden hand.
He's falling for her hard,
Like damond emerald,
She's slipping through his hands,
And into foriegn lands.
His love of life,
It fades,
As strange feelings,
Commit large raids,
Against the common sense he holds,
His resolves, it falls and folds.
Then out of the pitch black,
The one he knows he lacks,
Appears holding a lamp,
Saying, "I would like to make a camp,
And maybe it will grow,
If we simply follow flow,
And maybe, hey who knows?
We could always build a home."
He tells her that he loves her,
Withdrawing just as such,
He knows she may not feel it to,
As he feels she is his crutch.
No, he's not the rebound,
That much he see's clear.
But he might end up a dead hound,
Because loving involves fear.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
These Fields, They Move...
These fields move,
Like the surface of the sun.
The task of living life,
Is never truly done.
When one life does pass,
The world does not stand still,
Instead it moves much faster,
After swallowing a pill.
When you smell what you smell,
See what you see,
Breath what you breath,
Be what you be,
There is a stop-loss for words,
A cessation of power,
A deafening silence,
A collapsing old tower.
When you do what you do,
Touch what you touch,
Feel what you feel,
Add others as such,
Love comes with ease,
Hate without reason,
Like without leave,
And you acknowledge no season.
As the end grows much nearer,
The lyrics grow clearer.
The chorus dies out,
But with one final pout.
You feel but gravity,
Asserting its force.
You touch but depravity,
In its natural course.
You get lost in her eyes,
A trance of deep caring.
You forget all the lies,
You heart, it mends tearing.
Like the surface of the sun.
The task of living life,
Is never truly done.
When one life does pass,
The world does not stand still,
Instead it moves much faster,
After swallowing a pill.
When you smell what you smell,
See what you see,
Breath what you breath,
Be what you be,
There is a stop-loss for words,
A cessation of power,
A deafening silence,
A collapsing old tower.
When you do what you do,
Touch what you touch,
Feel what you feel,
Add others as such,
Love comes with ease,
Hate without reason,
Like without leave,
And you acknowledge no season.
As the end grows much nearer,
The lyrics grow clearer.
The chorus dies out,
But with one final pout.
You feel but gravity,
Asserting its force.
You touch but depravity,
In its natural course.
You get lost in her eyes,
A trance of deep caring.
You forget all the lies,
You heart, it mends tearing.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
What I'd Love to See in a 4th Generation iPod Touch
This is a very appropriate way to post this new entry, as I'm doing so via my iPod Touch 2G.
Albeit without further a do, I'll cut to the chase:
Here's a list of new features and such that would compel me, personally, to purchase a new iPod Touch, even if the one I'm currently holding still worked like a charm:
-First and foremost, a camera that would take both videos and still photos in high quality,
-A solid copy and paste feature (which I believe may be included on the newest firmware update),
-FM radio, as is included with the new iPod Nanos,
-Cheaper 32 or 64 gig models,
-Some sort of built-in word processor that would be similar to Microsoft Word (only suited to work with the iPod touch),
-The option to sign up to a 3G network,
-A built-in microphone for both video recording, and other uses (maybe instant messaging),
-and last but not least, a version of Adobe Photoshop exclusivley for the iPhone/ iPod Touch OS.
Albeit without further a do, I'll cut to the chase:
Here's a list of new features and such that would compel me, personally, to purchase a new iPod Touch, even if the one I'm currently holding still worked like a charm:
-First and foremost, a camera that would take both videos and still photos in high quality,
-A solid copy and paste feature (which I believe may be included on the newest firmware update),
-FM radio, as is included with the new iPod Nanos,
-Cheaper 32 or 64 gig models,
-Some sort of built-in word processor that would be similar to Microsoft Word (only suited to work with the iPod touch),
-The option to sign up to a 3G network,
-A built-in microphone for both video recording, and other uses (maybe instant messaging),
-and last but not least, a version of Adobe Photoshop exclusivley for the iPhone/ iPod Touch OS.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Ihrer Willkommen Amerika
March 17th, 2011, 9:02 AM EST
Gestapo Headquarters, New York City, New Prussia, Amerika
“Our Fuhrer, Ulrich von Duechelberg, leader of the German Reich, died this morning of heart failure at exactly 7:31 AM Eastern Standard Time while asleep in his palace in Berlin. The Gestapo and other authorities in Berlin seem to agree on the fact that his death was of natural cause, and that no foul play was involved. Regardless, Gestapo chief Even Himmler, son of former Fuhrer and Hitler’s right hand man Heimrich Himmler, will lead an investigation as to tie up all loose ends. Meanwhile in Russia, it has been confirmed that unsolicited celebrations of our Fuhrer’s death by Russian rebels have been met with fierce and lethal action by the brave soldiers of the Wermacht…”
The Gestapo Chief of New Prussia, Virgil Seibs, switched the plasma-screen television off, quickly sticking the universal remote into a hidden pocket in his trench coat.
So von Duechelberg was dead. It had been inevitable, considering the state he was in prior to death, but it still took the wind out of any esteemed Party official who was truly devoted to the Reich; one of which was Virgil himself.
He sometimes found it strange as to why he was so devoted and proud of his position due to the fact that he was 75% American, and only a quarter German on his fathers side.
He had disowned his father following the end of the war prior to his military tribunal, which, after 3 years of imprisonment, ultimately led to his execution due to his participation during the war as a Sergeant in the United States Army, and his later participation as a partisan rebel on the West Coast.
He had abandoned the rest of his family as well, although his mother was the only one he still truly loved and seemed to miss on rare occasion.
His older brother, Jordan Seibs, had once been his idol as a top SS Officer as part of the ’Amerikan Relations Act’ in which he had been sent overseas to assist with security at the Vichy Meetings in Paris, Germania, which were staged as to seemingly negotiate the one-sided proposition of the annexation of Vichy France by the Third Reich.
He had continued to be a great role model for Virgil, until the day he was caught attempting to plant a bomb outside of the Reichstag in Berlin during the 7th Annual Germanium Games.
He was executed only two hours following his arrest, but Virgil wasn’t informed for over 2 weeks.
The streets were nearly completely empty, Virgil observed, something which was utterly uncharacteristic for New York, as it had always been, even prior to the Reich’s liberation of the so-called ‘United States.’
In Times Square, there was no sound but that of projected Wermacht recruitment ads on the large high-definition plasma screens embedded on the sides of large commercial buildings.
“Come, hear your true calling, become a true part of the German Reich. Join the glorious, brave Wermacht. Join the fight in Russia to crush the vile rebels who massacre innocent Eurasians every day…”
Were the words that continued to ring throughout the bright, empty streets.
Virgil began to wonder; did von Duechelberg really deserve this respect?
September 25th 1960, 10:33 PM PST
West Florence Ave, Los Angeles, Greater California District, Amerika
Eric Seibs stood back, behind the mob of pro-German American’s who continued to throw anything they had within reach at the group of several Jews who were lined up with their backs to a wall.
Two German SS Officers stood on each side of the line, Luger’s drawn and pointed at the crying, screaming Jews who were fearfully attempting not to keel to their knees or topple over as to not risk execution.
Eric looked down into the striking bright blue eyes of his new and youngest son, Virgil, who had only been born several days ago.
Eric couldn’t take that his son would have to grow up in this cruel new world. He would never know the pleasures of liberty, and the freedoms of democracy and constitution. He would always be under the shadow of a Swastika now, and there was very little that could be done about that right now. The German’s were to powerful, to authoritarian. Even those who strongly disagreed with their policies wouldn’t dare stand up to the Nazis due to fear for themselves and there loved ones.
The war was over. America had lost.
Eric felt partially responsible for this outcome, as he had been a Sergeant with the 67th Infantry Regiment of the United States Army during the invasion of Boston, as well as the American counterattack following the original defeat.
There was a scream as one Jew finally keeled over after getting struck in the nose by a brick. The SS Officer to the far left of Seibs was quick to fire at the crying, bleeding man, bringing his life to a horrifying conclusion.
Seibs turned his back in disgust, and began to walk in the opposite direction towards his home.
Virgil began to cry just as Eric neared the door, making it unnecessary to knock as Eric’s wife, Janet, was immediately drawn to the sound of her sons cries.
As soon as he had walked in the door, the first thing Eric heard was the muffled chatter of men in the kitchen. Turning to his wife with a worried, quizzical look, neither said a word.
Six year old Jordan, Eric’s oldest son, shuffled quickly out of the kitchen and into his room on the far left of the hallway. Eric entered the kitchen and curiously looked around; he quickly recognized all seven men who sat before him.
“Eric, we’re glad you could make it,” one named Mickey said.
“Yeah, we thought you were going to be stuck watching that massacre on Florence all night.” another named Joseph added.
“I thought I’d be stuck there to. Of course, I’ve never been one to follow rules. I left.” Eric replied.
Mickey let out a light chuckle, then said “Look, Eric, there’s a reason for our being here tonight.”
A bulky man, closest to Eric and the exit door to the hall named Damian gave Eric a concerned, understanding look. Eric knew he was about to find out why.
“And that reason is, Mickey?” Eric said; he had a bad feeling about this.
“That reason is exactly what you think it is.”
“And what, per se, do I think it is?”
“Take a wild guess, Eric. I brought six men over with me. Each armed with a pistol and a knife as to protect both themselves and me. I can’t be seen on the streets anymore after what I said about the Nazi occupational government the other night.”
There was a pause, within which Janet walked into the room and took the baby from Eric’s arms.
“These men are animals, Eric.” Mickey said, breaking the silence.
“What are you proposing, then?”
“Again, take a wild guess.”
Eric sighed, leaning against the fridge with one hand on his hip.
“You suggest armed rebellion?” He said.
“Not rebellion, no. We have far to little support for an all-out rebellion.”
“Then what, Mickey? Just give it to me straight.”
“Rebellious acts; espionage, assassination, sabotage. Things we can do by the dark of the night as so we have a chance to get away.”
December 13th 1981, 7:44 AM
German Consulate, Vichy, Auvergne, France
“… and as such, I’m confident that the French State would be much more prosperous as a direct part of the glorious Reich as opposed to being a separate political entity.” Private Heintzmehn explained in his thick German accent.
Senior Security Officer Jordan Seibs listened intently to the nationalistic words his co-worker sputtered in broken English, attempting to disallow the biting cold of a Vichy French day to throw his focus off.
“Do you truly believe every word you say, Heintzmehn? Don’t you think you Germans have swallowed up enough of the world by now?”
Such words would be considered blasphemous to any other German, but Heintzmehn saw Jordan for what he was; the last in the dying breed of true Americans, and he understood what it was to take pride in ones country. Someday, he thought, Seibs would realize that Germany had always been the one and only worthy country to ever grace the face of this planet, and when that day came, he would seek out Heintzmehn, and he would apologize for the questions he asked on this day.
“The point you constantly seem to miss, Herr Seibs, is that you to are German; as far as the Fuhrer is concerned, all true Brittanians, as well as North Americans, are simply offspring’s of the great German Empire who experienced rebellious days of youth, but have now returned to the mother nest as to feed off of its glory.”
“But North America was colonized by Great Britain.” Jordan countered.
“Ah yes, Herr Seibs, it was… but there would be no Great Britain if the Saxons hadn’t migrated there and created the Saxon offshoot we all know today as the Anglo-Saxons, and the Saxons are the epitome of the glorious German race. Do you see where I’m going with this?”
In fact, Jordan did indeed see where Heintzmehn was going with this, but the rebellious words of his father still echoed throughout the hallow enclaves of his mind… “Those Nazi bastards are not true Germans, nor are they true human beings. They are a race of monsters; the absolute epitome of human evil… the absolute show force of what humanity is truly capable of… never buy into it, son. Not for a moment. Never become one of them, or so help you God.”…. at this point, he had no choice as to what to let his body give in too, but he still held heavy sway over what his mind may subject itself to.
“Tell me something, Heintzmehn, if you will?”
“Of course, Herr Seibs. I will tell you anything you like. You know I never speak of the conversations we have together.”
“Heintzmehn,” Jordan said sharply, “Tell me; are you a German, or are you a Nazi?”
Heintzmehn’s face suddenly sunk into an imposturous looking perplexity.
“Why, Herr Seibs… I don’t understand what you mean by that.”
“Are you of sacred Germany? Or are you simply a lackey of the so-called Aryan Nazis?”
“Well, I can tell you I am certainly no lackey, Herr Seibs… every Aryan is equal in the eyes of the Fuhrer, as well as the eyes of God. ‘Nazi’ is simply another word for a sacred German.”
Jordan sighed. There was simply no way of getting to this man; his mind was to far gone.
“Is there anything else you would like to ask, Herr Seibs?” Heintzmehn asked expectantly.
“No, I suppose that’s all for now. I wonder how the meetings going inside.”
“As do I, Herr Seibs. But our place is not to know as it happens; its to know when everything has finally come to fruition.”
“If you say so, Heintzmehn. If you say so.”
March 17th, 2011, 12:09 PM EST
Seibs Family Ranch, Sandpoint, Montana District, Amerika
Janet Johansson Seibs sat alone in her cold, empty kitchen, sipping slowly at her cup of tea as she stared blankly at her broken stove.
Sometimes, she wondered why she had moved back to Montana to live on her deceased husbands ranch; it had been, as it still continues to be, a fruitless venture that simply added to the downward spiral her life had been taking ever since her husband had decided to take part in underground partisan activities against the Nazi occupational forces in Los Angeles back in 1960.
She was old now; old and feeble, yet she had no one to tend to her needs since it seemed her youngest and only surviving son Virgil had abandoned her, as well as the family legacy, for the monsters that had destroyed the family in the first place. He also seemed to take pride in that fact.
She hadn’t eaten a proper meal for over 3 days, mainly due to the fact that the vintage stove the Seibs family had bought during the now-extinct era of the United States had finally given out after over 70 years of use, and was cemented by the dismal facts that her phone also happened to be broken, as well as her vintage 1960’s car she had managed to maintain, even during the Los Angeles Riots of 1964.
She assumed that someday, she would be driven off of the ranch simply by her sheer force of will, and her need for social contact with the outside world. She had already gone a week without seeing a single soul, and realized she might be going a little stir-crazy when she began ranting on and on to herself about how Eric had thrown her, as well as the rest of the family, into this irreversible mess with the help of his revolutionary antics.
Well, she thought, you can’t really blame him. I mean, these fascists are a major step back in terms of human progress. If only we hadn’t forced Germany into signing the Treaty of Versailles, we may have been able to avoid this mess entirely.. It’s such a shame..
It had been that single arrogance of the Triple Entente during the First World War, that had led to the eventual subjugation of the entire planet to German hands. No, not German hands, Aryan hands. Nazi hands. Germany was just the host of the Nazi virus; it to was subjugated to the will of another.
Subjugated to the will of Adolf Hitler.
Janet was exhausted. Even though it was only just past one in the afternoon, not being to eat anything more than cold beans at her age tended to make her want to just slip back into bed, and let reality dissipate like a fog in the bright of a summer afternoon; and that, was exactly what Janet Seibs did.
January 7th, 1965, 1:05 AM PST
Seibs Residence, Los Angeles, Greater California District, Amerika
5 year old Virgil Seibs stared up at his snow-white ceiling; he hadn’t been tucked in by his father for over 2 weeks, and he was beginning to become curious as to where his father had disappeared to.
Finally, after nights of restlessness, he decided he was going to confront his mother on the matter.
Slipping out from beneath his Captain America quilt, little Virgil shuffled quietly into the hallway, trying his best not to drag his feet as he made his way towards his mothers room.
He rapped his little knuckle against his mothers bedroom door as hard as he could; hearing the shifting of blankets and bed sheets, Virgil said, “Mommy?”
“Virgil, darling, is that you? What are you doing up? It’s very late, sweetheart.” Janet replied.
“I need to ask you a question!”
There was a moment of silence, and then Virgil heard his mother get up, and walk towards the door.
Carefully, she opened it up with a sort of grace that only a mother could have, lifting him into her arms as soon as she had.
“What is it, darling? Did you have a nightmare?” She asked softly.
“No.”
“No? Then what’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“Where’s daddy? I miss him!”
Janet’s eyes sank; yet, she continued to smile.
“Daddy’s… busy, son.”
“Busy doing what? Is he fighting rebels?”
“No, not exactly, sweetie. But he is fighting bad guys; he’s trying to make the world better for you and Jordan.”
“But the world is ok, isn’t it, mommy?”
“No, sweetheart… the world isn’t ok. The world is hurt and confused.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You don’t need to. Someday, I hope you will; but right now, leave it to the adults, ok darling?”
“Yes mommy.”
“That’s my boy. Now, go and get some sleep, alright?”
“Ok.”
With that, he gave him mother a kiss and shuffled back towards his room. On his way there, the first thing he noticed was his 15 year old brother standing at his bedroom door.
“Don’t worry, kiddo. Someday, you’ll get it.”
**This is NOT the story's conclusion. More will be added with the final draft.**
Gestapo Headquarters, New York City, New Prussia, Amerika
“Our Fuhrer, Ulrich von Duechelberg, leader of the German Reich, died this morning of heart failure at exactly 7:31 AM Eastern Standard Time while asleep in his palace in Berlin. The Gestapo and other authorities in Berlin seem to agree on the fact that his death was of natural cause, and that no foul play was involved. Regardless, Gestapo chief Even Himmler, son of former Fuhrer and Hitler’s right hand man Heimrich Himmler, will lead an investigation as to tie up all loose ends. Meanwhile in Russia, it has been confirmed that unsolicited celebrations of our Fuhrer’s death by Russian rebels have been met with fierce and lethal action by the brave soldiers of the Wermacht…”
The Gestapo Chief of New Prussia, Virgil Seibs, switched the plasma-screen television off, quickly sticking the universal remote into a hidden pocket in his trench coat.
So von Duechelberg was dead. It had been inevitable, considering the state he was in prior to death, but it still took the wind out of any esteemed Party official who was truly devoted to the Reich; one of which was Virgil himself.
He sometimes found it strange as to why he was so devoted and proud of his position due to the fact that he was 75% American, and only a quarter German on his fathers side.
He had disowned his father following the end of the war prior to his military tribunal, which, after 3 years of imprisonment, ultimately led to his execution due to his participation during the war as a Sergeant in the United States Army, and his later participation as a partisan rebel on the West Coast.
He had abandoned the rest of his family as well, although his mother was the only one he still truly loved and seemed to miss on rare occasion.
His older brother, Jordan Seibs, had once been his idol as a top SS Officer as part of the ’Amerikan Relations Act’ in which he had been sent overseas to assist with security at the Vichy Meetings in Paris, Germania, which were staged as to seemingly negotiate the one-sided proposition of the annexation of Vichy France by the Third Reich.
He had continued to be a great role model for Virgil, until the day he was caught attempting to plant a bomb outside of the Reichstag in Berlin during the 7th Annual Germanium Games.
He was executed only two hours following his arrest, but Virgil wasn’t informed for over 2 weeks.
The streets were nearly completely empty, Virgil observed, something which was utterly uncharacteristic for New York, as it had always been, even prior to the Reich’s liberation of the so-called ‘United States.’
In Times Square, there was no sound but that of projected Wermacht recruitment ads on the large high-definition plasma screens embedded on the sides of large commercial buildings.
“Come, hear your true calling, become a true part of the German Reich. Join the glorious, brave Wermacht. Join the fight in Russia to crush the vile rebels who massacre innocent Eurasians every day…”
Were the words that continued to ring throughout the bright, empty streets.
Virgil began to wonder; did von Duechelberg really deserve this respect?
September 25th 1960, 10:33 PM PST
West Florence Ave, Los Angeles, Greater California District, Amerika
Eric Seibs stood back, behind the mob of pro-German American’s who continued to throw anything they had within reach at the group of several Jews who were lined up with their backs to a wall.
Two German SS Officers stood on each side of the line, Luger’s drawn and pointed at the crying, screaming Jews who were fearfully attempting not to keel to their knees or topple over as to not risk execution.
Eric looked down into the striking bright blue eyes of his new and youngest son, Virgil, who had only been born several days ago.
Eric couldn’t take that his son would have to grow up in this cruel new world. He would never know the pleasures of liberty, and the freedoms of democracy and constitution. He would always be under the shadow of a Swastika now, and there was very little that could be done about that right now. The German’s were to powerful, to authoritarian. Even those who strongly disagreed with their policies wouldn’t dare stand up to the Nazis due to fear for themselves and there loved ones.
The war was over. America had lost.
Eric felt partially responsible for this outcome, as he had been a Sergeant with the 67th Infantry Regiment of the United States Army during the invasion of Boston, as well as the American counterattack following the original defeat.
There was a scream as one Jew finally keeled over after getting struck in the nose by a brick. The SS Officer to the far left of Seibs was quick to fire at the crying, bleeding man, bringing his life to a horrifying conclusion.
Seibs turned his back in disgust, and began to walk in the opposite direction towards his home.
Virgil began to cry just as Eric neared the door, making it unnecessary to knock as Eric’s wife, Janet, was immediately drawn to the sound of her sons cries.
As soon as he had walked in the door, the first thing Eric heard was the muffled chatter of men in the kitchen. Turning to his wife with a worried, quizzical look, neither said a word.
Six year old Jordan, Eric’s oldest son, shuffled quickly out of the kitchen and into his room on the far left of the hallway. Eric entered the kitchen and curiously looked around; he quickly recognized all seven men who sat before him.
“Eric, we’re glad you could make it,” one named Mickey said.
“Yeah, we thought you were going to be stuck watching that massacre on Florence all night.” another named Joseph added.
“I thought I’d be stuck there to. Of course, I’ve never been one to follow rules. I left.” Eric replied.
Mickey let out a light chuckle, then said “Look, Eric, there’s a reason for our being here tonight.”
A bulky man, closest to Eric and the exit door to the hall named Damian gave Eric a concerned, understanding look. Eric knew he was about to find out why.
“And that reason is, Mickey?” Eric said; he had a bad feeling about this.
“That reason is exactly what you think it is.”
“And what, per se, do I think it is?”
“Take a wild guess, Eric. I brought six men over with me. Each armed with a pistol and a knife as to protect both themselves and me. I can’t be seen on the streets anymore after what I said about the Nazi occupational government the other night.”
There was a pause, within which Janet walked into the room and took the baby from Eric’s arms.
“These men are animals, Eric.” Mickey said, breaking the silence.
“What are you proposing, then?”
“Again, take a wild guess.”
Eric sighed, leaning against the fridge with one hand on his hip.
“You suggest armed rebellion?” He said.
“Not rebellion, no. We have far to little support for an all-out rebellion.”
“Then what, Mickey? Just give it to me straight.”
“Rebellious acts; espionage, assassination, sabotage. Things we can do by the dark of the night as so we have a chance to get away.”
December 13th 1981, 7:44 AM
German Consulate, Vichy, Auvergne, France
“… and as such, I’m confident that the French State would be much more prosperous as a direct part of the glorious Reich as opposed to being a separate political entity.” Private Heintzmehn explained in his thick German accent.
Senior Security Officer Jordan Seibs listened intently to the nationalistic words his co-worker sputtered in broken English, attempting to disallow the biting cold of a Vichy French day to throw his focus off.
“Do you truly believe every word you say, Heintzmehn? Don’t you think you Germans have swallowed up enough of the world by now?”
Such words would be considered blasphemous to any other German, but Heintzmehn saw Jordan for what he was; the last in the dying breed of true Americans, and he understood what it was to take pride in ones country. Someday, he thought, Seibs would realize that Germany had always been the one and only worthy country to ever grace the face of this planet, and when that day came, he would seek out Heintzmehn, and he would apologize for the questions he asked on this day.
“The point you constantly seem to miss, Herr Seibs, is that you to are German; as far as the Fuhrer is concerned, all true Brittanians, as well as North Americans, are simply offspring’s of the great German Empire who experienced rebellious days of youth, but have now returned to the mother nest as to feed off of its glory.”
“But North America was colonized by Great Britain.” Jordan countered.
“Ah yes, Herr Seibs, it was… but there would be no Great Britain if the Saxons hadn’t migrated there and created the Saxon offshoot we all know today as the Anglo-Saxons, and the Saxons are the epitome of the glorious German race. Do you see where I’m going with this?”
In fact, Jordan did indeed see where Heintzmehn was going with this, but the rebellious words of his father still echoed throughout the hallow enclaves of his mind… “Those Nazi bastards are not true Germans, nor are they true human beings. They are a race of monsters; the absolute epitome of human evil… the absolute show force of what humanity is truly capable of… never buy into it, son. Not for a moment. Never become one of them, or so help you God.”…. at this point, he had no choice as to what to let his body give in too, but he still held heavy sway over what his mind may subject itself to.
“Tell me something, Heintzmehn, if you will?”
“Of course, Herr Seibs. I will tell you anything you like. You know I never speak of the conversations we have together.”
“Heintzmehn,” Jordan said sharply, “Tell me; are you a German, or are you a Nazi?”
Heintzmehn’s face suddenly sunk into an imposturous looking perplexity.
“Why, Herr Seibs… I don’t understand what you mean by that.”
“Are you of sacred Germany? Or are you simply a lackey of the so-called Aryan Nazis?”
“Well, I can tell you I am certainly no lackey, Herr Seibs… every Aryan is equal in the eyes of the Fuhrer, as well as the eyes of God. ‘Nazi’ is simply another word for a sacred German.”
Jordan sighed. There was simply no way of getting to this man; his mind was to far gone.
“Is there anything else you would like to ask, Herr Seibs?” Heintzmehn asked expectantly.
“No, I suppose that’s all for now. I wonder how the meetings going inside.”
“As do I, Herr Seibs. But our place is not to know as it happens; its to know when everything has finally come to fruition.”
“If you say so, Heintzmehn. If you say so.”
March 17th, 2011, 12:09 PM EST
Seibs Family Ranch, Sandpoint, Montana District, Amerika
Janet Johansson Seibs sat alone in her cold, empty kitchen, sipping slowly at her cup of tea as she stared blankly at her broken stove.
Sometimes, she wondered why she had moved back to Montana to live on her deceased husbands ranch; it had been, as it still continues to be, a fruitless venture that simply added to the downward spiral her life had been taking ever since her husband had decided to take part in underground partisan activities against the Nazi occupational forces in Los Angeles back in 1960.
She was old now; old and feeble, yet she had no one to tend to her needs since it seemed her youngest and only surviving son Virgil had abandoned her, as well as the family legacy, for the monsters that had destroyed the family in the first place. He also seemed to take pride in that fact.
She hadn’t eaten a proper meal for over 3 days, mainly due to the fact that the vintage stove the Seibs family had bought during the now-extinct era of the United States had finally given out after over 70 years of use, and was cemented by the dismal facts that her phone also happened to be broken, as well as her vintage 1960’s car she had managed to maintain, even during the Los Angeles Riots of 1964.
She assumed that someday, she would be driven off of the ranch simply by her sheer force of will, and her need for social contact with the outside world. She had already gone a week without seeing a single soul, and realized she might be going a little stir-crazy when she began ranting on and on to herself about how Eric had thrown her, as well as the rest of the family, into this irreversible mess with the help of his revolutionary antics.
Well, she thought, you can’t really blame him. I mean, these fascists are a major step back in terms of human progress. If only we hadn’t forced Germany into signing the Treaty of Versailles, we may have been able to avoid this mess entirely.. It’s such a shame..
It had been that single arrogance of the Triple Entente during the First World War, that had led to the eventual subjugation of the entire planet to German hands. No, not German hands, Aryan hands. Nazi hands. Germany was just the host of the Nazi virus; it to was subjugated to the will of another.
Subjugated to the will of Adolf Hitler.
Janet was exhausted. Even though it was only just past one in the afternoon, not being to eat anything more than cold beans at her age tended to make her want to just slip back into bed, and let reality dissipate like a fog in the bright of a summer afternoon; and that, was exactly what Janet Seibs did.
January 7th, 1965, 1:05 AM PST
Seibs Residence, Los Angeles, Greater California District, Amerika
5 year old Virgil Seibs stared up at his snow-white ceiling; he hadn’t been tucked in by his father for over 2 weeks, and he was beginning to become curious as to where his father had disappeared to.
Finally, after nights of restlessness, he decided he was going to confront his mother on the matter.
Slipping out from beneath his Captain America quilt, little Virgil shuffled quietly into the hallway, trying his best not to drag his feet as he made his way towards his mothers room.
He rapped his little knuckle against his mothers bedroom door as hard as he could; hearing the shifting of blankets and bed sheets, Virgil said, “Mommy?”
“Virgil, darling, is that you? What are you doing up? It’s very late, sweetheart.” Janet replied.
“I need to ask you a question!”
There was a moment of silence, and then Virgil heard his mother get up, and walk towards the door.
Carefully, she opened it up with a sort of grace that only a mother could have, lifting him into her arms as soon as she had.
“What is it, darling? Did you have a nightmare?” She asked softly.
“No.”
“No? Then what’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“Where’s daddy? I miss him!”
Janet’s eyes sank; yet, she continued to smile.
“Daddy’s… busy, son.”
“Busy doing what? Is he fighting rebels?”
“No, not exactly, sweetie. But he is fighting bad guys; he’s trying to make the world better for you and Jordan.”
“But the world is ok, isn’t it, mommy?”
“No, sweetheart… the world isn’t ok. The world is hurt and confused.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You don’t need to. Someday, I hope you will; but right now, leave it to the adults, ok darling?”
“Yes mommy.”
“That’s my boy. Now, go and get some sleep, alright?”
“Ok.”
With that, he gave him mother a kiss and shuffled back towards his room. On his way there, the first thing he noticed was his 15 year old brother standing at his bedroom door.
“Don’t worry, kiddo. Someday, you’ll get it.”
**This is NOT the story's conclusion. More will be added with the final draft.**
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