Rebellious

 I nevermore imagined my life would come to this. All of the strife, all of the conflict, the destruction, the trauma. I didn’t know that Mike would shift into this. I didn’t know that Jorge wouldn’t be here. I wish I could change it all. 

October 1, 1943

     “JULIE! LOOK OUT!” Jorge yells. I toss myself to the other side of the range where a bullet would’ve hit me in the chest. Then I get up and run towards Jorge as bullets dart towards us. I then notice Mike on the opposite side talking with the rival. I scream as Jorge gets hit with a bullet, he gets hit in the abdomen. I sit down placing his head in my lap stroking his blonde hair as I watch the life get drawn out of him. As he grasps his last breath, I hear him say: “Run, fight, do whatever it takes.” Without giving it one more thought, I pick up his weapon and start moving towards them as they all bring down their weapons, now realizing who I am. I reload Jorge’s weapon, partially on the arena and I promptly start shooting at them taking them out one by one. I hear some of the Nazis yelling at me to set down my weapon so we can figure something out. 

    “JULIE WESTPOINT!” Will yells for me. “THINK! YOU CAN’T UNDO THIS.” He yells. At this point, I comprehend the reality of the situation. I lower Jorge’s weapon and I drop myself to my knees with my hands up. I see some Nazis approaching me to bring me back home. My dad accompanies them. 

“I’ve got this boys. Go take care of that Jorge fellow back there. See that he gets medical attention,” I overhear my dad saying. 

He approaches me, “Julie, I understand that you don’t like the fact that I’m a Nazi serving Hitler. Nevertheless, you have to acquire the truth that if you don’t obey under Hitler’s control you could get injured.” 

“I regret this, but I’m also not apologetic to this matter.”

“There is no getting through to you, is there? Let’s go.” 

We take off and arrive at my humble abode. In which this home was, in fact, a present from Hitler so my father can be closer to a concentration compound. I am prohibited from going into the backyard of our home because there stands a stone barrier with a secured door reaching through a field to the concentration camp. Yet, that doesn’t prevent me. I’m a girl who is all about releasing the hostages of the concentration camps. 

Leading up to me opposing my dad and his Nazis, I had gone inside the garden shed, clutched a shovel, and furthermore, climbed the wall. After that, I raced to the concentration camp with the shovel while it was interval time for the inmates. Then I burrowed a passage beneath the railing large enough for them to slither beneath and escape. Immediately after that occurred, one of my dad’s Nazis noticed I was missing and knew EXACTLY where I stood. He appeared right behind me and seized me by the abdomen, brought me back to my room, and locked me in there until my dad came and spoke to me. The next day, I got my friends together and we fired at my dad and his men. 

My reflections are obstructed as my father walks into the room, “Julie. I’m sending you away until you can learn.” 

“What do you mean?”

“I’m sending you to go live with Adolf Hitler and his Fiance.”

“No way! I’m NOT going!”

“You leave in the morning, don’t make this hard Julie.”

“DAD! I'm NOT GOING TO GO LIVE WITH THAT PSYCHOPATH!”  

“You have no choice.” 

October 2, 1943

My Father closes the door leaving me to pack my things. I start packing my things making sure to grab a hunting knife that Will had given me. Then I continued to pack my bags and I grabbed 20 shirts and 20 pairs of jeans. I put the knife at the bottom of the suitcase hoping nobody would find it. I then attempt to try to open my window; just as I am my father comes in, “Julie, It’s time to go.” A tear rolls down my cheek because even though I don’t agree with what he does I still love him. I never thought that he would send me away like this, not after mom died. I go up to him hugging him.

 I whisper in his ear, “Dad, please don’t do this. I cannot bear to live under the same roof as Hitler.” My dad pulls away from our hug and takes my hand leading me downstairs to my doom. 

“I love you Julie. Don’t do this the hard way. You can come back in a month if you do this the easy way,” my father includes. Then I pull him into one more hug as a goodbye. My father lets go and walks away leaving me with a tall man with straight, nicely parted brown hair, brown eyes, a bushy, brown mustache that didn’t stretch any farther than the width of his nose, and a tan button-up shirt that had a red and black symbol on his arm. I knew exactly who it was. It was Hitler. 

“Come along Julie,” He says as he extends a hand for me to grab onto. I ignore him and walk ahead of him, putting my suitcase into the trunk of his car while getting into the back seat of the car. He sits in the driver’s seat staring at me through the rearview mirror with his hands on the wheel, still not driving away. “Julie,” He starts. “Is this how it’s going to be the whole time you’re with me?” I ignore him, refusing to acknowledge him as I stare out the window. After about two minutes of waiting for me to answer him with no response, he slams his hands on the wheel, starts the car, and drives off. Two hours pass and we finally arrive in Berlin. He drives about ten more minutes down the road and stops at this huge white home. It looks like it’s three stories high. I get out before he stops the car and try to run away, but as I do, two huge men in the same uniform as Adolf Hitler come running in front of me stopping me, in my tracks. I turn around only to see Hitler standing right in front of me with my suitcase. I snatch it out of his hand and walk inside. When I get inside, there are two ladies with blonde hair and blue eyes waiting for me. One tries to take my bag, but I hold onto it so tight. They accompany me to the third floor and walk me down to this bedroom, which has a queen-sized bed with white sheets, posters of Nazis and Hitler, novels about Hitler and the Camps, a seat, a desk with a lamp, including an immense walk-in wardrobe. The ladies try to follow me in but I slam the door shut. 

October 15, 1943

“I told you! I’m not coming out!” I yell through the barricaded door.

“Julie, you have to. Hitler has refused to let us bring you any food until you come downstairs.” The maid says.

“Ugh, fine. I prefer to perish.”

“I suggest that you change your mind soon.” 

The maid leaves me as my stomach roars. The following day I got here I barricaded the door with the bookcase, bed and the chair right by the bookcase. I don’t want them trying to get me out of this room. I hear footsteps coming up the stairs. It sounds like stomping: a few people stomping. 

 “JULIE! I SUGGEST THAT YOU COME OUT OF THIS ROOM RIGHT NOW!” Hitler yells through the door to me.

“No. I refuse.”

“I HAVE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS NONSENSE! COME OUT BY TOMORROW AT SUNDOWN OR BAD THINGS WILL FOLLOW!” 

October 30, 1943

I take down the barricade so I can eavesdrop audibly. I draft down a plot. 

1. Attempt to escape
2. If that doesn’t work I need to act like they got through to me
3. I need to take care of Hitler

I make this plan and then I hide it underneath a floorboard. Just after this, I hear delicate footsteps escalating the steps. It must be Eva, Hitler’s fiancee. She walks to my door and stops. She stands there for a moment as I hurry to take a book. I sit down and flip to a page in the center. She knocks,

“Yes?” I answer.

“May I come in Julie?” She asks politely.

“Sure.” She opens the door slowly and cautiously.

“Adolf and I have been consulting and, we think it’s sufficient if we move your bedroom downstairs so we don’t have another disturbance like this again.”

“But, nothing will occur again.”

“It’s just a precaution.”

November 9, 1943

This room way worse than the other. It has dark grey walls with Nazi symbols all over, including more books and posters of Hitler. If this is going to do anything it’s just going to drive me mad. That’s not even the worst thing my bed sheets have the Nazi symbol on it and to top that off they’re sending me back home to my Father tomorrow.

January 7, 1944

I’ve been back home for about two months now. My Father has definitely changed. I’m sleep-deprived, food-deprived, fun-deprived, socially-deprived, and energy-deprived. He has only been feeding me one meal every day which contains this very un-appetizing soup, bread and cheese. My Father also re-decorated my room to look more like the room I stayed in when I lived with Hitler. Lately, my Father has also been more strict. He hit me last week. I told him that I couldn’t eat the meal he had been feeding me and he slapped me across the face. I hear a knock on the door,

“Julie?” I hear my Father behind the door.

“Yes, Father?” I reply.

“Come downstairs for a minute.”

“Okay, I’m coming.” I quickly mark my place in my book and put it back on the shelf. I clean up my desk and put the papers away, after that I walk downstairs.

“Julie.” My Father says.

“Yes, Father?” I reply.

“I am sending you somewhere.”

“Where?”

“You are going to go to a Hitler Youth meeting today.”

“Okay, for how long?”

“Just an hour or two.”

“Okay, let’s go.” I have learned that I have to play along or he will either mentally abuse, me which has (almost every time) been him saying something along the lines of “If your mother were still alive she would’ve sent you away for good.” Or he will physically abuse me, as in slap me, throw something, or shove me onto the ground. I come back into reality I get out of the car and walk into the Youth Compound.

October 31, 1944

My Father hasn’t come back for me in eight months. Even after all the things he’s done to me and everyone else I still miss him and I love him. Today is mail day, I’m hoping that I will finally have something from my Father. 

“Julie Westpoint?” After a long time I finally hear my name called for mail. I go up and grab my mail. It’s not from my Father. It’s from Mike Randerstoff. I look at the envelope: It has blood red wax sealing it closed. I break the wax, open the letter, and begin reading it:

“October 27, 1944

Julie,

I know that you don’t want to hear from me. You told me this last year when I told your Father your plans to escape and that you’d been going to the Camps every day. But, this time it’s time for me to tell you something your Father accidentally told me last week. Your Mother Is Alive. She is healthy and alive, he even told me where she is. I have her right now and she is doing fantastic. She was punished and locked away for rebelling against Hitler in 1933-1935. I think you and I were about seven years of age. Your Father told me that he lied to you to protect you from the truth. Ever since he has told me all of this information he has gone off of the grid.

                                 With love, Mike”

I finish reading it and fold it up into my pocket. Now it is time to escape.

May 7th, 1945

Word has spread that Hitler is dead. I rejoiced to this news. When I escaped on November 8th, 1944, I found Jorge and we went into hiding. I guess my Father at least did one good thing. Mike and I met up and I got to see my mother again for the first time in over ten years. I finally get to listen to my Mother’s hums while she cooks or cleans and Jorge’s cringey jokes and laughs. There is still no word from my father. Nobody has seen nor heard from him since he disappeared. We all get scared as we hear a knock on the door,

“JULIE? MARGRET? JORGE?” We hear a man yelling for us. We all sprint away to hide. I hide in a wardrobe along with my Mother and Jorge hides under the bed. We hear the door burst open. “COME ON!! I KNOW YOU’RE IN HERE!” We hear again. 

Just then I see a glimpse of the man; It’s my father. He opens the wardrobe and pulls us both out. I cry because I haven’t seen him in a while. “Where’s Jorge? We have to go! The Nazis are coming to kill us all. I came to my senses and I released all of the prisoners from the concentration camp.” My Father says. We see Jorge crawl out from underneath the bed. We run outside and all hop into his car. Two hours later we are far away and maybe we can survive.

May 8, 1945

We made it, we survived. Word just came that they’re taking down all camps! We are free. Now we can all live our lives. But now, telling this story I think I would keep almost all of this the same. All of this bloodshed, trauma, lies, etc has made me who I am. I don’t want to change that.