Miss-Fascist

Smack! He shouldn't be as surprised as he was, but he just simply could not understand.  There was a painful stinging sensation in his cheek, and why?  Because he had flirted with this silly woman?  Admittedly, he may have been somewhat persistent, but that did not warrant such an embarrassment.  Being slapped like some kind of pervert, in front of such a crowd..  Did she want to ruin him?  It would certainly seem so. Oh - and she's making quite a scene now.  Gathering her things, and tossing a scowl at him as she makes her way to the exit, slamming the door as she leaves.  He feels an urgent impulse to follow her and make her pay for her a

“Mrraear!” “What the hell?”  Dietrich grabbed his rifle, as he jammed his helmet more securely onto his head, rolling over and propping himself up onto his elbows, his eyes frantically searching the darkness.  “The enemy.. Where are they?!”  He could see the shadow of his comrade Anton doing the same.  “What the hell is going on?” He asked him.  “What was that awful sound?  A dying man, a wounded animal?”   “Let go, Sophie!  Please, let go, it hurts!”   “Christoph, is that you? 

"You stupid bastard." The "stupid bastard" in turn, smiled.  "Verpiss dich, I did it to save your slow ass.  You should be thanking me, Stefan.  You can start by giving me a cigarette." Reaching into his vest, Stefan pulled out a worn-looking pack of cigarettes, sliding out one he placed it between his lips.  Then, he hesitated for a moment, as if he was unsure of what to do next, and then finally returned the pack into his vest.  "Any-hoo, Gustav, so sorry about your leg!"  Laughing, he pulled out a book of matches from his pocket, lit up his cigarette, and took a good long drag. Glaring, the younger man attempted to reach for the sweet n

Dear God, he was tired. It was more than just the usual "goddamn I'm tired" he often experienced in his line of work.  No, it was more along the lines of a "dear God there's a horrible hammering pain in the back of my head" kind of tired.  And thusly, he was pissed.  Growling at anyone who came near him, he only gave angry mumbles to those who questioned his sour mood or tried to joke him into a better one. Naturally, as an infantry soldier, he had been walking for days, and he felt blisters forming on his feet.  He could picture them in his mind's eye, swelling and spreading.  Someone had stolen his extra pair of socks and his current ones

Anyone walking past the old pollution grimed brownstone building in New York City that day would have heard an explosive cry of dismay, seemingly coming from the rooftop and ringing out to the heavens.  There was no way anyone would not have noticed the hurt and sorrow in the person's voice.  Just from hearing this single shout of pain, the listener would know that this person had been betrayed somehow.  Horribly... horribly betrayed. "Mein leiblings!  How could zey do this to me!  Zose traitors!  Zose verdammen traitors!  Zey have broken ze Siegfried Oakth!  Zey must die!" moaned Franz brokenheartedly. With another shout of pain Franz sudd