Most of us long to "Be" but when the path gets too costly, or steep, we take solace in what we "Have." Remove the trappings of what we own, and then what is the sum of us?
They were the survivors, abandoned by the allies who swore to protect, in...
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There was a resounding knock on the heavy metal door. Krosse was reclined in his favorite leather chair enjoying his pipe and ruminating over his day's work, leather bound medical journal in hand, pondering over how he might up the ante tomorrow? Victor needed results whatever they revealed, his Lord's patience was running thin. Though the Doctor was a realist, and was pretty sure that after all this time the beautiful woman of Lothar's betrothal bargain would not be so beautiful, or virginal, possibly not even breathing.
Dropping the volume to the shining mahogany side table with a thud, and carefully setting down his pipe he strode toward the door angrily, resenting being disturbed. This had better be important, Krosse thought, ready to verbally abuse the source of the interruption. He could hear the sounds of his bath being drawn in the the adjacent room and glared angrily at the unfortunate soldier who stood uncertainty, framed in the doorway. Strict military protocols were observed here, the uniformed soldier saluting his superior in fine German style.
"Sir, I must report to you the captives have escaped."
Victor's expression hardened, his blue eyes betraying no hint of inner dread he felt at this news. The alarms then sounded and Krosse dismissed the man who followed with yet another salute and departed swiftly to other duties.
Victor stood a moment in the corridor, door ajar to his inner private world watching the soldier depart. He slammed the door closed locking it with a loud thunk, not bothering to inform his slave of the sudden happenings. He told her nothing of his life or his inner self. She was naught more than a pretty animal to him. He owed her no explanation of his actions or desires, coming and going as he pleased. She must meekly compliment them, or feel the pain of his displeasure. She was as all things in his private domain a comfortable convenience that he owned and did not share with others.
*****
The elaborate and sizable apartments of Lord Lothar's adjoined his own, and it was only moments before he was being admitted to the doorway flanked by guards. They too saluted their commanding officer as he passed by, Krosse barely paid them any mind. His boots crushing the soft carpet underfoot as he strode the hallway lined in priceless oil paintings in gilded frames. Marble busts of gods, and great generals on their stone plinths stood to either side, they watched mutely through their ivory perfection admonishing him. Krosse paused briefly before his favorite one in the collection, his truest hero Adolph Hitler, saluting him in his mind. The one man he could respect, the one man he would emulate.
Entering the great dining room he found his Lord seated and waiting, the vast table set in fine silver and crystal, but strangely devoid of the evening repast. Even here the wails of sirens permeated.
"My Lord," Krosse said reverentially.
Bowing from the waist in a very shallow bow, barely a bow at all. Lothar was slow to respond folding the heavy cloth napkin in tighter and tighter triangles before him until he could fold it no further. Krosse was patient, he was used to his Lord's eccentric little behaviors that had become most irritating to him since his accident.
