I'm not even going to talk about the riddles, because I don't like riddles that don't make sense, and also I want to talk about something else.
And before that, Janus still isn't back.
They say history is written by the victors. Who hears the losers' story?
And who will write ours?
But...I had an idea for a story. I'd try writing a full-blown book, but I've already got the one, and school, and evil monsters, so yeah! I guess...huh, you can't indent paragraphs. So, uh, - means new paragraph! Here.
WRITTEN BY A VICTOR
-It is a strange feeling, thought Kurtis Herman, being welcomed to your homeland as a hero. It was not something he felt every day. In fact, he hadn't felt it before this day, before the day he returned to Berlin from the war. He wasn't some kind of war survivor - his entire unit was still alive. But nonetheless, he supposed they had indeed accomplished some pretty great things, so for the moment Kurtis just basked in the glow of the people's faces.
-"Herr Herman! Herr Herman! What are you going to do now?"
-Kurtis slowly turned his head. His neck still ached a bit from the flight, but as he saw the journalist waving, he smiled gleefully. "I think I'll take a trip to Japan!" he yelled back. The woman nodded and began scribbling something down, as his fellow soldiers in the motorcade glanced at him uneasily.
-"Why do you look at me with such doubt?" he asked of his companion in the car, Jonas Veicht. Jonas was a tall man, with rippling muscles and a bristle mustache. He had dark skin from long hours under the sun, and his left arm was wrapped in bandages and in a sling. "Come! We have won, have we not? Why not live a little?"
-"Ah...Japan still is much war-torn, Feldwebel. I do not think it would be a good idea," replied Veicht.
-"But...oh. I see your point, friend."
-"You have seen the images, yes? Have you forgotten so quickly?"
-"No! I just...Well, alright. Maybe a little."
-"Why not get drunk instead? Perhaps find a wife to take, no? Like my Rosie! Oh, her rhabarbergrütze is to die for, Herman. And how wonderful we have not! You simply must come over for dinner sometime."
-"Yeah...yeah, okay." Kurtis understood exactly what Veicht meant. He could perfectly recall the vivid images of burning homes they were shown. Who knows what would have happened if the bomb had detonated as planned by the Americans? There probably wouldn't even be a Japan any more.
-The line traipsed on. Eventually, the cars arrived near the center of the city. The rows and rows of the crowd began screaming and screaming, although in excitement, not pain. "IT'S HIM!" "Der Führer!" "What will he say?!"
-Kurtis craned his neck around, but he couldn't see anyone at all. He leaned towards Jonas and whispered, "Do you see who they're talking about?"
-Veicht did not respond with words. He only lifted his hand and pointed towards a nearby balcony. There were a few elite soldiers there, as well as a stocky man in military uniform. Out from the open door came another man, of average height and rather thin, with a short mustache and exquisitely groomed hair. He lifted his right arm out in front of him in a flat salute.
-The procession halted in its tracks. Adolf Hitler, for of course it was he, stared down at the cars, and Kurtis had the strangest feeling the Führer was looking at him. Suddenly, Hitler turned and spoke quickly to his guards, then called out to the streets. Over the roars of the people, Kurtis could not hear what was said, but in a minute he was being led inside the mansion by more bodyguards. More yells came from outside, shouts of passion. He heard Hitler's voice screaming, "ACHTUNG!"
-"You must be very important, Feldwebel, to be asked to speak to the Führer like this," muttered one of them.
-"I promise, I have no idea what I have done..."
-"Well, we shall see, then, shan't we?" cackled the same man, and the others began to snicker.
-Upstairs, in the room of the balcony, were both Hitler and Himmler, the stocky man from before. Hitler gestured to one of the chairs, and Kurtis sat with a sigh. Hitler waved the guards out of the room, and they left, albeit reluctantly.
-"Will you not sit?" asked Kurtis.
-"We will be leaving soon," said Himmler.
-"Yes, but first, we wish to speak with you, Kurtis Arnold Herman," said Hitler.
-"Yes, Führer. Anything."
-"You, my friend, you..." Himmler did not finish. He just shook his head and mumbled something into the other man's ear. Hitler nodded, and his second-in-command left the room.
-"Is there something I have done wrong?" asked Kurtis.
-"Maybe. You tell me."
-"What...what do you...?"
-"You were found assisting American soldiers escape an ambush."
-"Do you mean to say I am wrong?" The mass-murderer's eyes were cold, an icy glare straight from the bottom of the world.
-"Of course not! I only...I just...I would never do such a thing!"
-"Is that so?"
-For a while, Hitler only watched Kurtis stew. Then he reached behind the chair and pulled out a small gun.
-"Do you know what this is, Feldwebel?"
-Kurtis swallowed guiltily. "A pistol?"
-"It is a special kind of pistol. It will not kill you, only knock you unconscious for a time."
-"Ah. I, ah, I see."
-"Yes. How old are you, Feldwebel?"
-"I am, ah, thirty-eight."
-"Then the effects should not take long to kick in." Hitler leveled the tranquilizer gun against Kurtis' shoulder.
-"Ach, mein Gott. Was...was..."
-The lights hurt his eyes as he groggily opened them. Kurtis did not know where he was. His last memory was being carried inside a large house after returning home.
-"It's okay. You're okay." A new voice, was this. One he had never heard before.
-"Ach...Entschuldigen Sie bitte. Ich weiß nicht, Sie...bist du...Rosie?"
-Kurtis shook his head. AH! Bad, bad, bad...
-"I'm sorry, sir. I don't understand you."
UGH. That's way enough for today. I'll finish this up later.