Valiant

    The air was nearly acidic, putrid from the stink of sickness and death. Eli coughed at the stench, ragged brown hair falling into his eyes as he did so. His chocolate eyes watered, and the Jewish boy, fourteen years of age, tried desperately to escape the fetor by covering his face with his hands, careful not to stab himself in the eye when the bus he was on jolted. To get injured right now would most certainly not do.

    The bus, crammed full with anxious Jews, jounced again as it hit either a rock or some misfortunate animal. Its unwilling content was thrown across what little room there was in the vehicle. Deep in the back, a poor soul moaned in pain. Eli’s throat clenched, but there was nothing he could do without getting trampled.

    In actuality, despite the impending terrors he was sure to witness in the near future, there was nothing at all for Eli to do, save stare out the window miserably and watch the grassy hills roll by. The boy had attempted to lead his fellow captive Jews in song, hoping to lift up praise to his God, but the Nazi guards had silenced him almost immediately. He’d resorted to praying quietly to himself, but it wasn’t quite the same, not in such a time when passion was so direly needed.

    All the same, Eli gazed forebodingly out the window and thanked God for sustaining him thus far. Perhaps he would survive the concentration camps; that is, assuming that he ever escaped. Sometimes it seemed as though the war would never end; or worse, that the detested and feared Hitler and his followers would win. If that were to happen, there would be no hope for Eli, or any Jew for that matter.

    The bus swerved abruptly, thrusting Eli’s face straight into the window. The Jew barely refrained from swearing and leaned back, rubbing his nose. The fear and apprehension were gradually boiling over into anger, and his throbbing face wasn’t helping matters.

    Sourly, Eli resumed his stare out the window, but to his surprise was met with a scene different than the previous. In a valley sunken before him, an immense, vast ghost town lurked, giving off an aura of despair.

    Color was fictitious in the concentration camp. From his bus’s perch atop a towering hill, Eli could see that every corner of his new home was washed over with a murky shade of brown or gray. People traveled only in groups, and their figures were slouched and hopeless.

    Despite the horrible sensation of desperation flooding his soul, the young Jew felt an eerie sense of grim determination that inspired him to firm his jaw and still his shivers. He knew that, though he may perish, his Father was on his side.

    As he neared the site of his impending doom, Eli felt valiant.



Hey, guys.
Long time no update. Heh.

Okay, I am SO sorry about my lack of posts as of recently. I know that there are no excuses and that this is something I committed my time to, but honestly, I don't know what to write about. It seems like, last year, I had inspiration after inspiration running through my mind. Now, my brain is like this: O. Empty. Like a doughnut.

Brave, Courageous, Valiant…Anyone else think there are too many things titled after heroic emotions?

Oh, and I do realize the ending is rushed. It's because my mind quit out on me mid-story. Will fix later.

Ciao!