Alptraum
An Alternative History Affair
By TekcoR
209 Roses
“Thank you Rhiley,” I said at the entrance to the most quiet and least disturbed place of the town. I softly took the package from his extended hands and smiled. He knew what was contained within the paper wrapped package. While I was busy attending to more pressing matters within the city of Berlin, I had dispatched my nephew to find me a certain type of flower in an exact quantity. He had mentioned that it took quite a gargantuan effort to find the exact amount I had specified; and had set us back quite a few thousand Reichsmarks.
Rhiley nodded and began to move away from me after I had secured the package. He came to a resting place a few feet away from where we had exchanged the package, and laid his back against the tree and began to stare off over yonder. I remember the idealistic stare that quickly overcame his face. There was not a care in the world that could bother him at this time. I had known those moments during my teenager years; but those were quickly shattered during the autumn of 1918. I had lost my idealistic innocence in the forests. Somehow, through these years, Rhiley had maintained that state we all dreamt of.
I had stared at my nephew for what felt like an eternity, nostalgia has a powerful effect. I don’t know how Rhiley has been able to maintain his idealistic, almost boyish look on life. He is similar to his cousins, Philipp and Sebastian; yet they have not witnessed what he has seen. I guess perhaps, what he has witnessed is different. I have killed several men, and had those comrades dearest to me die within my grasps. It changes a person. From my knowledge, none of the boys have had to go through the realities of war as countless others have. Perhaps this can be blamed partially on Josef and I. We have strived to keep our offspring safe from harm while countless others sons were either dead, wounded or captured on the battlefields. I…wish it had been different.
Returning to reality, away from the innocence of the youth, I began to stroll down the neat rows of the graveyard to a simple but eloquent marker that read Elijah and Eva Schnack. My father was an amazing person, being born on April 12th, 1865 – a challenging time for the nation of Prussia. By the time of my mother’s birth on April 18th, 1868, Prussia had greatly increased its influence in the German states, annexing numerous states. I knelt down in front of the grave and began to weep. I wish I had been able to attend their funeral. I carefully began to unbind the package; upon completing the task there were four distinct groups of red roses. I looked blankly at the roses, unable to remember the order I had requested them in.
I cocked my head to the right, to look back at Rhiley. I had instructed him on the ordering and placement of the bundled roses, yet… “The one of the farthest left is for papa,” said a voice that emanated from my rear.
I turned my head further to the right and saw from the corner of my eye a familiar looking figure. I nodded and returned my eyes attention to placing the flowers. I carefully placed the 78 roses, one for each year of my father’s life under his name on the marker. I began to reach for the next bundle of roses that tallied 75.
“Her roses look prettier,” said the voice. I couldn’t help but put a cheerful smile on my face. He always had a way of lifting my mood regardless of the circumstance. I completed the placement of the second bundle under my mother’s name and stood there giving a brief prayer for both my parents.
I remained kneeled for a minute after the end of the prayer, and walked five steps down from my parents’ grave. “Anton Bernard Schnack, January 14th, 1890 to November 8th, 1918,” I read in my mind while I began to kneel in front of his grave. “I miss you brother. I could only wish you could see the actions I have and will continue to strive to achieve for the people we all serve. I wish that for your services,” I finished saying while placing 28 roses underneath his name.
I completed a different prayer for my brother and went to the next grave that was two rows down and five graves to the right of my eldest brothers. “Bernice Bopp,” I said, unable to read the dates marking her birth and death, they had been vandalized every time the marker had been replaced. “To my sister’s sister, your name shall soon be avenged,” I said as I placed the remaining 28 roses underneath her name.
I got up from her grave after two minutes of reflection on the tragedy that had ensued a decade beforehand. I about faced and in front of me the source of the voice had followed me through my entire route. “I am proud of what you have become. The disguise you wear suits your nature. Complete the task, restore honor to the people,” the voice said fading away, and before completely dissipating both physically and mentally.
“I will for you. I will for mother. I will Anton. I will for Bernice. I will for the countless others.”