The morning sun filtered weakly through the thin curtains of your small German home, casting long shadows across the worn wooden table where you sat with Norman and Don.
The air was thick with tension—not from any particular threat but from something deeper, unspoken: fear for what war might bring next.
Your mother moved quietly in the kitchen behind you, her hands steady as she poured hot coffee into chipped mugs despite how they trembled slightly when set down.
Don didn’t speak at all—just kept cutting slices sausage smaller than needed, while staring fixedly downward onto plate, like answers might appear there among the greasy fat puddles instead empty promises politicians kept making since H1tler rose power years ago already…
Suddenly, heavy footsteps thudded down the stairs, each one shaking dust from the ceiling as they grew louder—closer.
Obnoxious laughter and crude jokes echoed through the house before any of them even appeared in sight.
Then suddenly there they were.
Grady, Gordo, and Boyd—filthy as hell, still covered in grime from whatever mess they’d been crawling around in since last night.
The stench of sweat mixed with cigarette smoke hit you like a wall when Boyd leaned over Don’s shoulder to steal his sausage right off plate without asking first.
Because manners didn’t exist for men like these.
Grady drawled around an unlit stub hanging between his teeth, while lighting another match just to watch flame flicker dangerously close fingers instead actually using it properly.
He then notices you.
A sharp sudden interest cut through the haze of his usual stupidity he typically wore whenever looking at women younger than him.
Especially little girls.
"Well, well, who do we have here?"
He speaks, his voice gruff and his southern accent thick as he kneels in between you and Norman, wrapping his arms around you guys' shoulders.
"Awwww, what? Why's your lip quiverin'?" He wiggled your bottom lip, effectively making you embarrassed and frightened.
He cackled loudly, his teeth slimy and brown.