English Composition II Blog
The Story of Thomas Smith Obergruppenfuhrer John Smith was huddled at a pristine office desk, twiddling a coin between his fingers. Heads…or tails?” He couldn’t stop himself from repeating that question over and over again in his mind. Heads or tails? Heads or tails? Heads or tails? He knew somewhere in the back of his mind that he shouldn’t leave this decision to mere chance. It was foolish, he wasn’t even sure that he would go through with the decision if the coin didn’t land in his favor. Or better yet, in his son’s favor. Thomas’ condition had slowly begun to worsen. Once upon a time, he only fell down the stairs upon occasion. Now, he was having trouble simply picking up a fork. The entire thing was enough to make someone ill. How could Thomas do this? How dare he? Heads or tails, John? Heads or tails…. “John?” Helen popped her head into the office. Her blonde curls were neatly in place, not a single hair askew. John grunted, signaling that he had heard her. “Dinners ready, we don’t want to start without you.” Of course, you can’t start without me. John was the man in the family; it would be considered incredibly rude if his wife, son, or daughters took the first piece of whatever food was laid out on the table. John nodded. “I’ll just be a minute.” He turned and pulled his lips upward to make a smile. “Okay, dear. Take your time.” She grinned back and soared back into the dining room. John rested his head in his hands, resisting the urge to pound his forehead repeatedly into the desktop. He knew what he should do. But what he should have been doing and what he wanted to do were for once, two completely different things. Heads or tails? Damn it, damn it, damn it. He dropped the coin into his pocket, pushed back from the desk and stood up. Had the chair always been that uncomfortable? He loosened his tie a bit and unbuttoned the top button on his shirt. Everything was suffocating him nowadays. He shuffled out of his office, closing the door with a slight click. Heading into the dining room he was greeted with a burst of noise. “Father!” the two girls exclaimed. He smiled tightly at them as he took his seat at the head of the table. Thomas sat to his left, pristine as ever in his Hitler youth uniform. “How was your day at school, Thomas?” John asked as Helen dished out piles of roast beef onto his plate. “It was fine.” He offered no more explanation. “Just fine?” “Yes, just fine.” “What was just fine about it?” Helen was now pouring peas onto his white ceramic plate. “We had gym class today.” Oh, I know where this is going. John struggled to control his face as he asked his next question. “And, how was gym class?” “Fine.” Oh, this is worse than torturing a man. They at least speak more than what Thomas is doing now. “What did you do in gym class today, Thomas?” “John, could you pass the salt and pepper please?” Helen was giving him that look. That look that said, please don’t. Thomas still hadn’t replied. “I asked you a question, Thomas.” Thomas picked up his fork, his hand shaking slightly. “We played soccer today. I was the goalie, and my team ended up losing.” Ah. “And why did your team lose?” “My legs kept cramping up, I couldn’t get to the ball fast enough.” “How do you feel now?” He shrugged his skinny shoulders. “I feel okay, my legs still feel odd.” “Those growing pains are hitting you hard honey.” Helen reached over and patted Thomas’ hand reassuringly. Heads or tails. “Amy.” John looked at his youngest daughter. “Yes, papa?’ He reached into his pocket and drew out the coin, striving to make sure his hand didn’t tremble. What was he doing? Even John Smith himself wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he couldn't make this decision himself. He couldn’t decide the fate of his only son. What other way was there to do it? “Let’s play a quick game. Flip the coin. Heads you get dessert now, tails you get dessert after you wash the dishes.” This was cruel, and he knew it. If his daughter ever learned what that simple coin flip would do. She would be scarred forever. Hopefully she would stay ignorant. Please let it be heads. I cannot kill my own son. Amy’s eyes lit up. “Oh! I hope I get dessert now!” “John,” Helen was looking at him. “Do you think this wise…?” “Not particularly, but a decision must be made.” he could feel the cold sweat dripping down his back. He shifted uncomfortably in the chair, leaning forward, resting his elbows on the table. His eyes shifted restlessly between the coin, Helen’s worried face, and Thomas’ blank stare. “About dessert? Right now?” her eyes were wide. “Yes right now, Helen!” She placed her hands in her lap meekly, not replying. Amy flipped the coin. John watched the silver shiver through the silent air. The light from the lamp above made it glimmer. Time seemed to slow down. It flipped, heads over tails. John’s breath hitched ever so slightly as it landed on the table with a clatter. Everyone leaned over to look. None so far as John. Tears glistened in his eyes. He did his best to hide them. “Darn it!” Amy exclaimed. John paled. “I really wanted that cheesecake now.” “Get the dishes done, then you can have it.” John pushed back from the table, the chair squealing on the ground. Of course, it had landed on tails. What had he expected? That night as he climbed into bed, his mind was racing. The syringe was in his bedside drawer, beckoning to him. When should he do it? How should he do it? Helen was already sound asleep, breathing deep and evenly. With her eyes closed, she looked as if she didn’t have a care in the world. And she didn’t. She had no idea what was going on, no idea that her only son was about to die. But it had to be this way. Thomas couldn’t live when all he would be was a detriment to society. Thomas would understand. After tossing and turning for some time, John got up and went into his office, sitting down in the uncomfortable chair again. He looked up when he heard the door creak open. “Thomas?” his heart stopped looking at his pale face. “What are you doing up at this hour?” John heard the click of the gun before he saw it, shining in his own son’s hand. For once it wasn’t shaking. “Why haven’t you killed me already, father?” He knows. “So you know about…?” “Yes. I overheard you and the doctor talking. I’m not stupid! Why haven’t you killed me yet?” “You’re my son, Thomas. It’s more complicated than just a matter of pulling the trigger.” “No, no it isn’t. If you were a loyal subject to the Reich I wouldn’t be here right now. You’re committing treason. What happens to people who commit treason?” he pulled the trigger. John slumped to the floor, unmoving, unable to draw another breath. “Well.” Thomas heaved a huge sigh, raising the gun to his temple. “For the Reich.” BAM
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AuthorHey everyone! This is my blog page for my English Composition II class. In here I will post assignments, thoughts, and drafts of current writing pieces I'm working on. Enjoy! Archives
May 2017
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