Hitler's Funeral: A Short Story

‘Heil Hitler.’ Ralf said performing the proper salute, and then shutting the door. Opening the envelope, his breath hitched. The paper he held in his hand, informed him of his mother’s death and the time the funeral was to be held. In three days time, the funeral would occur in Berlin, as such they would return to the old house for two days. He released a shaky breath and began to remember happy times with his mother, memories he would cherish. Though one came to mind, which wasn’t quite as happy as the other memories, in fact it could hardly be described as happy. It was the last time he had met with his mother. ‘Ashamed!’ She called out before she left. ‘That a son of mine should be-‘ ‘A patriot,’ cried Ralf. ‘A patriot indeed!’ she cried
Pushing the thought from mind, he placed the paper down on his desk and resumed his work. Later in the day he informed the family that they would be leaving the next morning for Berlin for the funeral. Walking up the steps, he went to bid Gretel and Bruno Good night. Starting with Gretel, he opened the door and walked in. Observing the room, he took note of the many dolls and how each and every one of them had their hair done neatly, and different from the night before. Walking over to Gretel, he kissed her on the forehead, and told her, ‘Good night Gretel, may you have sweet dreams and sleep well,’ She turned to look at him and with a voice full of respect and love, showing she didn’t think he could ever do anything wrong, said a very similar statement, ‘Good night Father, sleep well and have good dreams.’ He left the room and turned the lights off. Walking across to Bruno’s, the conversation played out in exactly the same way. Except this time, as he was about to turn off the light Bruno spoke up. ‘Father?’ Bruno asked. ‘Yes Bruno?’ Ralf said, allowing him to speak his
Rising out of the bed as quietly as possible as not to wake his wife, Ralf went to get dressed into his uniform full of medals assuring him of his position. But today he did not feel as much pride as he normally did in regards to his position nor did he look proudly onto Auschwitz. Instead his mind was swamped with the harsh words from his mother at Christmas. ‘I wonder if all the performances I made you give as a boy led you to this. Dressing up as a puppet on a string.’ Attempting to justify his actions he told himself he was making Germany great again, and that his mother would not understand as a woman. Deep down he knew this was not true, but he could not admit it to himself. Going down to the kitchen he made himself coffee, a task he rarely performed and instead had Maria do. The coffee, bitter and hot burnt his tongue and woke him from his fatigue. The next few hours were full of work, and anticipation for the trip back to Berlin. The ride back was nothing short of normal. Gretel and Bruno bickered as per usual, with their mother hushing them, as he remained silent and stoic. Arriving at the home, Ralf looked around, recalling the times they had