A Mere Shell

In the end I ran away, fleeing what I am guilty of. As a young man I committed those crimes, telling myself orders were orders, that we were the justified, dealing out punishments fit for imagined crimes.

Now, older, reflecting on how my past moulded me, I return to the scene of my crimes. German and Jew, I embraced one me and snuffed out the other. Is this survivor guilt? Or am I finally realizing and admitting my evil past?

I wander the compound, begging spectres for a forgiveness that will never come. Are they the ghost, or am I?From Guest Contributor Tim Law

I Alone

Jim, Clark, Alex, and myself lined up before the principal like toy soldiers. We'd grumbled the whole way here, lamenting Grace Johnson's unforgivable sin of tattling. I could tell for the others the complaints masked an underlying horror of what punishments might await. They'd never been in real trouble and us regulars liked to tell stories to bolster our bonafides.

Dr. Wilson lectured us for a few minutes before demanding a confession and apology. I don't know what bravado took hold of me, but I stepped forward.

"I alone threw mud at those girls."

The others nearly cried in relief.