You Can Never Go Home Again.
A/N: I don't own anything. SWING HEIL!!!
Peter looked around the Café Bismarck, had it really only been six years since he had left this place? He walked into the door and was consumed by the music "It Don't Mean A Thing-If It Ain't Got That Swing". It threw him back into that night.
He had been dancing with tears in his eyes; he knew what was coming; yet he couldn't possibly know to the whole extent. It was Thomas that had fought him, his best friend. He thought that he had lost Thomas and only preyed that he had gotten through to him, he had learnt three years ago that he had.
Thomas came into the work camp beaten up and whistling. He had been in and out of camps for so long that he was crazy; he had lost every once of sanity that he had left. Peter had been assigned to look after him, but it would have been better if it had been anyone else.
Thomas would yell and scream at him unstoppably. "You are only a ghost, I didn't mean to kill you. I'm still Thomas, just Thomas." Then he would always begin to cry. He only lasted four weeks before he had been sent to have a shower.he never came back.
'No, Peter! Come on snap out of it! You are not like them, you are still sane," Peter thought as he walked out onto the dance floor. All the dancers looked so young. Peter looked around and saw his own little brother, Willie.
"Excuse me, but aren't you a bit old to swing?" Willie asked as he ran into Peter.
Peter's eyes filled with tears, one American asked him if it had been hard for old people like him. He hadn't even been able to recognize him self in the mirror, so why did he think that Willie would believe him.
"Willie, don't you recognize me?"
"Sorry, bro. But I don't remember every old cat that I meet." Willie answered.
'Heck,' Peter thought, "I would say the same thing if I had been able to see myself right now.'
"Willie, it's me Peter."
Willie stopped in his tracks. "Peter? But you were only eighteen (sorry, I don't know how old he was so I guessed) when they took you."
"I know, and I am only twenty-seven now, but I feel like I am sixty."
Willie looked at Peter until his eyes filled with tears, then he turned around and began to dance.
Peter ran out into the middle of the dance floor and tried to dance, to swing like he used to. He tried to move faster and faster, even with all the years it was as though he had only danced yesterday, dancing was like riding a bike. Yet, it was different, he fell, he had never fallen before, but he had just fallen.
Peter stood up, with the eyes of all Willie's peers on him. It was horrible; he now knew what it must of felt like for Arvid when he would try to dance.
Peter ran, or rather limped out of the Café. Willie joined him at the door.
"Peter what happened in the camp? Why can't you dance anymore?"
Peter tried to smile down at him younger brother. "I can't even begin to explain, but you know, it's true, you can never go home again."
The End.
A/N: I don't own anything. SWING HEIL!!!
Peter looked around the Café Bismarck, had it really only been six years since he had left this place? He walked into the door and was consumed by the music "It Don't Mean A Thing-If It Ain't Got That Swing". It threw him back into that night.
He had been dancing with tears in his eyes; he knew what was coming; yet he couldn't possibly know to the whole extent. It was Thomas that had fought him, his best friend. He thought that he had lost Thomas and only preyed that he had gotten through to him, he had learnt three years ago that he had.
Thomas came into the work camp beaten up and whistling. He had been in and out of camps for so long that he was crazy; he had lost every once of sanity that he had left. Peter had been assigned to look after him, but it would have been better if it had been anyone else.
Thomas would yell and scream at him unstoppably. "You are only a ghost, I didn't mean to kill you. I'm still Thomas, just Thomas." Then he would always begin to cry. He only lasted four weeks before he had been sent to have a shower.he never came back.
'No, Peter! Come on snap out of it! You are not like them, you are still sane," Peter thought as he walked out onto the dance floor. All the dancers looked so young. Peter looked around and saw his own little brother, Willie.
"Excuse me, but aren't you a bit old to swing?" Willie asked as he ran into Peter.
Peter's eyes filled with tears, one American asked him if it had been hard for old people like him. He hadn't even been able to recognize him self in the mirror, so why did he think that Willie would believe him.
"Willie, don't you recognize me?"
"Sorry, bro. But I don't remember every old cat that I meet." Willie answered.
'Heck,' Peter thought, "I would say the same thing if I had been able to see myself right now.'
"Willie, it's me Peter."
Willie stopped in his tracks. "Peter? But you were only eighteen (sorry, I don't know how old he was so I guessed) when they took you."
"I know, and I am only twenty-seven now, but I feel like I am sixty."
Willie looked at Peter until his eyes filled with tears, then he turned around and began to dance.
Peter ran out into the middle of the dance floor and tried to dance, to swing like he used to. He tried to move faster and faster, even with all the years it was as though he had only danced yesterday, dancing was like riding a bike. Yet, it was different, he fell, he had never fallen before, but he had just fallen.
Peter stood up, with the eyes of all Willie's peers on him. It was horrible; he now knew what it must of felt like for Arvid when he would try to dance.
Peter ran, or rather limped out of the Café. Willie joined him at the door.
"Peter what happened in the camp? Why can't you dance anymore?"
Peter tried to smile down at him younger brother. "I can't even begin to explain, but you know, it's true, you can never go home again."
The End.