Well, I had just finished watch the Pianist, which to those wo haven't seen it, is an amazing movie! Anyways, and I was waiting for an idea to pop into my head for a story about Grimmjow and Orihime, and this seemed to fit perfectly!
Please review, criticism welcome. Also, I apologize for any OOCness and If I offend anyone by this piece of writing, I am truly sorry, that was not my inttention.
Disclaimer : I don't own Grimmjow or Orihime, or any other characters from Bleach.
Warning : This story will contain Holocaust violence and disturbing writing parts. If you can't stomach gore and disgust, please don't read.
NOTE : I just changed what Concentration Camp there are at for reasons later on in the story. So it is no longer Auchwitz but Dachau.
"Make the lie big, make it simple, keep saying it, and eventually they will believe it".
- Adolf Hitler
Orihime Inoue remembered most things. But this, this was something that she would never forget, not until she died. Even then, perhaps, she would remember it. The war started a few years ago, the Germans had invaded her home – her country. She remembered that even before the war, her family - and other families - were very tight with money and the food was scarce. But now? Everything was worse. People were slaving away and in return they barely got anything, barely enough money to put food on the table. Still, Orihime didn't find this as bad as what was about to come. When the Soviets had also invaded her home, and the Germans had fought back, everything was destroyed. From farms to food stores. Finally, it was divided. Poland was divided. One side for the Germans, the other for the Soviets. And it didn't matter which side you were on, what part of Poland you were in….you were sent away.
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Heil Hitler.
That was how Grimmjow Jeagerjaques greeted his father every day. No, not a simple hello. No, that shows disrespect to his father. And Grimmjow couldn't allow his father to be disrespected, even if he did hate the man and wanted nothing more than to slit his throat and watch him bleed to death. No. He couldn't allow it.
Being born son to the most powerful officers in the Schutzstaffel, he had certain…duties that were expected of him. Be honored that Adolf Hitler was trying to be rid of the devils that plan to poison the Arian race. Have joy when you see the devils and bastards has they were shipped off to the ghettos. Be joyful when they starve, when they die in the streets. When they scramble for food, money, clothes – everything.
Be glad that the Jews were going to be exterminated.
Even so, being born into this privileged life, Grimmjow couldn't help but think the exact opposite of his father. True, he was young, only nineteen. He had been apart of the Hitler Youth for nearly nine years. He was still in his teens, or a better stage to put him in would be rebellious. He wanted nothing more than to defy every law that has been placed out before him since he was seven years old. Follow Hitler. Follow the Führer. But most of all, do not associate yourselves with Jews.
Being a part of the SS, Grimmjow had seen many casualties towards those that were not of the Arian race. He had seen Jews being shot in the middle of the street, for no reason. He had been there when they stormed into a ghetto, seen a man jump out of his window before his troops could shoot him. He saw, as he stood, rifle in hand, four SS soldiers round a family into the streets of the ghetto. They yelled at them to run. The Jews did. But then the soldiers let loose their bullets. Grimmjow couldn't help the disgust and the shock in his eyes. And nothing but pure hate as the soldiers drove over the bodies, some were still living. But not for long.
Fuckin' scum.
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Orihime stood near the window of her new home. If you could even call it that. She watched as others pulled their belongings into their new homes. This ghetto wasn't new, but Orihime and her brother had been moved here recently, only a few weeks ago. IT was a tiny thing, with only a small kitchen, a tiny bedroom, and a bathroom where the sink was hanging off the wall, a slow trickle of water gradually making the pail beneath it full. The food was scarce, only a loaf of bread, a sliver of cheese from their previous home, and if they were lucky, a gram of meat. But that was rare. It was more likely to see someone dead in the street than to have enough food to fill the belly.
"Orihime…get away from the window!" She heard Sora yell, pulling her arm and yanking her away from the window. He pushed her away, closed the window and pulled the curtains shut. He turned back to her with angry eyes.
"Fool! We have to keep low! We don't know what they will do to us if we are just sitting around. Don't let them see you so simply." He said, concern as well as anger etched in his voice. Orihime looked at him, then looked down, knowing he was right. Just the other day, she had seen a woman, no too much older than herself, sitting alone on a bench. When two Germans had pulled her onto the cold, stone ground, slightly hidden by the corner. She was screaming as they had pulled down her clothes. She screamed as they raped her. But no one listened. Not even Orihime. And they left her there, bleeding. And she lay there, waiting. Just waiting.
Orihime wanted to help, more than anything. But she knew that she would just end up like that woman. She would be raped, perhaps killed. She wouldn't be safe. Not unless she hid. And stayed away from Germans.
But that was so much harder than it sounded.
She nodded at her brother. "Yes. I'm sorry."
"Orihime…please, don't think I am mad at you…I am mad at them!" Sora said, pulling Orihime into his arms. She clung to him and cried silently into his shoulder. She was sick of this. Sick of feeling like a lost child. Sick of feeling helpless. Sick of feeling that if she went out into the streets of the ghetto that there was a possibility that she would be murdered. She hated this. Hated the war. Hated the Germans for doing this to each and every one of them. Hated them. Hated them.
As if reading her mind, Sora let her go and smiled sadly at her frowning face. It didn't suit her. She was the type of girl who should always smile. And she used to. But those Germans took that away. "I hate them, too. But just wait, they'll lose, and we'll get out of here. Just wait." But Orihime just nodded and stood up, heading into the bedroom. She opened the door and stepped in, closing the door behind her. She stood in front of the door before she moved her feet over to the small night-stand that was beside her and Sora's bed. She opened the top draw, sitting on her bed, and grabbed the small tin that held her most cherished possessions. She opened the lid and pulled out a picture. She held it in her shaking hands.
The picture was at the winter festival, snow was swirling around the two in the picture and lights shone in the background. The two in the picture had near-identical hair. While her eyes shone gray, his melted chocolate. But you could see in both eyes that there was happiness. Happiness as the man kissed her cheek, with a smirk on his lips. There were no traces of sadness in the picture. There were no traces of war. No traces of Germans.
Orihime pressed a hand to her eyes, willing the tears back. But still, she whimpered over the loss of the only man she's ever loved. She whimpered over his death.
"Ichigo…."
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"Grimmjow!"
His father's voice boomed with the usual sickly smoothness and composed tone. Grimmjow turned his head from the window and suppressed a snarl at the man. How could he even call this monster family? It was disgusting.
"What?" He retorted back, pushing himself of the windowsill. He turned to face his father. Realistically, you would never know that they were related. The two held no common traits. His father's hair was long, curly, and brown. His eyes were a brown also, but not a warm brown like you would see on a small child, no. They were cold. Like ice. Grimmjow, unlike his father, had unruly blue hair and blazing blue eyes that held most of his emotion, even if he didn't express it or say it aloud. His father once said the Grimmjow had received his looks from his mother. Although, Grimmjow would never know. His mother had 'died' when he was born. But he was sure that his father had somehow killed her. At that was all the more reason to hate him.
His father smiled at him. "Well, my dear boy, we are being transferred." The man said, clasping a hand over Grimmjow's shoulder. Said boy tensed, but resisted the urge to rip that damned arm right out of its socket.
"Where?" He growled. It was never more then one or two word conversations with this man.
"To the Mainland. We are being transferred to Dachau."
Grimmjow stared up at him in shock, his eyes going wide. Knowing full well what that meant. He may be young, but he wasn't stupid. Or naïve for that matter. He had seen where those trains go, he knew what happened at those camps. Concentration camps. Death camps. He had seen countless Jews, Gypsies, and Greeks, homosexuals, disabled people. He had seen the fear in their eyes as he stood on the sidelines, making sure no one tried to escape. He always thought that at least someone would try. Someone. But no one did. He knew, that if he were in their place, he would have died trying. He would have done anything in order to escape that. They knew, he knew that they knew. How couldn't they? They had seen what happened in their ghettos, couldn't they put two and two together? Or perhaps…they knew that they had no hope in succeeding. Beaten. They were beaten.
Even so, he still asked, "Why?"
"Because they need some help there," Oh yeah? Grimmjow thought. What kind of help? Aizen continued, "and they wanted some of us to go there with them, and let us take the place of others."
"So, we're giving others a break?" Grimmjow snarled out, never having enough patience for this man.
"Yes. We leave tomorrow. Be ready."
And with that, his father left. Grimmjow absent mindedly gave the closed door the finger, wishing it was to the man's face. He grumbled under his breath and returned to sit at the window. He looked over the brick wall, and into the ghetto. He lived only a street away from the gates, he often looked in it, just to see what was happening. He sighed, frustrated and turned his head.
But something caught his eyes.
A head….of orange hair.
He turned his head back towards the ghetto and watched the head…watched the woman. She was wearing heavy clothing, a scarf was wrapped around her neck, covering her chin and nearly her mouth. She was holding a box, and by the way she seemed to be struggling with it, it must have been heavy. She pushed her way through the crowd of Jews and when she reached a stairway, she walked up them, looking around, then opened the door. Looking once more outside, she shut the door.
Grimmjow's frown deepened.
He had seen her before. He knew that head of hair anywhere. But he couldn't bring himself to remember her.
Oh well, doesn't matter.
He pushed himself from the sill once again and walked to his bedroom, where his suitcase was waiting for him. But he couldn't stop his body as his head turned and looked out the window again.
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Screams. That is what woke Orihime that morning. She jolted up right, looking around, confused. She looked down beside her, her brother was still sleeping. She waited for the screams, and once she heard the language, fear rose up in her gut and she shoved her brother.
"Sora…Sora! Get up, Sora!" She whispered harshly. Sora groaned, but opened his eyes. "What's…" but his question was soon answered when there was a high-pitched scream, a manly yell, and then a gun-shot. Orihime ripped the covers off of her and Sora. The siblings jumped out of bed and picked up their suitcases, packing only necessities. Clothes, some food, and of course, Orihime packed her tin. But just to make sure, she tucked the picture of that winter festival in her bra, knowing that this was the only safe place for her treasures.
Just as they clicked their suitcases shut, three German soldiers burst through the door. Yelling at them and waving their guns, the two siblings followed the men obediently. They followed them out of their apartment. Orihime clung herself to her brother, gripping his arm even tighter each time she saw a dead body, each time she saw someone being shot. She let out a small, strangled cry when she saw the man who sold bread – Ishida Uryu, she thought was his name – being shot in the head. A pink mist sprayed, and covered the cement wall behind him. A gaping hole was left in his skull. He bled out, already dead to the world. Orihime whimpered.
They were rounded up, over 250,000 Jews were rounded up into the waiting station. A cattle train was there. The siblings were pushed into the crowd, their belongings being snatched away from them. Orihime cried out as someone pushed her from behind, she would have fallen, if it weren't for Sora holding her up. They were all pushed, being loaded into the cattle cars. She was the last one to be pulled up, but as the door closed, she saw a head of unusual blue hair. Her eyes widened as a she recalled that hair from somewhere. But she couldn't place it.
The door slammed shut.
Its lock was hammered into place.
And the train jostled forward.
Orihime was pressed against the side of the car, and right then she knew. She knew that they were all being taken away.
Taken to their death.