Inevitable

Most of us are caught up in the idea that the past, present, and future are inevitable. Whether you like to disguise your pessimistic view of inevitability as a believer of fate, religion, or human nature, we all have a different explanation—a different excuse. 

But nothing is inevitable—except death. And there is so much time between the present and the inevitable death that it's an insignificant thing that death is inevitable. 

Even if you are bleeding out from a shot to the heart - you could still change the way you die by finishing it off with a headshot.

I'm sorry for being pessimistic. We all are. 

It wasn't inevitable that Russian Jew Daniil Reznik would be recruited for the Red Army in the early months of 1943; someone could have overlooked his name, or he could have died of Tuberculosis before he ever got the chance to view the battlefield. He could have attempted to desert the army or tried to escape the Soviet Union years back. 

But Reznik was fueled by the feeling that death - the only truly inevitable thing, was closer than he wished. So he took more risks, popped his head over the trench before all the others did, stayed in the front rows of soldiers, shared his water and food rations with hungry friends, even stopped a sickly soldier from bleeding out who most definitely had some sort of blood disease. 

Daniil Reznik was captured by the Germans somewhere in a small town that nobody would remember - most of the Soviet residents had been gunned down, and those who fled would never return. Reznik was taken prisoner and brought to one of the most terrible places in Eastern Europe. 

Auschwitz.

Reznik knew the second he set foot in the camp that this would be his final resting place. But the inevitable became avoidable for a few moments longer, and Reznik was woken one morning and taken to a corner of the camp he'd never been to.

There were a few doctors, some high-ranking officials, and a middle-aged officer who looked like he was about to vomit and was constantly chain-smoking cigarettes as if he, too, was trying to call death over a hotline. 

But I am getting ahead of myself, lets enjoy the show, shall we?

Wolfram Schneider said and smiled charmingly and twirled his wife into his arm, then he led her and their little group of comrades and wives toward the stairs where they would ascend to their seats in the booths. 

Martin gripped Marlene's hand as if it were a lifeline. August and Frieda looked nice; Martin had never met the anatomist's wife; she was quite friendly, although not very intelligent. "August, Friedl, you can go to the next booth, I want Franz and Marlene to sit with me. Neither of them has ever seen any of Charlotte Reissers work, and I so desperately yearn to see their reactions."

Martin smiled a pained smile. Marlene didn't even try. They followed Schneider and his pretty darlin' over to their booth. It was quite the fancy set-up. The seats were among the most expensive in the whole theater. Schneider gestured for Marlene and his wife to sit together. The two women quickly fell into polite conversation about anything but their husbands. Schneider and Martin made themselves comfortable in their velvet seats.

"You did the right thing, Franz. I know it's hard to report them, but weeds have to be taken out of the garden, right?"

"Of course," Martin answered with a curt nod. "I just wonder why, uh, you insisted on going to this show? I mean, if Jan was against the regime, chances are that Charlotte was as well." 

"It's a wonderful play, I wanted to see it again. But have no fear - it will be banned after the première. All of Charlotte's work will be. Did you know her name wasn't really Charlotte? Jan helped her make a new identity years back."

"What?"

"Yes, I was quite astonished myself. Her real name was Eliora Drexel -Jewish."

"What - but - how-."

"We'll get to the bottom of it. Ah - the show is finally starting. Have I already mentioned how wonderful I find it?"

Martin felt sick to the stomach. Not only had he ruined Jan Reisser, but he'd ruined his beloved wife as well. 

Luckily for Martin, the universe spared him the information that Eliora's rapist and murderer played a small part in the play he was about to view, and he never found out that Eliora should have played the lead.