A Painting of Heidelberg

wpid-1424138617663.jpgAn old painting in an antique store brings back memories.  While this painting has already inspired a lune (poem), it’s time to see what sort of stories it can inspire.  Write a little Flashy Fiction based on the picture –a story set in Heidelberg or its Schloss (castle), or a story in which someone stumbling across a painting in an antique store factors into the plot.

Write something and share it!


One thought on “A Painting of Heidelberg

  1. The sound of steps on the cobblestone street was enough to set me on edge. My mother told me not to look out the window, for if the men saw me, I would surely be taken from her.
    “Nien, schauen sie nicht, Karola.” she chastised me in a hushed voice. Her eyes were fully of worry. We would hide in our attic while my father went to the door and talked to the men. I would cry, but my mother would hold me and whisper in my ear that I would be fine.
    One night, when I was walking outdoors from seeing a friend, I saw people gathered in the street, throwing books down in the center. The men poured gas over the books. When I came closer, I saw that they were books by Sigmund Freud and Albert Einstein. I heard someone from the crowd say that they were “Un-German” and that they “degraded German society”. I stood and watched. I stood with a face that seemed like Medusa had just looked me in the eye as I watched these men destroy what I believed faithfully in. I knew these books were byJews or “Judes”. They have been persecuting us for many months now. They want to see us in pain and exterminate us.
    “Heil!” a man shouted. Everyone raised their arms in salute as someone lit the books on fire. I raised my hand, as well, as to not seem like someone against the party. I knew I needed to blend in.
    I walked home, tears in my eyes. I kept my head ducked to avoid anyone seeing my face. I did not want to be kicked into the street, beaten, tortured for being the daughter of a man and a woman who did nothing to wrong this country except practice a religion that people now found extreme treason in.
    I curled into bed and tried to not dream of the hundreds of feet, pounding in step. In my dream, they were coming for me and my family. Regardless of what my mother and father said, I knew what they were doing. I knew they were taking out the trash. They were getting rid of us.
    I woke up to the sound of glass breaking. I looked outside, against all warning of my mother. I saw buildings burning- no, my local synagogue burning. My mother pulled me from the window from behind and told me to hide. I ran into my room and hid under my bed. I heard glass shattering and people yelling. No just any people- I heard my mother and father screaming as loud as they could. I heard the boots pounding onto the wooden floor of the family room as the took them away.


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