Week 1: Time Traveling Hitler
Since it's week 1 of my challenge, I thought I'd introduce this a little bit. These posts will begin with the prompt and I have to write a minimum of 500 and maximum of 2,000 words. That's it. Enjoy.
Killing Hitler has become a sport amongst time travelers. Points are awarded for creativity and difficulty. You are last year's champion, how did you win?
It's a point of pride for me, becoming a champion. My father killed him by drowning him in a vat of Jello brought from the future; technically against the rules but seeing the ruthless murderer asphyxiate on gelatin won over the board. My grandfather killed him by somehow releasing a hoard of starving penguins into his sleeping chamber. I've only heard stories, but apparently seeing a somewhat docile creature attack was quite shocking.
I had to think of something really different. I was the third generation time traveller, a third generation CMHC (Creatively Murdering Hitler Champion) and the pressure was on. I tried to brainstorm with my father but he refused to give me any ideas.
"It needs to come to you, son." He sat behind his desk, a trail of smoke drifting up from his forgotten cigarette, tinkering with his latest creation. He was determined to plant evidence of hot balloons in the past so the whole Hindenburg thing wouldn't happen, but I personally thought it was a crap shoot.
"But Dad, I'm not creative like you or Pa," I replied, sulking under my overgrown hair. I brushed it off my forehead, irritated. "I can't come up with anything good."
"Well, what do you have so far?"
"Ah," I stalled, shifting from one foot to the other, "Maybe a lion could eat him?"
He rolled his eyes. "That's all you got? A lion? Come on, Charles."
"I told you I'm stuck!" I threw my hands up in the air. "You've got to help me!"
He sighed, put down his tweezers and folded his hands over his protruding stomach.
"I do have one idea."
"Tell me," I blurted out. "Please Dad! You've got to help me."
"Alright, here's what you should do."
-
It was harder than I thought it would be. I'm sweating, profusely. I've been camped in Hitler's dressing cabinet for hours, waiting with my chloroform and supplies. This attempt was extravagant, and really dangerous.
Finally I hear people entering the room.
A man's voice replies grumpily in German, then slams the door. I peek through the small opening I left and watch Hitler, the most dangerous man alive, scratch his ass under his pants. He yawns and starts to approach the cabinet, and I shift onto the balls of my feet, ready. He opens the door and I lunge, slapping the soaked cloth on his mouth.
Muffled yells emit from his mouth but it only intensifies the effects- he drops in minutes. Breathing heavily, I look down at him laying on the ground.
"Damn, you're shorter than I thought you'd be."
I begin my work.
-
It look longer than expected, but I shave his mustache and change him as quickly as I can, the yellow star of David shining brightly on his arm. I feel a tiny droplet of sweat dripping down my back. I haul him over my shoulder and listen at the door for a second before I open it. The shades on the large windows are still open, letting in the bright moonlight as I cross the dark threshold. My dad told me about his guard's schedule, so I should be in the clear for another - I look at my watch - three minutes.
I sneak out into the hallway. This is the trickiest part. Mustache or no mustache, they would still recognize him. I just need to get him into the particular ghetto that I know is going to get raided tomorrow, so he gets a first hand experience at his own hell. I walk faster.
I run into no one, and the night air cools my sweating skin as I step outside the back service door, and promptly dump him into my waiting wheelbarrow. I cover him with a blanket and haul him away.
-
"I heard he was shouting at anyone who would listen to him that he was Hitler himself!" The head of the CMHC board howls. "The Nazi on duty beat him bloody before throwing him in the gas chamber!" The group of men roar at the irony, their cheeks muddled red from the wine they are drinking.
I smile over my wine glass at my dad, who grins from across the table. My grandpa is snoozing into his dinner plate next to me, so I nudge him before clearing my throat and speaking. "I'm honored you all have selected me as this years champaign. I feel very lucky."
The Head nods to me. "Well, yours was simply the best. Dressing him up as a Jew, getting him into a train car to a concentration camp, ensuring he gets put in a gas chamber? That's impressive, son!" They all begin to laugh again as they begin to discuss what his last words might have been in the chamber. "Probably 'Not Mein own Kampf!'"
I sigh in relief. I did it. I am a third champaign CMHC, and I successfully murdered Hitler.