Witzgall
14-02-2005, 22:40
BANG. The shot was so loud it almost caused the rifleman to go deaf. He still hit his target. The Fuhrer’s body leaned forward and snapped back as the .300 Magnum round hit him in the chest with such force the skin around the entry point rippled. The back window of the limousine shattered and cracked, leaving an undeterminable point of window entry.
The Fuhrer gasped for air, the round piercing his lung and heart. His wife screamed in horror as he coughed up a small amount of blood and fell to his side, leaning over onto her shoulder.
“My Lord God, even now resignedly and willingly, I accept at Thy hand, with all its anxieties, pains, and sufferings, whatever kind of death it shall please Thee to be mine.” said Fritz Viechal, blood slowly dripping out of the corner of his lips. He was grave, undeniably going to meet his relatives in the great beyond.
Shot and dying, the Fuhrer laid his head on his wife’s lap. She sobbed uncontrollably as his life slowly escaped out of his patriotic body. He gasped for a last breath, trying to keep alive.
“Angel of God, my Guardian dear, to whom His love commits me here, ever this day be at my side, to light and guard, to rule and guide.” he said with his last breath. Never a religious man, he was suddenly praying to keep his wife safe, as well as his nation. He did not want his death to be the end of the glorious empire…
A wet drip of tears slowly hit his forehead as his wife broke down. The two bodyguards in the front of the car tried to speed off as quickly as possible, swerving to get around many cars as the police escort led them forward. The Fuhrer was already dead in the back, and his wife was crying massively. Her only love, taken away in a single moment of time.
And on Valentine’s Day, of all days. They were in the capitol to express there love for one another, and he had surprised her with a little discreet tour of the Great Reich’s Empire. But this day was now ruined in a bloody massacre of hatred and disgust as her husband lay in her lap, dead.
Saint Valentine was executed for wedding young couples in the Roman Empire during a time where the Romans had outlawed marriage. Fuhrer Viechal was executed for loving his wife, his country, and above all his militaristic strength and might.
General Hur IV steps up to the podium in front of the masses of press and international news crews. He is deeply depressed, as can be seen by the redness of his eyes. Such a strong man, reduced to tears. He tried to hide his sadness in his military uniform, behind his black beret of the Council. Such was not the sight. The press saw the General’s sadness, his depression, the amount of angst he felt.
“It…it is with my deepest sympathies that…that I must announce to the international community of a recent death in the Reich. Fuhrer Fritz Viechal, the sixth Fuhrer of the Great Witzgallian Reich, was shot and killed this afternoon, in the company of his wife. The assailant and felon has yet to be apprehended, and we ask the international community for all information regarding the death of our glorious and courageous leader to be brought forth.”
Hur wiped a tear from the corner of his eye subtly, trying to act as if he had an itch on his nose. His lies and cover ups were noticeable, yet they were ignored.
“As the…as the…um…as the current representative to the Witzgallian Reich, I must say…I must….oh God…” Hur said, stuttering as tears were held back within his eyes. He could not burst, for that would be the end of respect.
“I must say with great sadness that…that I am asking all nations, all representatives of good will, to help us in this time of pain and suffering. We must find the man who assassinated our great leader, by any means necessary. Peace I leave with you, My peace I give to you.”
The General walked away from the podium before any questions could be asked. Had he been up at that podium for another ten minutes, the strong and brave man would have been reduced to tears and looked as if he were a six year old who was grounded.
The Fuhrer gasped for air, the round piercing his lung and heart. His wife screamed in horror as he coughed up a small amount of blood and fell to his side, leaning over onto her shoulder.
“My Lord God, even now resignedly and willingly, I accept at Thy hand, with all its anxieties, pains, and sufferings, whatever kind of death it shall please Thee to be mine.” said Fritz Viechal, blood slowly dripping out of the corner of his lips. He was grave, undeniably going to meet his relatives in the great beyond.
Shot and dying, the Fuhrer laid his head on his wife’s lap. She sobbed uncontrollably as his life slowly escaped out of his patriotic body. He gasped for a last breath, trying to keep alive.
“Angel of God, my Guardian dear, to whom His love commits me here, ever this day be at my side, to light and guard, to rule and guide.” he said with his last breath. Never a religious man, he was suddenly praying to keep his wife safe, as well as his nation. He did not want his death to be the end of the glorious empire…
A wet drip of tears slowly hit his forehead as his wife broke down. The two bodyguards in the front of the car tried to speed off as quickly as possible, swerving to get around many cars as the police escort led them forward. The Fuhrer was already dead in the back, and his wife was crying massively. Her only love, taken away in a single moment of time.
And on Valentine’s Day, of all days. They were in the capitol to express there love for one another, and he had surprised her with a little discreet tour of the Great Reich’s Empire. But this day was now ruined in a bloody massacre of hatred and disgust as her husband lay in her lap, dead.
Saint Valentine was executed for wedding young couples in the Roman Empire during a time where the Romans had outlawed marriage. Fuhrer Viechal was executed for loving his wife, his country, and above all his militaristic strength and might.
General Hur IV steps up to the podium in front of the masses of press and international news crews. He is deeply depressed, as can be seen by the redness of his eyes. Such a strong man, reduced to tears. He tried to hide his sadness in his military uniform, behind his black beret of the Council. Such was not the sight. The press saw the General’s sadness, his depression, the amount of angst he felt.
“It…it is with my deepest sympathies that…that I must announce to the international community of a recent death in the Reich. Fuhrer Fritz Viechal, the sixth Fuhrer of the Great Witzgallian Reich, was shot and killed this afternoon, in the company of his wife. The assailant and felon has yet to be apprehended, and we ask the international community for all information regarding the death of our glorious and courageous leader to be brought forth.”
Hur wiped a tear from the corner of his eye subtly, trying to act as if he had an itch on his nose. His lies and cover ups were noticeable, yet they were ignored.
“As the…as the…um…as the current representative to the Witzgallian Reich, I must say…I must….oh God…” Hur said, stuttering as tears were held back within his eyes. He could not burst, for that would be the end of respect.
“I must say with great sadness that…that I am asking all nations, all representatives of good will, to help us in this time of pain and suffering. We must find the man who assassinated our great leader, by any means necessary. Peace I leave with you, My peace I give to you.”
The General walked away from the podium before any questions could be asked. Had he been up at that podium for another ten minutes, the strong and brave man would have been reduced to tears and looked as if he were a six year old who was grounded.