My writing snippets...
He could hear the distant rumble above. A few pieces of rubble and concrete dust fell from the ceiling. Breathe, he reminded himself. He ran his finger over the pile of papers on the table. He looked up at the soft crack of a gunshot from somewhere above. He wished he hadn't taken on his godforsaken job. The life he could have had if he had stood his ground. Maybe they would have just killed him then and there. Who knows? The weight of his own head would crush him, just before the ceiling would. The decoded message sat in front of him. He felt it in his bones, the slow coiling panic—a whispering breath down his ear; "They know, run." A bomb went off somewhere above. The Soviets were closing in. Should he take a chance and run? Escape? Nothing felt right or wrong to him. He was stuck in this bunker–in a crumbling Berlin–with scraps for ration. God, he just wanted something to eat–anything. Some bread scraps if he was lucky. His mother’s porridge. He was just a brilliant mind forced into service. At that time, young, wild and naive—He thought of it as a golden opportunity—Not a ball and chain. He could have been something more–If things had turned out a little different. If he had made better choices. A teacher perhaps, a kind man—A father. They had promised him this underground bunker would keep him safe. Told him to just focus on deciphering the codes he was given. He did what he was told. But hoped–deep down–that the subtle changes he made to the messages would slow the Nazis down. It was stupid of him–reckless–to betray them but it kept him sane, kept him somewhat human. He looked around the dark bunker. Felt the walls closing in. He was just imagining it, right? He ran his shaking fingers through his matted hair. The people around him were issuing orders—he heard the noises muffled as if he were underwater. He felt a strong hand on his shoulder, making him jump. “Look a little green around the gills there, Mr. Keller” said a gruff voice from behind him. He blinked, staring at the mess of papers on his table. Slowly adjusted the paper so he wouldn't see the message. Just an officer. Don’t worry. Don’t– “How is the code coming along? No issues?” His hand on his shoulder tightened, a subtle shift in position. “Going well, sir” he sighed, hoping to God this meant nothing. “This is a critical time Johann, so whatever is in that code might be essential for our survival. Don’t mess it up,” he lifted his hands off. He stood for a second, watching him. Calculating. Then bent down to his ear and lowered his voice, “Being smart doesn't stop people from doing stupid things Mr. Keller,” he sighed, spreading the papers in front of him with his other hand lazily, “I had always hoped you’d be an exception, but–alas,–people forget the price of betrayal is one’s own life with us. So better crack that code soon, yes?,” He patted him on the back. “Sir?” He stared at the officer. He wanted to say something. Apologize if he still could. He opened his mouth only to close it like an idiot. The officer watched him. Something flashed in his eyes. He looked tired. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, kid,” he sighed, “There are consequences–to your actions and i–,” he sighed. His stomach flipped. The officer watched him for a few seconds. “Get back to work,” The officer patted him on the back and walked away. His fingers felt numb as he wiped his face. Bile rose up his throat. He heard a soft thud from across the room. He turned to see a man on the floor. A small pool of blood where his face lay. The same officer towered over him. His face gave nothing away–too calm. He pulled out a gun and aimed at his throat. “I hope you understand,” The officer sighed, “It's nothing personal.” The crack vibrated through the bunker. Ringing in his head, clinging to his neck. The silence that followed dragged on as the body was hauled out by soldiers. The code wasn't for them. It was for Johann Keller and he–at this moment–should be running for his life.