We Never Did

There was one rule: don't open the door.

That one rule overshadowed our lives since we had moved into our makeshift annexe of a home—not that our lives were much at all. Pariahs, outcasts, we were designed for destruction and existed for experimentation and extermination. Though we lived in fear of our sorry mortal coils being unwound, we tried to live positively.

My dear son, Hal, provided much of the light relief during the most trying times. His smile warmed my heart and yet sent a chill down my spine. For me, the end was inevitable. Those who sought to snuff us out were on their righteous warpath. The safety our brave and loyal friends offered would not protect us for long.

Still, Hal and his sister Marta would write beautiful poems and stories to entertain their dear mother, Annah, and me. Annah felt blessed by their nature and would weep. At night, we had a reprieve from the terrifying silence of daylight hours. Movement and everyday living were restricted. Our appetites were ravenous when darkness fell, and our protectors presented us with rustic but charming fare of meat dishes and stew with freshly baked bread. Never had I enjoyed bread more than before that time or since. We laughed and danced. But hatred and death hung over us.

Don't open the door—such a simple rule. But it was more for us and many other families and individuals in similar situations. It was a reminder of how limited our freedom was. Beyond the door, the ugliness of hatred and fear. The worst humanity can do is turn on its own without rhyme or reason. So, we never opened that door.

We never did.

But they did. Then—they—my world, were taken.

*

Thanks for reading!

Author's Notes: 298 words per Vocal's counter. Picture for inspiration purposes only. For what is likely my last entry into the Spooky Microfiction Challenge, I decided to write a serious one.

Though inspired by what is undoubtedly the sad and horrific truth for a lot of people in history, the characters depicted here are fictitious.

Here are some other things: