/lit/ - Literature

>>10433406

It was swollen to the size of a basketball, at least eight months along. A smaller bump protruded where her naval should’ve been. At last, he comes face to face with her. No longer seeming to fear him, the girl stretched out her hand and offered Watkins to take it. Not knowing what else to do, he obliged and she quietly walked him past the corner to a hiding spot she's put together among the loose piles of hay. Taking a quick look around, Watkins noted that her only possessions were a small diary, fountain pen, pendant and a half-eaten carrot. He took off his knapsack, feeling relief as the weight left his shoulders, unclipped his his belt, and put them both alongside his rifle in a nearby corner. The girl took a seat among the haystack, squirming and grunting from the discomfort of her stomach. “That must have been what I noticed” Watkins realized, “the poor gal can’t even find a comfortable way to sleep”. Watkins himself tried to sit down opposite of her but was immediately rewarded with a burning sensation in his back. Suddenly, he remembered he still had an inch-long piece of shrapnel still lodged in his back. It had been there the entire time but the rush and fear that pulsed through him for the past 12 hours had kept him from feeling it. Noticing his discomfort, the girl offered Watkins to sit next to her, where the hay would help cushion his back and prevent that damned twisted piece of steel from digging in any further. Gladly accepting, he moved and sat next to her, quietly whispering “thank you”. After a minute or two of dead silence, Watkins mustered up the courage to point to her and ask her name, hoping she’d understand him. Initially staring in confusion for several seconds, she suddenly had an epiphany and meekly replied "Anne... Anne Frank”.

Alt-history story I'm working on for /his/ and /k/, feel free to give your $0.02

A fearful voice weakly called out, begging and crying and pleading most piteously. Although the words were almost completely unintelligible, it was unmistakably a plea for mercy. Realizing the other occupant of the shed was not the enemy, he lowered his rifle and pushed the hammer back into the safe position. Watkins pulled himself up to the top and took a quick peek down to make sure he hadn’t been followed. Satisfied, he turned around and began approaching the shadowy figure, whispering his countersign, hoping it was a comrade. Either by understanding his words or noticing Watkins’ uniform was too filthy and ragged to be that of the other side, the apparition stopped crying. As Watkins began to approach the two tiny specks that shone like the eyes of a cat in the dark, the moonlight slowly drew back, revealing the unknown form. Watkins couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Was this a hallucination of the imagination? It was neither friend or foe he had stumbled upon, but a girl. Long and unkempt black or brown hair (the lack of light made it impossible to tell), blue eyes, no older than 16. Upon closer inspection, Watkins saw she was wearing a pink flower-patterned dress and barefoot. Her left breast was marked with a yellow six-sided star with the letters J, a pair of O’s, and D stenciled into the center. His attention then fell on her stomach...