My tribute to the work of EL James, written in the same style… but set in 1940s Germany. General Grey had asked to see me at Nazi HQ and I was so nervous. That morning I’d made myself some toast, spread the butter and then put it in my mouth. I then chewed the toast until it became wet and spongy between my lips and then what else could I do but swallow that toast? I get so nervous when I’m eating toast because I’m so awkward. The toast usually makes me so nervous when I’m eating it that I become like a young deer and drop it, awkwardly. Why is everybody else better at eating toast than me? No, no. I mustn’t think like that. My friend Gertie was with me. ‘Do you want some toast, Gertie?’ I asked her. She is beautiful and sleepy and tall and likes to wear green trousers and a nice white blouse with cuffs that look that way that cuffs do when people wear them. ‘Yes,’ said Gertie. ‘I would like some toast.’ So I made her some toast.
The General’s office was in a big glass, steel and sandstone building, with lots of steel, glass and sandstone. I was intimidated and nervous and was also feeling a little awkward and intimidated. Why are you so stupid, Anastasia Frank? There’s no need to feel so awkward, nervous and intimidated, the voice in my head told me. But it was too late. I was already feeling very, very nervous, intimidated and awkward.
I walked into the building and found that it was full of beautiful, blonde women with blue eyes, and also lots of beautiful, blonde men with blue eyes. Was there some kind of rule at Nazi HQ that they could only employ beautiful, blonde people with blue eyes, I wondered? They made me feel awkward, nervous and intimidated and my heart was beating so fast that it was like a bat out of hell reaching terminal velocity on its way up towards the stars on the back of a rollercoaster. God, why did I have to look so frumpy and Jewish?
‘Sit down,’ said one of the blonde women.
‘So you want me to sit down here?’ I asked nervously, playing with my long, brown hair.
‘Yes. That would be prudent at this time.’
‘And where would you like me to sit?’ I asked humbly.
‘In the chair,’ she replied, making it clear that she thought she was above me.
‘You would like me to sit in this chair?’ I asked awkwardly.
‘Yes.’
‘This one?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘You’d like me just to sit here on this chair?’
‘If you wouldn’t mind.’
‘OK. I will,’ I said, playing with a piece of my long, brown hair. Nervously.
‘Are you enjoying our long, protracted conversation, Ana Frank?’
‘Yes, I guess. What I like most about it is that not a single part of it seems superfluous in any way.’
‘I am glad that we are in agreement on this.’
‘I would be glad, too, if it wasn’t for how nervous I’m feeling right now.’
‘Would you like some toast?’ she asked.
‘Do you have any soup?’ I replied, regretting the words that had sprinted from my mouth the second they had started running through the air like some runner running a race, and wishing that the ground would open up and swallow me whole like a great big throat.
‘We don’t have any soup,’ she replied, raising a suspicious eyebrow.
~~~
God, what will General Grey look like, I thought to myself, as I nervously fiddled with my hair. To be at such a high rank in the German army he must be quite old. Possibly about 60, but still sexy enough, I was sure, to make it feel hot in my down below bits, out of which I pee but from which I sometimes get a hot, sudden gush of lady feelings. Holy crap, I was nervous. Why are you so nervous, Ana? You’re wearing your best maroon skirt and peach cardigan that suits you so well, after all.
‘General Grey will see you now,’ said a beautiful, blonde woman. I just about crapped myself. Holy gosh!
I was just about to rise from my seat like Icarus when an attractive young black man stepped from General Grey’s office, being manhandled by three sexy German officers. They had him in a vice-like grip, and were shouting something about ‘triggers’ to him. I didn’t quite catch it, but it sounded sexy. I wondered if I’d ever see that handsome African man again. I hoped so, but I wasn’t sure why. Something was happening beneath the satin of my undergarments, like a fish struggling to breathe in a small puddle of water. Holy crap, I was nervous.
‘Send the fucking Jew in!’ shouted the General, so coldly and sexily. I had not laid eyes on him yet, but I was sure that I could detect the ghost of a smile on his lips. Those beautiful, sculpted lips, I could see them now in the cinema of my mind, and they were having an effect on me that I couldn’t describe… or something.
I was so nervous that I did a forward roll into General Grey’s office, barrelling through a Nazi flag that was draped from the ceiling. Gee whiz, I was nervous. He stormed over sexily and ripped it from my body, casting it aside like a Honeymoon bedsheet. I felt so naked, even though I still had all of my clothes on. I looked up at him and into those eyes – god, those beautiful, attractive, cold, horrible, sexy, disgusting, vile, wonderful, multi-coloured, award-winning, tortoise-shaped, amazing, lickable, deserted, massive, steely, hungry, gorgeous, yukky, arrogant, indescribable, grey eyes – and found myself blushing, turning the same colour as a paperback copy of Animal Farm.
His office had a big wooden desk in the middle of it, and a window, and some walls, and on those walls were some pictures and that. And the floor was made of floor tiles, and they were black, and he also had a chair that I guessed was handy for him when he wanted to sit down at his desk. I found myself burningly curious to see him sit down, and I didn’t know why. You know why, Ana, said the voice in my head. No I don’t, I replied, blushing and angry at my own thoughts. I don’t know what you’re talking about! You want to see those calves, and to become his leg farmer, Ana… or something. I was angry that the voice might be right.
‘Are you gay?’ I asked him.
‘Are you a Jew?’ he replied angrily, the ghost of a smile dancing on his lips.
He was beautiful. Imagine the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen, and that was him. For some inexplicable reason I just knew that one day I’d like him to go at my womb with a Black and Decker drill and a set of Allen keys.
‘Take this, you vile, mongrel bitch,’ he said romantically, pinning a beautiful yellow star to my cardigan. ‘I’ll be coming for you in the next few days.’
So he wanted to see me again. I had never felt so happy. But did he really mean it? Oh, my world was upside down.
‘I really mean it,’ he said, the ghost of a smile on his lips, as he sexily punched out my front teeth.
Want to share this with your wee friends? Get clicking.
Like this:
Like Loading...
OK, this is what happens. The bear waddles out from hibernation. He makes his way down the snowy hill to be with his best pal, the hare and – oh my God… Christmas… and all my friends… and… and a big tree… and OH MY GOD, I’M SO OVERWHELMED WITH AWE AND EXCITEMENT, this is literally AMAZING – just then, a hunter steps out from the forest, takes aim with his rifle and shoots the bear through the back of the skull. BANG! A FOUNTAIN OF BLOOD! The bear’s dead body thumps down onto the snow, and an oil-slick of red quickly spreads over the white landscape. The owl is so freaked out by the gun-shot that primal instinct takes over. The owl swoops into flight, and heads straight for the hare, digging his sharp talons into the hare’s back, and snatching him up into the air. The hare’s too heavy, though, and the owl can’t cope with the burden, so he releases him earthward. The owl, snapping out of his fugue, and finding himself racked with grief and shame, heads straight for a tree trunk, and slams his revolving head into it at full speed. SNAP! He’s DEAD. At the same time, the hare tumbles and hurtles towards the ground like a cannon-ball, and lands – with a sickening crack – right on top of the hunter’s head, killing the human instantly. The hare is alive – but only just. The hare rolls and rolls and rolls, his legs broken, his neck twisted, rolling and rolling down the snow, until he comes to a stop not too far from his dead pal’s giant slack-jawed body. The bear’s big dry tongue rests lifelessly on the cold, cold snow. The hare struggles to breathe. As the life drains from him, he looks into the bear’s wide, dead eyes, and starts to cry. The guilt is killing him as surely as his injuries. His best friend, the big gentle bear – thought the hare – would’ve been safe in his cave until spring, if only he’d kept his fucking mouth shut about poxy bloody Christmas.