Naked Christian

Naked Christian

May 28, 2042 – The German government files lawsuits seeking compensation for lands lost during World War II. After a year, the case is decided in favor of the Germans. Increasing clashes are inevitable between the desperate Polish population and representatives of the NaziJetzt, a group growing in power. A massacre of uncorrupted politicians ensues. The world holds its breath for a moment to watch the small state thrashing in agony. The Carpathians absorb patriotic blood, the Vistula River is sticky and crimson. We stand in the Colosseum of life. Naked and stripped of dignity, like Christians surrounded by predators. No help. Only cheers, curses, and primal instincts gleaming in blood-stained eyes. We are alone again. Yet our will to fight will never die. We rise from our knees to retrieve the stone and march unwaveringly toward the prey.

The kiosk wasn't a particularly impressive building. It could use a fresh coat of paint, and the grille was rusty in many places. However, it was closest to Jean's house and sufficed to buy a newspaper. He glanced at a few of the nearest headlines. As usual—"German-French Friendship Grows," "Gentlemen, to the Front, Clean Up Europe!!!," "Murder! 20 Soldiers Exterminated by Polish Rebels," and others written in a similar tone. His "Europe" had a large inscription reading "Rats" and photographs of young Poles trying to cross the border into the German Empire.

Someone has to finally put an end to this brutality. These RATS are killing people, Jean thought, his heels tapping rhythmically on the cobblestones. He walked toward his apartment on Rue 5.

"Michał! Mommy's calling you," the little one looked up from his masterpiece—a cone of mud decorated with pieces of old bricks. He glanced at the girl with the unusually freckled face.

"Leave me alone, girl, I'm working," he said, placing a shell casing on top. He quickly got up and ran toward a vaguely shaped hut at the end of the settlement. He ran inside and, with an innocent smile, sat on a makeshift stool. Teresa turned quickly and looked into his unusually blue eyes, framed by a smudged face.

"How many times has Mom told you? You're not allowed to wander...

" "Farther than the settlement and without adult supervision," the bored boy replied. Teresa crouched down beside him and pressed his face against her chest.

"Mom, will we ever be free? Without fear of stupid faces and soldiers?"

Teresa took a deep breath and began to weave the flimsy threads of a story so improbable in their dejected hut. She spoke of everything that awaited them after the war. About drawing with chalk on the garage wall, about the yellow puppet hanging over the aquarium, about colorful candy, and about Sundays together, with boiled eggs, sausages, and real tea. The little one fell asleep on her lap. Teresa began to daydream. Maybe it really was possible? If only she could live to see the end of the war…

"No, Mom, I've already made my decision! I'm an adult and I have the right to decide my own fate." His thin mustache twitched with anger. "Understand, nothing will happen to me, and this is, as you know, fighting for a truly noble cause. Someone has to show these rats their true place." He turned his reddened face to the newspaper photographs of children. Despite his anger, he felt satisfaction. He began again. "I don't want to argue with Mom. I have to do this. The nation is calling on me to ERADICATE…

" "ENOUGH!" Her scream cut through his words like a sharpened knife through overcooked lamb.

"Enough," she said, more gently. No one had ever heard Mrs. Rouge scream, so Jean sat speechless, looking at his mother as if she were an exotic bird. "Now you listen to me. Don't believe the press, the television, or anyone. Even though the smear campaign against Poles is ongoing, I have to tell you something." I associate the days of my youth with the smell of honey dripping from wholemeal bread, a little lamb born in the barn, and the most beautiful sunsets, resembling half an apple, a Polish apple. And of course he… Your late father's name isn't Romuald Rouge, as I told you, but Roman Czerwiński. You are the son of a Pole… You are what you so passionately persecuted. Now it's time to repay the debt—her tone took on a firmer tone. “You will go to the front to save Poles. Do you hear? You are a renowned, respected doctor with many friends, you will save many lives. Do what the Lord created you for.” She approached and hugged Jean as she did in the old days, and he burst into tears like the smallest of children. He already knew the choice he would make, which didn't fill him with optimism at all.

Frost, terrifying frost, and he was knee-deep in sticky riverside mud. He crouched down, his legs numb. He quickly calmed down. He heard quiet footsteps and mimicked the voice of an unidentified bird. An amine chirp answered him. He already knew these were the people he'd been waiting for. It was a group of about ten. They walked in silence for another ten kilometers before reaching an abandoned training ground. A helicopter was already there, already launched.

"You're late again and I swear I'm leaving without you," panted the obese pilot of the dilapidated aircraft

. "Look at these people, Misha. Would you rather they rot anonymously in some ditch, leaving their family on the brink of madness?" The taller of the men looked pleadingly at him

. "You always have the same excuse. You know how much I pity these people, but remember, I have a family too. Come on, ladies and gentlemen, let's get on board quickly." He glanced at the nearest woman. She was sitting with her child, a cripple missing an arm,

with crystal tears of joy, silently reciting the Litany to the Sacred Heart of Jesus. He took a deep breath. "You know, Jean, you're really someone."

The Frenchman smiled and stood until the plane disappeared into the pale pink morning sky. Another small victory.

"Mom, why did you pack everything? Are we in danger? Mom, please answer," Michał's voice held no trace of his usual arrogance. Terrified, he watched his mother's mechanical movements as she packed up her belongings and placed all the remaining weapons on a table made of barrels and planks. Teresa turned her head, meeting the boy's wide, frightened eyes, peering over a red teddy bear. It was his only real toy, found in the ruins of the house.

"We've heard that the Nazis are close. French troops are approaching from the other side. We have nowhere to run. We must be prepared for any eventuality," she blurted out in one breath. The boy was prepared for the bad news. He saw the fear in the eyes of all the villagers and his mother's anxiety. He was old enough to understand that this news meant death. He stoically began packing his things.

"Remember! From now on, you are deaf. You must make the entire journey in complete silence." Remember your Soviet disguise, too. You can't suggest, even in the slightest detail, that you belong to another country. Otherwise, death awaits you all—the population hung on every word from Jean's lips. He watched the "Russian aristocracy" hurriedly board the waiting train. Above the loud hum of the wheels, he could have sworn he heard prayers to God rising in the air. He smiled broadly, running quickly to the unit.

In the settlement, men were being assigned to guard duty. Rumors of troops marching were growing. People were waiting for death.

"Corporal. A senior scout is reporting. We've discovered a lost Polish settlement 12 kilometers north of here. About 20 people, poorly armed—the little man, out of breath, fell before the officer. A grimace of pain crossed Jean's face. He knew nothing about this settlement. He would have transported them first. Now it's too late... The officer sets out to find WEEDS to train new recruits. Hopefully, a few will manage to escape.

The sniper positioned himself perfectly. He was invisible, with a magnificent view of the settlement and the guard. He took him down with the first shot. A fight broke out. Poles fell under the rifle fire. Suddenly, a small boy peeked over the fence of the smallest hut. Although Teresa was running frantically from the well on the other side of the settlement, Michał fired a shot at the officer, killing him. The sniper aimed at the boy. A heartfelt scream escaped Teresa. The little one, still so far away—it must have been kilometers—waved at her, beaming with pride. In the next instant, his face transformed into a pillar of flame. Teresa saw a huge explosion ripping through their entire hut. The silence that only happens among the dead fell. She stared in horror at the blazing flames. She crouched, picking up a piece of red felt from the boy's beloved teddy bear. The world had collapsed; the sun would never rise for him again... When she raised her head, her eyes resembled those of a cheetah before a pounce. She grabbed a fallen shovel and, with a piercing scream, ran toward the soldier with the red cross on his back. Although in space it's rare for two phenomena to happen identically, it did near the burned settlement. For a micro-eternity, they were one. Jean turned, firing a burst from his rifle. Teresa plunged the shovel into his head. They looked at each other with a quiet groan. They knew life was not destined for them. The last thoughts that could still flow through their nerve cells were: what a resemblance, family, we are family... and then the words stopped. With half-closed eyelids, they fell to the ground, side by side, as if staring into each other's eyes. From the rubble emerged the first Poles, reciting the Hail Mary. Most of the French, wiping their glassy eyes, recalled images of their family, the Polish friends who had taught them this prayer. The prayer grew in intensity until it penetrated the Gates of Heaven. Although no one noticed, three golden streaks briefly appeared in the sky.

One of the recruits looked around, looked deeply into the people's eyes, and after a prayer, said: "It's the soul that counts... Only the soul..."

On March 18, 2050, Poland regained its independence. This momentous moment will be associated with loss and sacrifice for many people. Although the nation has lost its lands and many candles are burning throughout Poland, we are not defeated. The nation has proven the power of unity. For the first time in world history, the most dangerous predatory attack was defeated by a naked Christian with a stone. No force will defeat us...