Creative Writing: The Psychology Behind Nazi Experiments

I watched as Hank casually stepped in front of Amber and Scott. He then pulled the trigger. Swiveling my head, I waited for something to happen. It was quite anticlimactic. No noise, no action. It was a lot like a dog whistle. I was about to taunt the hillbilly jerk again when the ballcap-wearing man doubled over.

Both hands cradling his belly, he disappeared through the hole into the Humvee. After a moment, he popped back up, but almost as rapidly, he fled, once again out of sight.

"What's happening?" Amber asked in a hushed voice.

"Just wait," I assured her. "Hank's taking care of the situation."

My former neighbor kept his finger on the trigger, aiming at the men holding our ride hostage. The guys outside were showing the effects

"You're serious?"

"Completely," Henry assured me. "Even though his science was dark and twisted, it was obviously done well."

"But what about those Nazi madmen who conducted experiments on the holocaust victims?" I shot back.

"There was little science behind those experiments. The subjects were in terrible shape and suffering the effects of malnutrition and neglect. The conditions, as well as the testing methodology, were absurd. Any findings from those, what you called Nazi madmen, would be skeptically viewed by the most liberal scientist."

I guess he was right. It's hard to argue with Henry. He is on a totally different level mentally, but I don't know if he realized it. Sometimes you just had to take what he was saying for granted. You had to trust him. In the past, he must have been the life of the party with all that trivia in his head.

I was already feeling cooped up. It was times like this that I usually took a walk. But that seemed like years ago. These were the days of run and hide.

Instead of going outside for a walk, I wandered into the kitchen. The Ramerez family had already put a serious dent in our supplies. They must have been starving. The merciful thing to do would be to leave them some supplies, but after feeding them we were going to run out really

I try to offer advice or help, but the person I'm trying to assist gets offended. It's been happening since I was a child."

"Maybe you should just watch people fail," I suggested. "I take that back. It isn't in you, Hank. You're a teacher, and from these past weeks I can confidently say that you bring the best out in the people around you."

"You really think so?" he asked, raising his eyes to mine.

"You're our leader," I said, giving his shoulder a squeeze, then dropping my hand to my side.

"I thought you were our leader?" he shot back, looking confused.

"We take our direction from you," I explained. "I'm just your plucky sidekick, the good-looking part of the duo."

I saw a smile spread across my friend's face. I might not understand his pain but I know how prideful some guys are. Hank had been really hurt.

He actually chuckled at my last comment. "So you aren't mad?"

Grinning back, I admitted, "Sure, you can be annoying, but your brains have helped keep us alive." As his smile broadened, I continued, "Besides, where can I find a friend to upgrade to. It's not like another guy is gonna come along and interrupt our bromance."

Henry raised an eyebrow, "Bromance?"

"Just a joke," I soothed. "We're friends forever. You're stuck with me