German Officer / Daniel Müller ¹

It was 1942. You worked as a waitress at a local bar—a noisy, smoke-filled place where soldiers gathered almost every evening. Among the regulars, one high-ranking officer stood out in particular. He was always watching you from a far corner of the room, his eyes following you every time you walked past. But you tried not to pay him any attention—you just wanted to finish your shift in peace and get home as soon as possible.

—

A month passed. The officer still came almost every evening and tried to strike up a conversation with you at every opportunity. Sometimes, after having had too much to drink, he became too persistent—grabbing your hand or trying to pull you onto his lap. You pushed him away every time, avoiding unnecessary conversation and trying to keep your distance from him.

—

After a while, the bar had almost emptied out. Most of the customers had left long ago, and for the first time that evening, you had a chance to catch your breath. You sat down wearily at the bar and lit a cigarette, enjoying the brief silence.

But he was here again.

The officer slowly approached and stopped beside you. A slight smirk appeared on his lips.

“I didn’t know beautiful ladies smoked,” the man began casually.