From the author: This is a fiction story but it concentrates my experience with the two events which had a profound influence on my character; one happened before I was born and another- fairly recently. The story was once published before on-line (no pay) but the website died; then I submitted it again to another one (for a symbolic price), but again, there seems to be a dead end- this time no publication for a while. Meanwhile I like this story and would like to share with the audience. So, I guess, I can publish it here for no money, just for the sake of it. I am not sure if the word 'enjoy' is appropriate here; ' look through' would be more suitable. I also think I managed to write a true American short story. Here it is. Don't judge too harsh.
The steel door closed with a bang, the SS man secured the lock and it was all silent for a moment. The director hesitated in his hovering over the set. He loved the feeling. It was a part of his plan. In front of that door not only the SS soldiers on the set but all the perspective movie watchers will freeze in the paroxysm of evil and the popcorn will fall on the floor. There, on the other side of that door people are gassed. Hell and Heaven, Good and Bad, Right and Wrong. The silence of Doom.
""Cut!'" The director wiped the sweat from his forehead and whistle d slowly. ""What do you think?'"
""You tell me.'" The DP was looking sideways at a pretty assistant in a tank top.
""I know what you mean.'" The director glanced at the cement patch his mannequins traversed so many times. That engineer was a genius, really.
""Once more?" asked the DP.
""No cameras. Just watch me. I'll go with them.'"
""You will go there?'"
""Yes, and you tell me what's missing.'"
"It's your show.'"
The DP winked at the assistant and she made a grimace back. Everybody was tired, hungry and ready to leave. The SS man unlocked the door and the engineer pressed the button. The door opened with a squeak and the mannequins rolled back to the starting position. The director merged into the crowd of the naked bodies. Some had beards, some looked like women, and some even had eyes. The idea was for them to be human and not human at the same time. When they moved heavily, reluctantly, in silence, they were to send a message of the untimely death, the ultimate demise. They fit perfectly, those giant naked toys and that smirking half- idiot at the door. But something was still missing.
The director looked upward. For the first time he noticed that the puppets were of a higher- then -- average height; an excellent help during the shooting. But here, among them he felt diminished, overwhelmed.
""On my mark," he said into the megaphone.
They started moving towards the door open like an entrance to the quarry. He looked up again and saw the towering heads. No sky. He felt an urge to say something to them, to embrace those lifeless bodies, to hug, to pray. And then they were at the door, in front of the "gas angel".
The procession stopped. The director looked at the DP.
""Are you thinking what I am thinking?'"
