Hans shimmied through the bustling market, trying to avoid suspicious glances. His eyes darted through the prices, trying to find something affordable, so he could stick to his pride. He couldn’t. Christoph was probably hungry. Hans tears where beggining to ruin his ability to read prices.
“ This doesn't fit me. This doesn't fit my family”, he said to himself, as if someone were listening. But not even god would listen to someone as pathetic as him. He picked up a loaf of bread, and parted away. His strong hands where stopped by stronger ones.
“Oi, boy. That's twenty marks,” he informed Hans with a cruel grin. “Hey, answer your elders, boy” he barked as his grin melted. Hans quickly turned around and socked him.
The man covered his broken nose and grunted, “Thief.”
Hans was already far away. Christoph wouldn't be hungry anymore.
As Hans quickly walked home, a scrawny little ginger ran towards him. “Hell of a price, eh?” he quipped. Hans didn’t answer. “ Im wondering how somebody like you could afford it” the boy, said semi aggressively. “ Is that an accusation?” Hans asked, half amused, half angry. “ I saw what you did, there.” the boy said, quickly changing his tone. Hans walked even quicker. The boy had to run to catch up. “Just, please. I need some bread too,”pleaded the boy.
“Listen, Albert. I have a six- year -old at home and a mother who doesn't give a damn. A peasant like yourself deserves nothing,” barked Hans, now very angry. He spit directly in Alberts eye. Albert stopped walking, and his tears mixed with the spit.
“You’re poor too!” he yelled.
Hans turned around, calmly, “but I will never be like you,” he shrieked.
Hans ran away, as Abert starred, rather disappointed. On the way to his apartment, he heard a man saying “Don't follow the dogs of the military!” Hans knew exactly who he was, and ran even quicker. He had no time for Nazi scum. And their movement would never take germany- not his Germany.
“Hello, christoph, i'm home.” he announced, as he creaked the door open.
“Over here,” Christoph yelled, weakly.
Hans happily jogged towards him. “How's it going, brother?” Christoph asked.
“Good, good. I brought you something to eat,” Hans answered with a wide smile. “Brother. There's no gnaw marks on this bread.”. He looked concerned. “ So what?” Hans jokingly replied. Christoph began to cry. “ You need to eat too.” he said lovingly. Hans began to cry. He was the healthy and strong one. Yet Christoph, not him, was concerned about his health. Hans took a piece, and shoved it down his throat.
And the hours slowly melted. Hans and his brother happily read, together yet apart for most of the time. Well, Christoph couldn't exactly read. Yet he deeply enjoyed the look of words. He would immerse himself in the pages of a book and pretend, just for a moment, that he was normal. Hans, on the other hand, loved Dickens. Except that Oliver story. That one disconcerted him. Yet everyday, he seemed to enjoy it more. That thought disturbed him. When he first read it, high above the city and the world, his disgust made him lose his appetite for three days. Now it was only about an hour.
Hans was tired. He decided that, against his better judgment, he would engage in some drinks. Perhaps more. And so, he stepped out of the door, late at night.
¨Brother...¨ Hans stopped. He had no time for Christoph. He ran towards the tavern. He realised he didn't want some drinks. He needed them. He ignored every single sign on the street. Every single chant. Every single bit of light pouring out of the windows. The only thing he couldn't ignore where his tears.
He opened the door, to a mass of people. He found a man, whom he perceived as a bartender due to his bowtie and rather put together nature. He sat on one of the many tables.
”Oi, little drink please. Brandy, wine, I don't really care.” Hans said, as if he was an uncultured drunk like the rest of them. Which he was. He simply wouldn't admit it.
“Boy, do the armed guards surrounding me indicate that i'm a bartender? ¨he asked, as if he didn't know the answer. Hans emerged from his haze to realise just who he was talking to. Gustav RItter von Kahr was the minister president of Bavaria, and clearly wasn't interested in bartending. He smirked at Hans.
“ I would imagine if you mistaken me for a bartender, you don't have any idea where you are?”Hans collection returned to him as he snidely responded
“ Well where am I, a meeting of mustachioed right wing politicians?”.
“Close” Kahr responded, “ I have a speech to give. This is not a night of revelment. Our government is weak, unpatriotic, and corrupt. I have gathered these people for change.”. Hans was shot out of his stare, as he realised where he was. These men wished to overthrow the glorious government his father had strived to protect. The government his father died for. He couldn't even imagine it as a detriment to germany. But, Kahr was already gone.
Hans staggered towards the door, with booming words of revolution in his ears. When the sound of a gunshot replaced these words, he tripped and fell. On a table, with smoke bleeding out of his gun, stood a rather odd man. He was undoubtedly not ugly, yet his physique was built odly. Almost like a skeleton. A rather rough mustache grew between his mouth and his nose. He recognised this gentleman, yet he could exactly put his name on it.
”The national revolution has broken out! The hall is filled with six hundred men. Nobody is allowed to leave” This voice jolted his memory. The man on the table was Adolf Hitler, leader of the Socialist German party. This party was named many names; the Brownshirts, the SA’s, but you probably know them as the Nazis.
The strange man rambled on about the german government. He even went far enough to say that a new government was formed. Hans could only really think of his brother, and the depths of a bottle. If given the choice he would not be there at the moment, but he didn't really care. Hell, he would be enjoying it if he had a brew. That was how low he had stooped.
“Kahr, follow us. Bring your men.” one of Hitler's men demanded. The three men were marched into a dark room. While Kahr wasn't the nicest man, Hans enjoyed knowing at least someone in the crowd. Know he was alone. Hans glanced at the window to see a rather large machine gun and many men. He wasn't leaving anytime soon. Hans heard shouts of confusion, and many small squabbles. Hans was dazed and paced around in circles for what felt like forever.
“You there, what are you doing?” a rather drab looking Nazi barked. Hans ignored him, and subserviently sat down. The nazi eyed him with a combination of suspicion and interest. After a while, he left. The man frequently consulted with Mr.Hitler, often with a look of disapproval. The conflict in the dark room seemed to grow louder. Eventually, Kah was marched out, followed by many stern faced Nazi’s. The men consulted with Hitler.
After many days of nothing happening, the nazis lost their temper. A man named Ludendorff yelled, with much false conviction, “We march”. A renewed excitement shocked through the crowd, and bustled towards the newly opened doors. Happy to leave, yet scared of what awaited, Hans followed them. Hans tried to slip out of the crowd many times, but the vast amount of men bounced him away. There's no way he could fight through such a large crowd.
Ludendorff marched the men towards a large building. He forced his terrified eyes to read
“Bavarian Defense Ministry”. He wanted to turn back.. He wanted to yell. yet he knew it wouldn't do any good. Before he could collect his thoughts, more thoughts rushed into his head. Sounds of gunfire. Sights of men dying. And a sheering pain in his left leg.
When Hans awoke, his eyes darted across the dirty room. He picked up Christoph, and immediately calmed down. He then saw the peasant. He jumped up out of bed.
“Let go of me you filthy peasa-” he began, but Christoph quieted him.
“He came to our house looking for food, but found me instead. When I told him about you heading to the beer hall, he immediately looked for you” Christoph told him.
“ I looked there, but men were blocking the doors. And so I waited for a while. I tailed the crowd, but my chance to see you was when the gunfight broke out. The rest is history”, the peasant cockily recounted. Hans knew that the SA’s probably still wandered the streets. He knew his wounds would not be quick to heal. But the nostalgic smell of bread in the oven, and the smiling faces of friends, made him forget the current predicament. 
