The is the first of ‘Sjef’s Super Stories’, written aged 11 in my last year of primary school; 1992. For this story I would like to apologize to Mexicans. I now believe you can shoot just as straight as everyone else, no demonstrations will be required.

He was standing on the bridge, gallows above him and a stump below him. The soldiers behind him were laughing, gambling over who was going to kick the stump and send him to oblivion. His life had just flashed before his eyes and now he was only thinking of ways to escape. He had already tried yelling “The British, I’m saved!”, but he only received a crack on the head with the butt of a rifle. One of the soldiers was just drawing back his foot to kick the stump when a jeep drove up.

“They have come to watch me die”, he thought miserably, but when the soldiers all sprang to attention he knew differently. “Let him go,” the colonel said, “he has military secrets!”. As the soldiers untied him he saw his chance. When they were halfway across the bridge he suddenly karate-kicked his guard in the face and took a death-defying leap into the raging waters. As he dived he heard the ominous clicking of German assault rifles being cocked amongst a cry of, “Fire at will!” given by the colonel.

He stayed underwater for about two minutes before his lungs forced him up again. As he went back under he felt a white-hot pain in his arm and when he surfaced again he saw a red stain on his shirt where a bullet had ripped through. He knew he was not quite out of range but he risked a look back at the bridge. He saw two things he didn’t like; missile launcher being loaded on the bridge and a jeep coming towards him with five men and two dogs on back. Then he saw a great splash as the rocket launcher was fired, sending its shell which missed him by a few meters. He knew he would be out of range by now, so he clambered out of the river and into the trees. He heard the shouts of the men and barks as the two rotweillers were let off. He ran, stumbling along in a blind panic. The rotweillers were only a few meters away from him now so he leapt for the nearest tree, scrambling up, thinking, “NOT gonna die, NOT gonna die!”. Then he hit his head on a branch and fell.

When he awoke he found his shot arm bandaged and a German looming over him with a syringe.
“Truth drug!” he thought and tried to punch the German in the face but he was tied down. The German laughed, saying something about not learning, and stuck the needle in his arm. When he came around he found himself leaning against a tree with another German pointing a rifle in his face. He braced himself for death but when the German pulled the trigger there was nothing but a click. He started to run, joyfully yelling “Auf wiedersehen!” over his shoulder at the swearing German behind him. He heard many shots but none hit him.
“They must all be Mexican!” he thought laughingly. He looked around himself later, and saw a row of trees up on a ridge. Then, all of a sudden he knew where he was. He ran to the top of the ridge and below him was the farm he knew so well, his house and his family. His wife had seen him and was running up the hill towards him but just as she was a few meters away from him he felt a sudden pain and knew no more.

He had hung, dreaming.

Sjef van Gaalen, 1992