Unknown By The Selfish

     No one could read the writing on the stones.  They had worn away from years of rain and harsh weather, ignored and washed over.  It was located on a small plot of land, the grass a dull yellow color and flowers non existent.  Only a few trees marked life in the cemetery, and even they seemed to have death brushing upon their scraggly, fragile branches.  A town, only ten minutes away from the location, ignored its existence.  Why would they go out of their way to follow a dirt path past the forest growth and into a forgotten piece of land that had no name?  At one point it had a name.  But similar to the headstones, the label had been weathered away.  Only a few letters left helped mark what the area was:

    WWI~ C~~ET~E~Y

    And if one of the townspeople did somehow stumble across the abandoned area, they would always report a strange presences that loomed over and clung to them, dragging down their steps to a slower speed.  Each had said that they had wanted to leave earlier than they had, but felt almost held back by something.  After awhile, it was labeled as haunted.  A few kids had come up to see if the rumors were true, but found it boring.  When they visited with such intentions, nothing happened.  There was no one that needed to go there, so it was left there.  Both the cemetery and the people in it faded from people’s minds.  But no one wanted to be forgotten.  

    Today, like any other day in the last seventy years, he sat on a rotting tree stump towards the entrance of the cemetery.  Waiting.  Though he couldn't quite place why he was waiting, but something always compelled him to do so.  His uniform matched those of a German soldier, and was worn out from many years of battling.  His blonde hair was still slicked back, his rugged face and dull blue eyes set on the gates of the cemetery.  

    Hans Meier.  German Soldier.  WWII.  KIA.

    And in this set time he always reflected on himself and waited for something.  No, not something.  He knew that he was waiting for someone.  Even if it was evident that no one would set foot past the old gate.  Perhaps from fear that the rusted bars would cut them, and draw a small amount of blood.  Self concern, by human nature, was put ahead of concern over others.  As he pondered; a presence formed behind him, a familiar one.  

    Wilhelm Meier.  German Soldier.  WWII.  KIA.

    Hans did not turn to meet his brother.  Even though after seventy years, he still could not get used to the look of his older brother’s pale face.  Or the bullet hole in his stomach that was visible through his matching uniform.  Time could not heal the wounds that had been created by watching his older brother die in front of him, only for Hans to die himself later in the same battle.  And if it could heal such things, it must have taken longer then what it was worth.  But a hand was placed on his shoulder and an icy feeling seeped through the clothing.  No surprise; his brother’s hand was as cold and lifeless as his own.  Wilhelm looked down at his kin.

    He mouthed, “Are you okay?”

    “I was just watching.” His lips formed the words the best he could.

    Neither of them could assemble actually words.  That was a gift only granted to the living.  Hans could barely remember back to when he could talk, not able to recall his own voice.  But his brother’s remained snagged in his remaining memories.  Wilhelm used to have a rough voice due to the constant yelling of commands on the battle field.  It was not that he had been an evil person in fact, he was the most wary of war out of their small group of allies.  He disliked going to fight, but never stepped down from command.  Just the thought of why he had remained in the army caused negative thoughts to swim through his brain.  He did so to protect people, to protect family, to protect him.  How Hans his voice, or just voices in general.  They defined a person.  

    How he missed people.

    Wilhelm worried deeply for his brother.  He constantly sat here, on a dead tree stump in front of the gate.  He was unsure of whether  or not Hans realized what was going on.  For seventy years he had remained in this cemetery in order to stay by his side.  And in that amount of time, his clear resolve had become clouded.  Not even the man with no regrets that Wilhelm had died as, could move on.  With the slight thought in his mind that he did not want to be erased from history, he had become trapped here.  Though that was okay with him at this moment in time.  After all, it was his job as a big brother to watch after his little sibling and make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.

    “Wow, it really is here.” The voice clear as crystal

    Both deceased soldiers immediately snapped their attention to the old, rusted gate.  They hadn’t heard a voice in over thirty years.  By the tone in which the person spoke, it was easy to tell which gender they were.  Driven by curiosity they peered over the gate.  It slowly opened and the hinges screamed from the sudden use.  She looked around the cemetery before stepping onto the dehydrated grass.  A black backpack strapped onto her back that was blanketed in a colorful sweatshirt with complimenting jeans.  Her long blonde hair was pulled back in a messy style and ocean eyes searched in interest.  Hans watched in shock as she gingerly closed the gate behind her and walked further into the area.  The girl walked right past the tree trunk that they were sitting by without even batting an eyelash.  He was only momentarily stunned and soon stood up to join Wilhelm as he trailed behind the girl.  Her footsteps made imprints in the grass and her breath made a trail of fog behind her.  The brothers watched as she headed straight for the two oldest graves; theirs.  She bent down in front of Wilhelm’s and pulled equipment out of her backpack: paper and charcoal.  Hans looked at his brother, confused by the two objects.  But neither of them remained puzzled for long because the girl began to work.  

    She placed the paper over where Wilhelm’s name used to be evident and rubbed the charcoal over it.  It was barely readable, but his name was there.  The girl proceeded to do the same to the grave next to his.  “Hans” also showed up on the paper.

    “Brothers?” she pondered out loud

      The sight of his own name made Hans reach out to the the girl.  His hand passed through hers and he quickly pulled back.  The girl grabbed her hand and looked around frightened.  In her line of vision, there was no one there.   Standing up, she quickly packed away all of her stuff and made her way back across the cemetery.  Her form brushed on the gate in attempt to avoid opening it widen then she previously had done.  She looked back sorrowfully before disappearing down the dirt road.  Hans looked at his brother with a beat expression.

    “Sorry,” he mouthed

    Wilhelm responded with a small smile, but watched as Hans looked down at his own transparent hand with a distant expression with mournful intentions.  It was rare for someone to visit, and, if they did, they wouldn’t come back.  They both glanced back once at the worn out path and came to the conclusion that they would never see her again.  

    They were wrong.

    The two German soldiers were surprised to see the girl return the next day, almost the same as she had been previously.  Her expression still held the eagerness of a five year old despite her most likely being in her later teens.  The only difference being that she held a bouquet of white flowers with two red roses in them.  She walked around and carefully picked out different graves, placing a white flower on each.  Hans watched the girl intensely, and Wilhelm kept his eyes glued to his brother.  He didn't want him to get his hopes up only for them to be squandered later.  But even he was curious when she headed for the back of the cemetery and to their graves.  She bent down in front of them and gave a small smile.  

    “Nice to meet you. Wilhelm and Hans.  You guys were German, right?” she asked

    They froze in place.  How were they supposed to respond to that?  Even if they found out what to say it wasn't like they could say it.  The girl gave a small laugh and sat all the way down, crossing her legs and tucking the front of her face into a white, fuzzy, scarf.  For a second she just stayed in place and didn't make any attempt to do anything.  But the world didn't stay paused for long, and she resumed activity.

    “I’m pretty sure there is no one here to talk to, or anyone to hear me.  You could say that I am 99% sure of it, but I can’t expel that 1%,” she explained, “And it’s not like there is anyone back home for me to talk to anyways.”

    “Is she crazy?” Hans questioned

    “No, just lonely.” Wilhelm responded, “Kind of like us.”

    The girl stayed there for only a mere minute before standing up and walking over to the tree stump.  She promptly dusted it off and sat down.  Her backpack at her side, she pulled out a book that the two were unable to read.  They may had been able to speak some English, but they couldn't read it.  As German soldiers, they only needed enough knowledge to spy successfully.  The brothers had been posted in a town, therefor only needed to communicate with the locals.  The girl skimmed through the pages and with every paragraph her expression would change from delighted to disgusted.  It was fascinating to them, not much human emotion was displayed here.  But dusk encroached a bit too quickly for their liking and the girl put her book back in her bag.  She stood and left the cemetery, and unlike the first time, did not look back.  

    “I can’t believe that she came again,” Hans mouthed.

    “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Wilhelm responded as he looked back at his grave.  He couldn’t help but smile at the bright red rose that now laid on top of it.  

    The blonde haired girl returned every week with a new type of flower.  Towards the beginning of her series of visits, Hans had panicked when she missed a day.  Wilhelm was able to calm him by stating that she couldn’t come every day, which was very true.  The two of the began  to address her as the Flower Girl, as they couldn’t ask her real name.  Each time she visited she would talk out loud as if she was aware of them being right beside her.  Even though she was ignorant of it, they both enjoyed listening to her life stories.  From what she told, the world had advanced quite a lot from the war, and it was mostly positive growth.  Though, having her talk to them was both comforting and upsetting.  While they enjoyed the company, they couldn't talk back.  But despite the limitations, they savored the Flower Girls visits.  

    For better or worse, weeks turned to months, and months to years.  Her visits became less and less frequent as she graduated from school, got a job, created a family, and lived.  It began to worry Hans and Wilhelm.  They couldn’t help but fell slightly selfish over their troubles, but were not able to change the longing they felt without live company.  Whenever she did come, she would have some grand, exciting, or depressing news.  They felt helpless when they couldn’t congratulate or comfort her.  They felt dead.  She changed with time, and they did not.  It was a few years after she gained a husband that she came on one of her now rare visits.

    Hans had been waiting on his tree stump when he saw her familiar blonde hair climbing up the dirt path.  He had alerted Wilhelm and the two of them made their way over to their graves.  The Flower Girl carried a bag at her side.  Their curiosity peaked, as they were unsure of what was inside.  But something else caught the soldiers off guard.  There seemed to be a new light to her, it added to her atmosphere of life.  It was as if she was young again and in her prime,a youthful glow.  And yet, there was no change to her physical appearance.  Her hand reached into the bag and she pulled out a large, grey, smooth, stone.  

    “I brought something since I won’t be able to come for a while,” she announced before placing the stone down on Wilhelm’s grave.  He bent down and peered at it.  After catching a small glance he immediately turned to his brother who was looking at his.  The stones had clear writing etched in them.  

    Hans Meier:  Brave Soldier

    Wilhelm Meier: Loyal Brother

    Ghostly tears trailed down his cheeks as he looked at his own name.  His name, so clearly visible.  It was there, and not faded away.  He was there.  He was here.  

    He existed.  

    The Flower Girl gave a small smile before pulling out two red roses and placing them on the graves.  Her visit was short lived this time and she left quickly.  Wilhelm turned away from his shocked brother to momentary look over at the gate.  The Flower Girl hd securely shut it.  She looked back once, ocean eyes scanning over the cemetery.  He caught a look of longing in her irises swirling with many other mixed emotions.  It had been the first time she looked back since her first visit.  Even though Wilhelm knew that she couldn’t hear or see him, he stood tall in her direction and mouthed the one thing he wanted her to hear.

    “Thank you.”

    The Flower Girl turned around and disappeared down the dirt path, so strikingly similar to how she did every single visit before that.  This time though, Wilhelm felt as if she really disappeared.  By this time Hans had been watching as well.  They just stared at the rusted gate.

    They never saw her again.

    Sixteen years compared to seventy is not a long time.  But Hans seemed to feel otherwise.  Every day for sixteen years he sat on the tree stump and stared out at the cemetery gate, it was still securely shut from when the Flower Girl last left.  No one had come since.  Wilhelm had tried to get him to move, but he would not.  Even though they both knew that she was never coming back, they still waited for something.  

    “Hey, Wilhelm?” Hans asked grabbing his brother’s attention

    “What is it?” He mouthed back

    “Why do we do this?”

    “What do you mean?”

    “Why haven't we moved on?”

    “Something is missing.”

    “Like a rätsel.”

    After the word was spoken everything went back to silence.  A small memory formed between the two.  Hans had hated puzzles, but Wilhelm was always good at them.  Their Muti and Vati would get them new ones all the time in hope of them gaining something.  Wilhelm saw the remembrance in his brothers eyes.  He knew why the two of them couldn’t leave, but he was unsure if Hans himself was aware.  

    “Hello?  Is anyone there?”

    It was crystal clear.

    Their attention was immediately shot to the old gate.  Standing by the gate was a girl whose facial maturity could be no more then sixteen years old.  Her blond hair braided back and light blue eyes that looked around the cemetery.  She was the spitting image of the Flower Girl.  Hans stood up and watched as she nervously made her way across the dead land.  If they had previously had any suspicion that the girl standing before them now was the same as the one from sixteen years ago, it was crushed as she constantly looked around in a worried manner.  The Flower Girl had always boldly walked forward, this girl was much more timid.  As soon as her mind decided that it was safe, she made her way to the only two readable graves.  She pulled out two red roses and laid them both down gently before speaking yet again.

    “My dad constantly tells me stories about my mom and how kind she was.  One of those stories was brought up constantly, and it was about this cemetery.  Apparently she loved coming here and thought it was sad that it seemed to be forgotten,” she explained “I’m not sure why she found it special, but she did.  I’m 99% sure that no one is here, but I can't expel that 1%.  So I will take her place, so to speak, and return every single once and awhile.  It seems like a nice place to do homework anyway.”

    The daughter of the Flower Girl stood back up and turned on her heel.  She didn't look back once as she left the cemetery and blended away with the distant forest growth.  Hans stared down at the rose that used to be a familiar object.  It had disappeared for the longest time and now it was back.  Wilhelm grabbed his brother’s attention.

    “She never forgot,” he stated, tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

    “I know.  I know that...” Hans responded

    As he answered he noticed something about himself.  It was almost as if he was getting lighter, like the burden of fear being removed from his shoulders.  Wilhelm gave him a reassuring smile and ruffled his hair a bit, the tears now flowing freely down his pale face.  Just like the old days.  When Hans tripped and fell, Wilhelm would always have to comfort him.  How funny that it applied here as well.

    “Why are you crying Bruder?” Hans asked clearly. “Why... Why am I crying?”

    He then held in a surprised noise as a voice he had long forgotten swam through his mind.  His own.  Hans looked up at his older brother in surprise, he flashed a remorseful smile.  For the first time in a long time, he returned it.

    “Hey, do you think that she will come back?”

    Wilhelm mouthed the words, “She promised, no?”

    “That’s right.  You know, it’s been so long since I heard my own voice it’s amazing.  But I wish I could hear yours one more time.”

    “Is that what you really want?”

    Hans nodded eagerly like a child and Wilhelm wrapped his arms around him.  He held his brother close and stained his jacket with tears.  Just like the old days.  He held his innocent brother in his hands, he was no longer tainted by war and regret. Whispering into Hans ear, he choked back a sob.  

    “I’ll miss you.” His long lost voice weaved into his thoughts

    Wilhelm fell through empty space as his brother disappeared into nothing but a memory.  In truth, it was ironic.  All those years ago in the war, Wilhelm had taken a bullet and left Hans to deal with his death.  Even if followed soon afterwards, he never realized how much it hurt.  But there was a feeling of content mixed in among the grief.  He had moved on peacefully.  What else could he ask for?  Kneeling down in front of their graves, Wilhelm stared at the red rose.  It was the only color that remained as everything else started to fade to a warm light.  As if the Flower Girl could hear the fallen soldier, he repeated the statement he made sixteen years ago in his own voice.  

    “Thank you.”

    It was nice to know that some people never forget.