French Resistance

A little project I am working on. I want to tell a story about the brave French who risked everything and fought from the inside out. Let me know what you think so far!




My face fell hard against the metal table. The soldier’s slap was rough like sandpaper. My cheek felt hot and moist. My breath was struggling to keep up with the blows he loved to administer. His creepy wide tooth smile reached his eyes which burned with excitement. His breath was just as ragged as mine.

“My hand is sore.” he said in French. His German accent tarnished my native language.

I swallowed hard. The lumps on my face felt as though they were growing. My left eye already was swollen shut.


I landed on the table with a soft thud. I did not have the strength anymore to resist his blows or even try to shield my face.

“What secrets did you share Genevieve?” he hissed.

Blood and tears gurgled in my throat. I wanted my husband here, and at the same time, I didn’t want him to come near me. Once word reached him I was sure he would kill me himself.

“The obergruppenfuhrer will be here soon, and he will not be as nice as me.”

I coughed some blood up that landed on the soldier’s shiny black shoes.

“You bitch!” Slap, slap, slap!


A familiar voice both brought me comfort and fear.

With my one good eye, I looked towards the doorway. Light glowed behind his sturdy frame like a halo. I could not make out his face but I knew he was looking at me. He was probably pressing his lips together the way he always did when he was mad at me. I breathe a sigh into the table. Nothing could absorb my soft sobs that seemed to echo through the room.

“I want to talk to the spy alone,” he growled.

“Of course obergruppenfuhrer.”

The soldier bowed slightly at the waist, raised his hand in a straight handed salute then marched off behind the obergruppenfuhrer.

I heard his boots squeak as he walked closer to me. The door behind him closed with a loud metal clank. As he dragged the chair around the table to sit next to me I wondered if this was truly the end. Had I been wrong in loving him and loving France at the same time?

Could he still love me?

“It seems one of us is a liar.” he whispered in my ear. “I feel wife, you owe me some explanations.”  

4 thoughts on “French Resistance

  1. Few hours ago, something similar happened to me also, fortunately, that wasn’t the face, knee, down side of the computer table…… it was the wife… told, help me on toast this, I know the result behind late responses, disturbance, my knee is still aching……..


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