A Moment of Weakness

A Moment of Weakness
By - Robert Goldsborough

      Another headache was coming and he was glad to find himself alone.  Just a few minutes alone were all he needed.  He cradled his throbbing head in his manicured hands and let his thoughts churn.  The “Final Solution” was out; he smiled at the thought of it as another bolt of pain shot through his temples.  He cringed and dug in his pockets for his relief.  All the young boys parading around under his name with his beliefs made him smile again as the pain in his skull dug deeper.  The bottle of pills fell from his hand and crashed to the cold marble floor.  The small round doses scattered like the Jews under his rule.  The pain in his head shot down his spine crippling him as he had once been crippled in battle.  He tumbled from the chair, landing hard against the floor.  His hands shook and he could not grasp the tiny pills.  His brain reeled and showed him more images:  Geli’s suicide, his public trial at Nuremburg, Jesse Owens at the Olympics.  The pain seized his groin and he whimpered like an injured fetus.  A single tear traced the length of his cheek.  He missed his mother.  Images of that filthy shelter in Vienna came to him and he struggled through the pain.  His knotted hands searched for a pill.  He found one and dragged it to his lips.  He needed this to stop the pain, to stop the images and stop the past.  The future was still ahead of him and he could still be greater than he was.  The pill slipped past his tight lips.  In seconds the methamphetamine worked on his system.  The screams were leaving and his mind was clearing.  His body loosened and he stood.  He brushed the dust from his tailored suit and looked into the gilt mirror.  He smiled with no pain and saluted himself.
         “Sieg Heil!”  He said.