When I See Fire

By Mark Holme

Hitler won WWII, and I can't stop the cannibalistic monster inside of me from ripping the world into pieces. No one can. Not even Jack Spencer, the descendent of Sir Winston Leonard Spencer-Churchill. People are dying.

People deserve to die.

Come on Jackie, catch me.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mark Holme
• Release date: Jun 20, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311167279

Mark Holme

Born in 1994, Mark is a current medical engineering student at the University of Leeds, and published his first book on the 8th October 2013.

Book preview

When I See Fire

M.R.Holme

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014 M.R.Holme

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Thinking

Chapter 2: Sir Winston Leonard Spencer-Churchill

Chapter 3: Misanthropist Milkshake

Chapter 4: Starry Night

Chapter 5: Technology

Chapter 6: Nighthawks

Chapter 7: The Lady Jew

Chapter 8: Adopting History

Chapter 9: Unconventional

Chapter 10:No More

Chapter 11:Up In Flames

Chapter 12:Banksy

Chapter 13:Morality of Murder

Chapter 14:The Mosaic of Mona Lisa

Chapter 15:V-Day and Beyond

Chapter 16:The Superior Race

Chapter 17:Insanity

Chapter 18:The Shoulders of Giants

Chapter 19:The Final Chapter

Chapter 20:Change

About the Author

Chapter 1

Thinking

Fire – burning, flames, heat, red, orange, fascinating, destructive.

When you hear the word fire, these are some of the things you think? When I hear fire I think two things: Death, Run.

Fire has ruined my life, but also taught me a lot about it; the importance of life, the cruel outcome of simple mistakes. Some say the past is practice, but what use is that if you’re not living today? Do I remember them? No. Do I miss them? Yes. This may seem strange to some of you, yet not so strange to others. How can you miss something you never really had? Because of two little words swimming in your mind. Sometimes deeper than others, but at night when there’s no other thoughts to block them out, you can’t stop yourself thinking …

What If?

My name is Leonidas Diavolo, and I’m on my way to fame, i.e. money – the good life some would say, how to gain a bunch of fake friends. Money is a strange thing. A man can work all his life 7 days a week, 16 hours a day, and yet a man in ten minutes gambling can earn more. Who says who deserves money? Whoever they are they messed up a long time ago, and I think a new system is needed, however I can’t change how the world is so I’ll have to make myself work to the system. One day the world will wake up and realize that God will never forgive us for what we have done; it often occurs to me that the human race is doomed. Greedy, destructive, self-centered, yet still fascinating to think about.

Thinking is over rated. It’s only useful to a genius, on everyone else it is wasted. The deeper you think the harder it is to stop. If you think about something for long enough it can destroy you, wear you down and tear you apart. Stretch you until you can’t bear it anymore – any way out is good, but how do you escape yourself?

In films you often hear people say they aren’t scared of death. I am, in fact I’m terrified. The one thing you can’t escape, and the one thing you don’t want to happen – yet if you could choose when to die life would be boring. I don’t want to know the future, I need change, change is unpredictable – keeps you on your toes. The seed of knowledge that one day you will die is awakening, yet in most people it is kept as a seed. In me it is a fully grown ivy strangling my soul and if I’m not careful it will ruin my life. Actually you might say it already has. The good thing about life though, is if you have a bad day you can try again tomorrow – start a fresh so to say. Try again. Again. Again. You know what the definition of madness is? Doing the same thing and expecting a different result, however every human does this to some extent, so are we all mad? It’s arguable. Looking at the world from an outsider’s point of view you would think us mad: letting people starve, killing each other, destroying the ground beneath our feet and doing anything to be number one. To be on top, the Alpha dog. Yes, looking at us from the outside I would say we are mad. We call ourselves civilized, please! We weren’t civilized as cavemen and we aren’t now. Nothing’s changed.

They say one man can make a difference, in the past they were right: Shakespeare, Churchill, Van Goff, Martin Luther King, Lincoln, Caesar. Notice the common thing between all these people?They aren’t around anymore. No one is stepping up to the mark, who’s your idol? Maybe the world is too big for one man to make a difference. Who can inspire seven billion people? Can you?

The world is beautiful through the eyes of a child; the innocence, the aspirations, the joy and wonder, the great adventure every day. The adventure of life. You could say this story is an adventure of life, or how to cling onto it anyway. It is also a story of Love. And Fame. And Friendship. And whatever else you choose to make of it.

I often wonder what the world would be like had Hitler died on the 30th April 1945 in his Führer-bunker. I can imagine his eyes tightly crumpled as the taste of metal flowed over his tongue. A bead of sweat, slowly running down his forehead and past his stupid Charlie Chaplin moustache.

The messenger burst in as Hitler’s finger was on the Walther PPK 7.65mm pistol’s trigger.

Führer, Roosevelt has responded, he has agreed your terms.

I bet the messenger was shocked to see his great leader with a barrel down his throat, not as shocked as when Hitler turned the thing on the messenger and blew his brains out.

His wife Eva was dying at his side. He said something cruel, something for her to remember him by. Goodbye my Cyanid Braut

It all went wrong from then.

It was in the French and British papers within hours: ROOSEVELT TRAITOR. I bet you never saw that coming, more than what my great grandfather saw, he was an Italian British POW. Within a year Russia had fallen, and then Charles de Gaulle surrendered, closely followed by Winston Churchill.

Bombing Pearl Harbour was the best thing Hitler ever ordered. He awoke the sleeping giant then put a leash around its thick neck.

He changed Chūichi Nagumo, the Commander in Chief of the First Air Fleet of the Imperial Japanese Navy, and the twisted face of warfare, forever. Hiroshima and Nagasaki will be remembered for eternity in infamy.

Revenge was all the Americans were seeking, revenge against the Japanese. The yanks were all for national expansion, that’s how Hitler sold it to them. That was his pitch. Yanks do have a heart though; they drew the line at concentration camps and gas chambers. At creating a superior race, look at us all, do we look superior to you? He was to Secure for the German people the land and soil which they are entitled to on this earth – the Yanks definitely didn’t agree with that. The man was insane; he believed that Aryans were destined to rule the world, even when he had managed to conquer it with dark hair upon his scalp. By the time Roosevelt had realized his error he was at the bottom of Devils Lake in North Dakota, and Hitler was now the head of a monster. A hulk with a brain is a scary concept.

The Italians were safe of course. My Ancestors were safe.

Europe was renamed the German Empire, only people with blonde hair and blue eyes are allowed into Berlin – even Hitler himself was banned. The whole world must pay yearly tributes to the Germans, like a tribe from before the times of metal and brains. They have the cars. They have the money. They have everything.

Can they make the Jews extinct? They cannot. Do they have my heart? Never. I am Leonidas Diavolo, and I will never surrender to this evil that surrounds me.

I am Leo Diavolo, and I will kill every Jew I ever meet. He was a very misunderstood man, Adolf Hitler. The great ones often are. No one understood Da Vinci either. One of two siblings to survive childhood in Austria. Time Magazine man of the year. He fought valiantly in World War I, though the cowards surrendered when he could have won it for them, as he later proved. Power mad? He just wanted what was, by rights, his to begin with. For years the poor man lived on the streets of Vienna like an animal, the very animals he loved so much. He was a vegetarian you know.

I will never surrender to the men who walk in Hitler’s shadow. He was a vegetarian you know? Didn’t want any animal to die, but killed the Jews by the thousands. The fool thought he was an artist because he helped design the Volkswagen Beatle. His first girlfriend committed suicide, he was that much fun. Churchill would have hated to see Britain like this. Like slaves. We have no money, but that just means that everything is cheaper. I don’t suppose that is too hard to live with. The murders, the murders of people accused of being Jews. That’s difficult to stomach. Wait, did I mention the Vegetarian thing twice?

Apologies for my ramblings, the world around us enrages me. What do I do about it? Nothing. Though there is much I could be doing to aid the world; that we all could do. Poverty. Orphans. Cancer. Malaria. Homeless. Hospitals. Hospices. Extinction. How many charities have we all ignored? I sit in my home, on my sofa, eating well, while on the TV set the adverts pleading for money go on and on. My heart feels sympathy, until the next advert starts. Then comes the news at six. More death. More world issues and skating squirrels. The UN can’t decide what to do, again. The United Nations aren’t so united after all. Hitler started the UN – no wonder it’s doomed to failure. WWIII may be closer than we think.

My home isn’t much to look at, a semi-detached on a cul-de-sac in the North of England. In Oldham, near Manchester, if you’re interested. The English are muck in the new world, though being of Italian decent, I am looked on more fondly than most by the government. The people themselves couldn’t care less where I’m from, as long as I’m not German.

Rusty coloured carpets, glass tables and TV stand, wooden fireplace, silver trimmings, and plain white walls, with bronze floral displays in a print pattern on the wallpaper. A plain white wooden staircase leading up to the three bedrooms and bathroom. Sky+ on the television, yet I still watch the adverts, forgetting I can fast forward through them. Dark brown leather sofa with big ivory coloured cushions. It isn’t much, but it’s home.

Upstairs in the spare bedroom is where you find out about the real me. Mad paintings and attempts at