The Red in the Iron Sky by Kai Humphreys

The following account of events contains diary entries, originally made in French They have been translated into English for your convenience Some words are deemed illegible(~) When a word is deemed partially illegible, the legible part is left in the original French We have done our best to make this information presentable

The red flags dripped down the walls of the Champs-Élysées. A never-ending cascade of red ran down the once-bustling shop fronts. It dripped everywhere, no matter where, it still reached your eyes, reflected in the puddles which looked like spills of blood on the road. You could close your eyes, but it is a habit of things that drip to be relentless, and to always seep in. You would never evade the long drippings of red so long as you stayed in Paris. And if you left, ran and hid on a train, snuck past the guards, or somehow managed to get a permit to maneuver in the occupied zone, the red would still chase you. It would never leave you. It seeped into you. The red of blood, of humiliation, of control. The red of Nazi Germany flew, over the once bustling orange of autumnal Paris, in a steel sky over grey buildings that conveyed one thing. Dominion. They ruled supreme, the red in the iron sky

Antoine Lévan sat on a bench near the Arc de Triomphe, trying to keep her eyes as far away from the flags as possible. She was plainly dressed, a simple long white skirt, a dull pink flowery shirt with a white hat which had little purpose on a grey day like today.

It served as a barrier between her face and the street. Not that anyone was on the street, but no matter where you were, it was assured someone knew you were there, and what you were doing. They say that no one ever truly was alone in Paris. Antoine reflected on her melancholy setting of red and grey. In her hand, she clutched a diary. Her diary, pieced together from what she had written and added on over the years. Her hand slipped slightly, and the diary fell onto the pavement. A page corner became visible. ‘Click’.

14 November 194~ (possibly 2 or 3) I have become unaware of the passing days. He was here again last week. I couldn’t stop it again, I don’t know how to. It seems like every time I resist and fail, he grows stronger. He did it on the street this time. Everyone would have seen. Would’ve seen me. He makes sure they see. He a besoi~~~* have people see what he does. He needs my tears. Next time I must not cry, he† fau~~~~~~ cry. He likes it. He ~~~~~‡

*This is most likely ‘he needs’

†This maybe a portion of the expression ‘It is necessary that’ or ‘Il faut’ in french, meaning the translation is ‘it’ not ‘he’

‡ Beyond this the writing becomes illegible

Antoine hastily picked up her diary; however was still careful to ensure that her face was kept at least mainly in shadow. She certainly knew how to keep herself unseen by those watching her. Anyone doing so would need to wait for another time.

The night was crisp and empty. No one remained on the streets after 9 pm due to the curfew. Where once parties would be heard, screams of laughter, a drunkard singing in the street, now all that remained was the occasional overheard conversation through one of the houses with its lights still on. And you might hear the laughter of some young German soldiers out partying on their guaranteed trip to Paris along their tour. Party while they still could. The Eastern Soviet front was waiting for them afterwards, and no laughter would be had there unless brought on by insanity.

Looking into Antoine’s apartment, a certain situation became apparent. Her apartment was a mess, things strewn all over the floor, dirty clothes all heaped on the bed or on an old armchair she had near the end of the room. She slept fully clothed in the same clothes from the Champs-Élysées earlier. There were scratch marks on the wall, breaks, and tears in the yellowed wallpaper. There could be blood there, but the yellow light from the lamp made distinguishing it from any black or dark stain impossible.

Her diary was left open, but the wind had blown it away from the latest pages. You could still see the bend in the page from where the pen had been covered by the other pages. Unfortunately, the light wasn’t bright enough to make out most of the pages open. Still, there was a section close to the light. ‘Click’

12 January 1941

Still no word on whether François has survived or not. The Germans are still parading themselves endlessly. They’ve put their flags up everywhere, you can’t avoid them. It seeps into you eventually, those flags. Most of the neighbours are gone by now, except Ms L’s* cat. I’ve got to feed her still. The Germans are becoming more assertive. One tried to grab me the other day. When I turned around, ready to hit him, it was then I realised, I couldn’t. If he really wanted to he could, and nothing would stop him. He stared at me then, halfway between hunger and outrage. I ran to the sound of their laughter. I’m trying to dress more manly now, bringing out François' old suit. I hide my face as well from the soldiers. They tend not to notice me as much. I feel like one of them is watching me. The same one as who reached for me. I can’t shake him out of my mind like he’s looming over me. I think I saw him again last night when I heard the sound of soldiers laughing. He was across the street from my apartment. He and his soldiers were humiliating this other girl they’d found. They had her running trying to escape their encirclement in every direction. She didn’t succeed. He seemed to grow more youthful then. He turned. He was en tra~~ ~e m~ reg~~~~~†. He’s following me I swear it. I can remember his face so clearly. His y~~x ~e~~ e~ che~~~~ br~~‡. He had an imposing aura. There were scars along his cheek at g~u~~~. ~~i ~~ c~~i~ ~u~ ~~ é~~~~~t a part of the first g~~~~~ world [adj]. I tried to take a ph~~o, m~~~ j~ n~ pe~~ p~~ ~e vo~~~ within. ~~~~~~~

*Unknown, presumed neighbour. No records were found of any person with last name L within the apartment block

†Possibly suggesting he was looking at her ‡ Appears to be a physical description, no final verdict on what that description may have been

When wandering through Paris, Antoine carried herself with a different manner. This was one of the last nights. The Nazis were losing and they knew it. The Americans had just landed at Normandy. The soldiers were facing more unruliness in the streets. People were celebrating early, and the city was understaffed as they sent more soldiers to the east to fight the Soviets, or the the northwest to deal with the Americans. Antoine was walking through Paris now and didn’t seem to be attempting to hide anything. Her face had become grey, with deep red cheeks making a stark contrast. Anyone would take one look at her and think that she was half dead. A drunk Nazi decided to waylay her on the way. He stepped right in front of her and tried to grab her, laughing She skillfully let her leg catch with his and moved to the side.

The resulting fall led to the blustering of the fallen Nazi. He attempted to getup, but she caught his arm with her foot, leading to him falling face-first again. She heard the laughter from some hopeful Parisians also starting to engage in small acts of defiance in the face of the falling Nazi regime. Her face grew a little more lively then, more colour. Seeing the Nazi humiliated on the street brought her sustenance. However, due to the distracting satisfaction of her achievement, she was unaware that a sheet had dropped from the confines of her pockets. ‘Click’

The 1st of August 1944

He left a few days ago, heard he went to the collapsing east. In the time since I’ve managed to get back, I think. I hope he suffers on that front. I hope they leave him dying slowly in the snow, trampled by the endless Russian advance. I want the Russians to look at his crumpled body and laugh. I want them all to be laughed at. I will not end till they suffer for this. Before the Americans come I must do what I can. I need people to laugh at them. They shall suffer just as I have.§

§ This entry is written in much clearer writing than all previous entries

The sheet is retrieved. She looks around, scared for a second to make sure no one has seen her. Only she doesn’t stop, she knows someone has seen. Then she calms. She knows who has seen it. Then she stares right at the onlooker. ‘Click

*This photo was not included due the absence of subjects