The Tomb Robber

The tomb robber* dug his grave while trying to keep as quiet as possible. The scrapes of dirt seemed loud to our hero but could scarcely be heard by the night animals that prowled ceaselessly outside the graveyard fence. Grave robbing was a serious offense in East Berlin and could result in a capital offense. Some grave robbers dug their own grave metaphorically and literally if they were caught.

"Fug you," our hero thought to himself. "Fug you and your stupid orders to gather dead specimens."

He was, of course, speaking telepathically with his superior at the laboratory who had handed out the night's job. Swanson from the other division always got a better job detail and our hero was always stuck with the low-end jobs. While our hero was digging in this grave during the pitch black of night, Swanson was over at the Bierhaus drinking and carousing. Ostensibly, Swanson was to extract information on the drinking patterns of the SS and Luftwassen Flurfenhausersnauzers.

A loud metallic clang rang across the graveyard and an owl hooted in the distance.

"Fug!" cursed our hero violently. "Ein Rock haben maken meinen Shovel clangen!"

However, this noise was enough to attract attention and our hero could see some lights in the distance. The guards had heard the shovel hitting the rock and were coming out to investigate.

"Swanson will hear about this," our hero muttered and he ran off, jumping over the graveyard fence and ripping the seat on his trousers.

Approaching the Bierhaus where Swanson was "working", our hero dusted himself off and tried to appear as presentable as possible. This was difficult in the dark and without a mirror, but he tried as valiantly as he could nonetheless. Carying his shovel over his shoulder and sauntering as easily as he might, he opened the door of the Bierhaus.

"Oy, Swanson," called our hero, using a light tone. "I wanna have a talk with ye."

Swanson turned and laughed derisively at our hero. "Who me?" Swanson retorted. "Fix your pants, you peasant!" To this the barmaids and two SS officers laughed and downed large quantities of Bier from their Steins.

Our hero turned bright red under his smudges of dirt and grime. His rage boiled over and he swung his shovel directly on top of Swanson's head. The shovel clanged violently and Swanson turned perfectly white while frozen upright with a look of surprise and wonder on his face. The noise and bustle of the Bierhaus stopped and one could hear the prostitutes upstairs making loud noises, oblivious to the violence below.

Swanson wilted in slow motion and fell to the floor where his Stein crashed on the wooden floor. An SS guard jumped up and yelled, "You have caused some fresh Bier to be spilled on this floor. I arrest you in the name of the former Fuhrer and shall take you to jail now!"

Our hero struggled with the SS officers who subdued him and gave him a few whacks with his own shovel in an effort to instill a sense of calm. Our hero finally yelled "I'll stop resisting!" and was taken into custody.

Swanson was braindead for several years until he woke up from a coma to the sounds of the Berlin wall being torn down. That is a different story for another day.

*Generated by random story generator: "This is a tale about rivalry and beating fate. The story is about a tomb-robber who is stalked by an unremarkable manager. It starts in a port city in Africa. The fallout from World War II plays a major role in this story."