[ IP ] The interrogation chair

James stood in the center of the room, shaking, staring at the very chair he had been tortured in years ago. 
 
 Back then, he was young, a prisoner of war in a bloodstained and torn khaki uniform, terrified of the captors who tortured him and screamed at him in a language he did not understand. 
 
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 Jakob walked down the familiar hallways that had once held the screaming British prisoners, his bile rising at the memories of cruelty. 
 
 Back then, he was young, drafted and forced to wear the red armband of the Nazis he so despised. With horror, he recalled how he was forced to torture those he knew were much like him, and who cried for mercy in a language he barely understood. 
 
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 Looking down, James retched, seeing the red stains made by his own blood. The mere recollection of the pain he had experienced caused him to tremor and gasp, though he knew he had to face what had happened to him. 
 
 *Maybe, * he thought, *it will get better if I come to terms with my past. * 
 
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 Ghost of screams haunted Jakob as he looked around, seeing vividly the crumbling building's past. He remembered the very corner he had sobbed in due to the traumatic sight of the misery of the innocent. 
 
 *Maybe, * he thought, *it will get better if I come to terms with my past. * 
 
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 James did, however, have fond memories of one of his captors, who was kindly, unlike the others, and spoke very softly in the tongue that sounded so harsh when spoken by the others, and attempted to treat the terrible wounds he had accrued from the torture. In James's opinion, a Red Cross armband belonged on that man's arm rather than that cursed, angular symbol. The young man even went so far as to help him escape his captors. 
 
 `` Weglaufen! Schnell!'' were the last words James recalled his friend shouting as his gun spat fire into the night at those on his own side. 
 
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 Jakob did, however, recall a prisoner that had been as young as he was, whom he had befriended and tended to like all of the other prisoners. However, something about that one particularly struck him, as the Brit bore a distinct resemblance to himself. They were even the same age, or at least he thought so. 
 
 `` Run away! Quickly!'' he had shouted to his friend as he fired at his so-called comrades, whom he despised, that fateful night, beseeching the British prisoner to escape. Though Jakob became the victim of the very tortures that the prisoners had endured, he was glad to pay a price that he felt he deserved, despite his trying to help every prisoner he encountered. 
 
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 James flinched as he heard a footstep in the hallway, flashbacks beginning to overtake him as his heart pounded. He then hoped desperately that his former rescuer would show up once more to save him from the imaginary threat. 
 
 However, his panic became shocked as he discovered that his wish had come true when he turned to the doorway. 
 
 `` J-Jakob?'' 
 
 The familiar man in the doorway smiled, tears welling in his eyes and running down his cheeks as he held his arms open, then spoke in the soft voice that James could recognize in an instant. 
 
 `` James.'' 
 
 He ran into Jakob's arms faster than he ever ran before. 

