He lay on his bed and thought of the War.  He remembered the deafening din of the shells landing and the bullets flying past whining like mosquitos, the sticky mud thick with blood and the bodies of fallen comrades lying all around.  He wept to think of the waste of their lives.  The comradeship that he had enjoyed with the others had been one of the most uplifting things for him.  He, who had always found it difficult to get on with strangers, had found solace like he'd never known in the comradeship of the soldier.  Ironically, he had not feared death.  He had just known that it was not for him to die in this War.  He had been wounded but he always knew he was destined to survive.  He had an unshakeable belief in his own greatness; he knew he was destined to do great things.  But what?  What would become of him now the War was lost and Germany had surrendered?  Would he go back to the life he'd led before?  No!  He could never do that.
     He did not know what the future held.  He could only hope it would be better than his past.  He had many bad memories; of his mother's death, of being beated by his father, of being gassed.  He remembered the pain of the mustard gas burning his throat and eyes.  The pain of that was nothing to the pain he felt now he knew that Germany had lost the War.  He buried his burning head into the pillow and wept.  His world was collapsing around him.  Where would he go?  What would he do?  He would stay in the army as long as possible.  Perhaps thay could find some use for him yet.  With that in mind Adolf Hitler closed his eyes and went to sleep.