Now there he was, his body - the parts he could still feel
- was in pain, aching. Would he finish the week?
‘Who cares? I do not know what week it is anyway; what
does it matter? I am dead, very interestingly dead, as I
can still feel being dead,’ he sighed a deep sigh that he
had to instantly stop, clutching his chest, convulsed in
pain. He lay there, hungry, thirsty, the same as many
other days before.
the block monitor came running, “…get your sorry ass up and come with me
to the Political Office. Come on, move!”
“What's the hurry, they
can’t wait to kill me? What is the rush? To the Political Office? Do
they want to make me Kanzler? Don’t they know I am busy? Wait, I’ve got
to collect my bones.” Every movement was painful for Schweiger; he
slowly moved his body off the slab and it took some time to straighten
“Shut up and follow me,” the
block monitor urged.