Knock knock.

It sounded like a small firecracker going off in the distance. Sharp noises of small bangs connoting celebration. And it was one. But not in the favour of the ones sitting in this bunker 30 feet under the ground.

He knew the end was near. Those timid bangs gave him no comfort. Because it is very rare to suppress the noises of war. In his hands, he held a decision. In the form of a Remington. To pull, or not to pull. Didn't seem like a question anymore.

The enemy neared. And so did fear. Creeping up on him like bugs crawling under your shirt. And your instinct is to leap up in the air, trying to get them off you. Only in this scenario, you can’t. Because those bugs are crawling under your skin.

But he sat there. Patiently. Suppressing his anxiety. Trying to not let emotions come in the way of rationality. But when the heart and the mind go to battle, there’s never a clear winner. Or loser.

He put the gun to his temple. A finger on the trigger. Ready to smear his blood on history as we know it. He took a deep breath. And bang…

…

A door knock.

Who could it possibly be now?

Putting the gun on the table, he made his way to the door and opened it.

A voice said, “We found a solution, my Fuhrer.”

Behind the general, stood a short man looking exactly like the one contemplating suicide a few moments back.

Looking at him, he knew, that opportunity had finally knocked.

Bullets exchanged temples. Lives exchanged fates.

A shot was fired. A man had been killed.

Hitler died that day. But the Fuhrer lived to see another.