Winner of the Writer's Digest 81st Annual Writer's Competition
A.E. Wasserman’s short story,
“There Are Three of Us,”
winner of the prestigious
Writer's Digest Writing Competition.
Short Story Excerpt...
There Are Three of Us
…the Russians had broken through the Prussian border and were fast approaching. The people in and around Trakehnen quickly gathered up their beloved horses, hitched them to wagons laden with belongings, loaded their backs with food, hay, and bundled-up children. They turned loose the young stock in the hopes they could survive on their own for feed on the trip was in short supply. Once ready, they all, people and horses alike, rushed for the West, six hundred miles away, in an attempt to flee the invading Russian forces.
The most vivid scene described in a rare telling of “The Trek” is the one of the horses galloping over the frozen Baltic Sea; a frantic effort to get to West Germany and safety. The Russian planes were literally overhead, strafing the entire group as it ran across the ice. Russian troops fired from the shoreline. Many horses and people dropped as bullets tore through them. The dead and dying tumbled and slid over the ice, leaving a blood slick behind them. There was no cover out in the middle of the sea. If a horse or wagon slowed, its heavy weight broke through the ice, dragging the wagon, horse and all, into the freezing black depths. Those who were fast enough, raced over the cracking surface, leaving a trail of frantic hoof prints behind in the brittle and cracking ice.
People. Horses. All running for their lives. Nazi’s. Running. Galloping.
The most vivid scene described in a rare telling of “The Trek” is the one of the horses galloping over the frozen Baltic Sea; a frantic effort to get to West Germany and safety. The Russian planes were literally overhead, strafing the entire group as it ran across the ice. Russian troops fired from the shoreline. Many horses and people dropped as bullets tore through them. The dead and dying tumbled and slid over the ice, leaving a blood slick behind them. There was no cover out in the middle of the sea. If a horse or wagon slowed, its heavy weight broke through the ice, dragging the wagon, horse and all, into the freezing black depths. Those who were fast enough, raced over the cracking surface, leaving a trail of frantic hoof prints behind in the brittle and cracking ice.
People. Horses. All running for their lives. Nazi’s. Running. Galloping.
