I do not own Schindler's List. I do not sympathize with Nazis or Neo-nazis. I mean no offense to the characters in this story. This story refers only to the characters as they are portrayed in the movie. This is my first fanfiction. Please forgive any improper grammar, or incorrect punctuation. Enjoy!

I have never been able to think straight when I am drunk. Most days, I am the ideal Aryan man. Tall, blue eyed, faithfully devoted to our glorious Third Reich, but it is at moments like this when I slip. I have, admittedly, always been far too fond of the mind-numbing effects of cognac.

I am proud of my position. I am proud of the rank I have clawed tooth and nail to achieve. I have willingly surrounded myself with lice, vermin, all manner of sub-human flesh. It is my way of serving the people of the Fatherland. I am proud that I play an active role in the preservation of our superior blood. From age 17 on, I knew the answer to all of Germany's woes was National Socialism. I knew, when others dared to defy our glorious Fuhrer, that in the end, justice would prevail. The storm that was coming was not just any storm, this storm was the S.S..

This, however, is where my trouble begins. I have never thought of her as a Jew. Not Helen. Sure, I have hit her, but not for being a Jew. No... I could not live with myself if I lusted after a Jew. That is the reason I will not allow her to wear the star. Lust and shame.

Lust, I have found, is a dangerous thing. I find that I am most vulnerable to her Jew magic, when I am under the influence. Her soft, brown, doe-like eyes seem slightly more inviting. Her curves, just slightly more intoxicating. At moments like these, I can imagine myself running my fingers through her long, chocolate curls.

This is why I should not drink. My blood, my Aryan blood, is too good for the likes of her. Too pure too mix with her filth. Or, at least, that is what I would think if I were truly as devoted to the cause as people think I am. No. I do not feel this way about Helen, not really. Only out of duty to my rank, do I say those vile things about the alluring creature, who just feet beneath me, fearfully works through the hours.

If I were truly honest with myself, I would say that I love her, but loving Helen would see me hung. So I hit her, and I abuse her, and I yell at her, to keep myself from kissing her, and holding her... to keep myself from loving her.

Thankfully, a knock sounds at the door, pulling me from my fantasy that can not be. I angrily storm at the door, wrenching it open, only to find Untersturmfuhrer Hujar at the door.

"Sir," he salutes casually. "Fraulein Kalder is at the gate." "Oh, of course, thank you." How had I forgotten. Today was the day Oskar, ever the business man, was throwing a party for friends and business associates. Ruth was always my date to these occasions.

As I approached Ruth, I could not help but to compare her to Helen. Ruth was an Aryan beauty. What everyone expects an officer like myself to be with. Ruth was the kind of woman who would not be caught dead without full make-up and a manicure. Soft blonde curls framed a well polished facade. She meticulously painted her nails and constantly fretted about her figure.

To be honest, Ruth's antics had begun to wear on my nerves. Her vain and shallow attitude seemed all the more obscene each time I see her. Helen had done that too me. Helen's kind and soft character had awoken me to the faults in Ruth's character, but what was I supposed to say to Ruth. Was I supposed to tell her she did not act enough like my Jewish maid?

But who am I to complain. Ruth serves her purpose. She is a society girl. The kind who dances with you in front of your superior officers, for the sake of your rank, and then leaves you to your own devices for the rest of the night. At least until the end, when I am drunk enough that her vices seem so trivial, and I am more interested in taking her into my bed.

Truthfully, those are the only reasons I ever got together with Ruth. To make me look like I was in search of a proper Aryan wife.

But Helen...

Helen is soft and feminine. She is kind, and good, and pure, and wonderful. She is everything that I am not. She is everything that I do not deserve, but want none the less. She is naturally beautiful, especially when she smiles, unlike Ruth, whose beauty is only skin deep. Helen is a wonderful cook. Ruth despises cooking. Helen is the only woman whose cooking is as good as my mother's. She cleans my villa and irons my clothes. I remember when I was a boy, my father told me that these were things to look for in a wife. Ruth could not hold a candle to Helen's perfection.

If only she wasn't Jewish. If she wasn't a Jew, I would hold her. If she wasn't a Jew, I would kiss her. If she wasn't a Jew...

But she is a Jew and loving her would see me shot. I really need to stop drinking, but not tonight.

This is the first chapter of a story that will, at most, be 8 chapters. This is my first Fanfiction, so reviews would be so appreciated. Amon makes Helen out to be a proper house wife at the end, and that does play right into the story. I do not wish to offend anyone by portraying a woman like that, but I am trying to keep it as 1940's as possible. Helen will have a mind of her own in the following chapter's. This story is going to be different that the other fanfictions about Amon and Helen. I recently read Thomas Keneally's book Schindlers List, and it gave me so much inspiration. Albert Hujar will have a role a little bigger than the other fanfictions. This will be a romance. I promise. So PLEASE REVIEW! This is my first fanfiction and I want to know what you all like and don't like about the story. No flames though please. I am only just starting to build my confidence at publishing my writing. However, reviews and critiques are very welcome and needed. I hope you all enjoy!