AN: i wrote this for my English Language GCSE. sorry for any inaccuracies. i don't want to offend anyone- none of these views are my own and are simply part of the story. i do not own schindler's list or any of the characters. thanks for reading.

n. the messiah complex (also known as the Christ complex or saviour complex) is a state of mind in which an individual holds a belief they are, or are destined to become, a saviour.

The devil takes its form in a smartly-dressed, angular-faced, sniffling young man with bright red cheeks. He curses, stutters and stumbles, then pulls out a gun.

The path before him is a long and lonesome road.

The Jew shuffles in my grasp as my men and I drag him from the safe haven of the workhouse to the bitter cold of the outdoors. He is vermin, and it is my job to exterminate him and every last one of the evil scum they call 'Jews'.

My destiny is the truth, and the truth is always the right answer.

The demon himself begins to whimper helplessly, like a small child. I grip his willowy shoulder and shove him down, and he half-falls, half-collapses to the ground. I smile grimly at the Obersturmfuhrer hovering to the right of me; he in turn shrinks back under the intensity of my piercing gaze. Pathetic.

I take a drag of my cigar, warm smoke filling my lungs but doing little to melt the icy hates in my heart. Schindler knows nothing about power, I think smugly to myself. This-this is what real power feels like.

The tension on the air is thick enough to run a knife through. Three men stand upright, dressed in spotless black uniforms against the pale backdrop of the setting winter sun. One clutches a silver gun, cold against his palm, and raises it without hesitation. There is no menace or anger in his eyes: only a frightening calmness, almost a look of serenity with what he is about to do.

One. Instead of the deafening shot of a bullet, the atmosphere is shattered by the dull click of a blank fire. The world stands still. No-one dares breathe, or even move; they know any motion could be their last.

"Christ," mutters Goeth, "useless, utterly useless. Everyone and everything-" he roughly grabs a spare handgun from the belt of the timid Obersturmfuhrer, "-fucking useless. You, take this." He tosses the malfunctioning weapon at the soldier, not bothering to check the safety latch.

After all, he realises with an unsettling sense of reality, it is far too late to begin caring now.

I wonder if I look like Jesus right now, working his miracles on a nation, cleaning the Fatherland of every single untermenschen. However, Jesus was a Jew himself, which means he is not to be trusted anyhow.

Perhaps I am more like an unknown messiah, quiet in my victory, working against the sound of God's voice to do my part with no return. Only He will judge me, for He is the only one as great.

Two. Three. Four.

A rush of blood to the head: an epiphany. The cries of children, screams of women and angry shouts of men all come to him at a frightening speed.

Somewhere, in the distance, the quiet weeping of a grown man can be heard. It grows louder as he moves closer towards the blinding white light before him, drawn in to a moth to a flame, although he cannot work out where it is coming from.

Suddenly, the curtain falls away, and with a hollow feeling of complete horror in his stomach he realises that the mass of flesh and blood before him is still moving. There is no hesitation in his actions from that moment onwards.

Five. Six.

Two more blanks and my mind cries out. In a cathartic moment of fury, embarrassment and sheer frustration, I bring the gun down with a speed I before did not consider humanly possible, and smash him over the head with the solid metal barrel. The blow is so powerful I swear I can hear the glorious crack of his skull as his body finally crumples to the ground, devoid of life. Red rivers of death decorate his face almost methodically, and I swear he looks more beautiful now than ever before.

God must be jealous.