(A short story by me, age 14 - ignore spelling/grammar errors!)
My name is Abel, and I am twelve years old,
living in Kraków, Poland. My life used to be normal and simplistic, but as of
late, life has become somewhat frightening. It all began about two weeks ago
when my family were forced to leave our home by the German soldiers, who had
control over our country, and put in cramped housing in a small part of the
capital, living with thousands of other people. We barely have space to live.
On the first day of our arrival into our new
‘home’ we were made to go through a
sorting desk to see where we would live. We stood in a queue for several hours,
waiting until we would reach the desk where our fate would be decided.
We were nearing the front of the massive
queue when a bespectacled man came up to us saying that he had papers to give
us. My father told my mother, my sisters and I to stay and he would return
before it was our turn to be sorted, but I insisted that I should go with him.
The man in the glasses was clearly in a rush as he pulled both the arm of me
and my father so we would go with him. We followed him obligingly.
He led us to a building at the side of where
everyone was queuing. Once inside, we went into a small, dimly lit room where
there was a man sitting at a desk. Our new friend started speaking to the man
at the desk in a language I could not understand. They seemed to be
arguing. After a short while, the man at
the desk let out a short sigh of disapproval and grabbed a piece of paper from
a pile on the desk and began writing furiously. He then handed it to the man
with the glasses, who crumpled it up and put it into the cup of coffee that sat
on the desk, and then flattened it out. He then took another piece of paper,
and the same thing happened with it as had happened with the last. There was a
short pause where the man in the glasses looked down at the man behind the
desk, before another argument broke out between them. The man with glasses
mopped his brow, his face red with fury. I looked at my father who looked back
down me. I gave him a small smile which he returned half-heartedly. I looked
back to the quarrelling men to see that the man behind the desk was pointing
towards the door. The man in glasses looked as though he were going to explode.
He turned to face us and walked towards us grabbing our wrists once again and
leading us out of the building.
He led us back through the masses of people
to where my mother and sisters were holding our place two from the front of the
queue. He then handed my father the two pieces of coffee stained paper and said
“This is for you and your son. They are
documents showing that you are both skilled metal workers and that you will be working
in Mr Schindler’s factory. I am sorry.” He took one more look at us before
turning to leave.
My father grabbed his shoulder and pulled
him round to face us. “What are you sorry
for, Should I not be thanking you?” The man shrugged him off and moved
away, my father called after him “what is
your name?” The man who was now a short distance away called back to him,
“My
name is Itzhak Stern”
he called to us, before disappearing into sea of people.
“Next!” I turned to see that we were at
the front of the queue and my father pushed our family forwards. He then moved
to the front of us and handed the man at the small table our papers and
documents. He flicked through casually and then looked at my father and I. He
gestured to the two soldiers behind him and whispered something inaudible to us
into their ears. “You two,” he
pointed at my father and I. “Go with him”
he gestured to the soldier on his left. “And
you three go with him” the man said, looking at my mother and two sisters
and pointing to the solider on his right. My father took my wrist in his hand
and stepped forwards, but my mother reached out and grabbed his other hand. He
turned to look at her face which had been changed into a look of fear. I now
felt frightened as I had never seen my mother look this scared before, so I
slid my hand into my father’s, instead of my wrist, squeezing it tightly. My
father looked from my mother, to my sisters, to me and finally to the soldier
who had a gun strapped across his back which he now had his hand on.
Tears began to form in my mother’s eyes and
I had to look away because seeing was just too painful. I looked at the soldier
who was now bringing the gun from his back to his side.
“Do
not worry; we will see each other soon.” My father looked into my mother’s
eyes, “take care of the girls and I will
take care of Abel. Now go, Go!” he turned from my mother who let out a soft
whimper which was almost inaudible. I looked at my mother as my father pulled
me away. I was crying, but I didn’t care.
The next few hours were a blur to me. All I
can remember is being led to a small apartment and sitting on a hard bed as my
father spoke to the soldier who had brought us here. He said we had to work in
Mr Schindler’s factory, making pots and kitchenware.
Over the next week, my father and I were put
to work at a factory, doing things we’d never done before, bashing and pressing
metal, making pots and hinges for doors.
And then the news came.
A rumour was going around that all the
people they had taken away like my mother and sisters were being killed. Many
were celebrating that they had been giving the chance to live and work, but for
the majority of us, it meant that our families had been killed. Both my father
and I cried ourselves to sleep that night; this is what scared me most. If I
couldn’t rely on him to be strong, I knew I was going to have to grow up fast.
From
that day on, my father rarely spoke.
News of raids in other cities came to us.
Thousands of Jews were being killed in their homes for reasons unknown. When my
father heard of this news he immediately began ripping up floor boards, looking
for places where we could hide of this were to happen, and we were not the only
ones. A man on the first floor had reportedly ripped out the stuffing in his
mattress so he could hide inside in. Another family had dismantled their
cupboards and wardrobes, giving them secret places where they could squeeze into
to hide.
After several hours of dismantling the
apartment and putting t back together again, my father had managed to come up
with two places in it for us to hide. One was a small space under the floorboards
beneath the bed, which he said was for me. The other was a gap in the wall
which, upon trying, my father was able to squeeze into.
Several times, there were false alarms for
raids, but we stayed in our hiding places for up to an hour after we had been
given the all clear, just in case.
About five minutes ago, we received news of
a raid.
We had just come home from an eleven hour
shift at the factory and were exhausted, but when we were sitting down to
relax, shouts came from outside and my father went to the window. There were
soldiers approaching our apartment block. My father turned to me and told me
calmly to get into my hiding spot. I moved quickly into the small space below
the floorboards underneath the bed, and father put the boards back on top, and
I was plunged into darkness.
I felt helpless. All I could do was lie here
as my father struggled to get into his hiding place. At one point he cried out
in pain. I began to cry, but eyes were red raw and my tears were few as my body
was almost unable to produce any more.
Silence fell apart from the steady marching
coming from outside. Everyone else must be hiding already, trying to keep
silent.
Bang.
The distant shot rang throughout the air and
I shivered as I knew someone had just been killed. As time slowly went on, I
could hear faint screams and many more gun shots, but the noise began to get
louder, and I knew that they were coming closer. I closed my eyes, and covered
my ears with my hands, but I could feel the vibrations through the floor. I was
singing in my head. It was a song my mother used to sing to me when I couldn’t
sleep. The vibrations that came now were stronger and then, just as I uncovered
my ears, the noise of the door bursting open echoed through the room.
I heard their footsteps as they looked around the room. My heart was
racing and I dared not breathe just in case I was to be discovered. Then I
heard a noise that made my blood turn cold.
My father let out an almost silent cough,
but the soldiers had heard it. The room fell instantly silent. I held my breath
as their feet moved across the floor, in the direction of my father’s hiding
place. I heard the cocking of a gun and then a shot. The sound of my father
yelling reached my ears.
My mind was spinning, trying to take in what
happened. In less than two weeks, I had been taken from my home, separated from
my mother and sisters, who had been taken away and killed, then I had been
forced to work long hours and made to live in a small apartment in which my
father would be killed.
Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I let out a
whimper. Big mistake.
The room was silent once again. I knew I had
been discovered. I shut my eyes tight and clutched my Star of David armband,
whispering a prayer for my life.
The sound of the bed being tossed across the
room came and the floor shook. I heard the creaking of floorboards and the
crack of a knee as someone bent down right above where I lay. Then the
sickening sound of the floorboards being lifted came and I opened my eyes.
**********
I looked down at the gap in the floor where
there lay a young child who couldn’t be more than twelve or thirteen. His face
was full of fear and he was clutching the Star of David arm band he had on. His
face was covered in dirt and his hands were full of cuts and blisters.
I looked up at my comrades who were looking
down at the child who lay there helpless.
“Kill
him,” said the voice of my commanding officer. I opened my mouth to say
something in protest, but I soon closed it, knowing that if I did, I would not
be the only one getting shot.
I pulled my gun from my back and took
careful aim towards his heart. I looked one last time at his frightened face,
before closing my eyes and pulling the trigger.
He lay still in his hiding place,
blood slowly seeping from the fresh wound in his chest. Tears formed in my eyes
as I thought of what I had just done, but I knew we had to move on. Closing my
eyes, I said a short prayer. Then I reopened my eyes, taking in the scene which
I knew would haunt me for the rest of my life, before standing and turning
towards the door, tears rolling of my face, and leaving this sickening sight
behind, knowing it would be only one of many more I would have to endure.
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