The days in Berlin always feel longer than they do in my hometown. The weight of the Berlin air always felt as if it was trying to suffocate me. Like I was something infectious. It made me feel unwanted. Here. I like to call Berlin Here.
Because of the bitter taste of the words as they burn my tongue. Almost like betrayal. I call my little village- where I grew up. There. But the problem was that it was gone. Gone were the trills of delights made from the children. Gone were the words spoken. Leaving nothing but dust, ashes and mud.
The lady of the house gave me a sharp look. Oh no! I thought to myself I’ve done it again. “Repeat what I have just said to you, Maria.” Her eyes glinted with flakes of gold whenever she was upset or angry. “I…uh….” I stuttered.
My eyes probably had that glazed look whenever I was pulled from this dimension and into the mysterious world of my thoughts. The Lady’s eyes glared like an eagle intent on its prey. Then I realized why I knew what her eyes looked like.
Because I was staring right at them. I quickly made my eyes dart away and my shoulders hunched mechanically as I started at my poorly clad feet.
“I thought so.” The lady grumbled. Her voice swam with displeasure. “You are to pack up Master Bruno’s room.” She commanded. But why? I thought. What has happened? My mind flickered back days trying to figure out what was wrong. I didn’t get far. I am no detective.
The Lady of the house gave a loud unintelligible sound that startled me out of my thoughts. I knew that sound. It signalized that I had to get moving. As I shuffled up the stairs centimetres from the banister that Master Bruno like to slide down. I tried to avoid the rasping floor boards.
Once I arrived at Master Bruno’s room I stared at the crates that were already put here without my knowing. I then strode into the room yanked open his priceless drawers and started to pack them methodically. My minded then started to wonder as I became emerged into the task at hand. I recalled the last time this had happened to me.
The stench of fear was startling into my own home. It didn’t belong there. There had never been fear in my house before. It felt strange. The moors’ wind trailed through the open front door. The one I had entered through, I left it open.
Forgotten.
It was my first mistake.
Papa was in the small safe living room, his eyes wild with fear. Hair released and shirt untucked. I had never seen papa anything but immaculate. No one had. His hands flayed lively as he tried to explain something to the rest of my family.
His eyes found mine; he lunged forward and propelled me into my room shared with my two sisters. His voice was rotten with urgency. “Maria, you must run. You must get far away from here. You must never look back.”
“But…” I said as I tried to talk but my mouth refused to comply. “Go my angel, Flee from here.” Papa said desperately as he used my pet name. Then I felt nothing but the air and the soft thud that my body made of the softly woven grass. I was paralysed for a few frightening moments. I bullied myself to listen to Papa.
But my heart was crying stop.
Turn around.
To help, it cried.
My long legs were finally worn out from shaking so much. I had to rest. For now. The hill that I ungracefully landed on had an excellent view to house. I should know, because it was my favourite place in our village.
But today it felt like death was slowly sinking his claws into me and pulling. I heard cries from my home. All seven of members of my family were dragged out by these horrible looking men in beige armour. But one of us was missing. Me. I saw through glassy eyes men raising their machines made by the devil himself. And just like my favourite game, my family fell like dominoes.
"What are you doing?” A polite yet irritated voice dragged me to the present. I was in Here. The Berlin air was trying to suffocate me again. Like I was something infectious. Bruno gave me a strange look that I couldn’t deifier. It was a cross between trying to be respectful (unlike his Papa) and exasperation. A look that didn’t go to well on the angelic face of a nine-year-old boy I thought with a silent titter.
A few seconds past, where he just stared at me packing up his childhood treasures. Action finally took over his voice and he exclaimed,” you take your hands off my things.” I thought about answering the little boys’ command. But the Lady of the house materialized behind the innocent boy who had seen none of the horrors of time, seen his family hauled out his expensive mansion, falling like dominions.
One by one. Only for helping a Jew. I shook my head lifted my jerking hand and pointed behind the smaller that average boy. The Lady’s hands coiled and weaved nervously. I could see Master Bruno had not been told.
But then I again neither was I.
For anything.
ok so have you heard of the boy in the striped pyjamas? if not, then GO SHOO!!! read it....it made me cry. Anyhow this is a short story of an adaption of the book in Maria's pov, cuz i always wondered if she had gone through something tragic during WWI.
Inkflower x
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The Path Into My Twisted Mind-collection of short stories
القصة القصيرةhey there! thanks for clicking onto this book, have a poke around and hopefully you'll see something you like! :) This is just a collection of short stories written by me. if you like what you see don't be afraid to vote and comment (it boosts my...
