Posts Tagged ‘ghetto’

I’ve been reading the November issue of The Smithsonian which is filled with stories of the Holocaust. So, dear friends, this is what I came up with for Pegman’s trip to Krakow.

March 28, 1939
To provide a friend who will keep my secrets I started a diary.
Present: Mother left for France. Father joined the army.
A memory: Ten-year-old Lev playing violin.

January 10, 1940
We’ve moved into a school with boys! Sixteen-year-old girls shouldn’t be subjected to such horrors!

March 6, 1942
Horrid night. Clanking wheels. Jangling keys.
Nazis, moving people to unknown places.
Lev kissed me last week! We shared sweet caresses while spring flowers scented the air.
We shall marry when this horror is over.

June 16, 1942
The pogrom has begun. Mother! Where are you?

July 17, 1942
Except for barbed wire and guards, the ghetto is quite ordinary, filled with beloved neighbors.
But not Lev. My love, my protection disappeared on last night’s transport.
Writing squelches the pain.

August 17,1942
At dawn, soldiers marched five families toward a shallow trench.
One shot, two, twenty, on and on …
The sound of boots and laughter. Oh, God, they’re coming back.

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Angel in Black

Posted: January 27, 2016 in Friday Fictioneers
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Wow! Wednesday/Friday again. The photo prompt was supplied by C.E. Ayr and posted by our Fairy Blog Mother Rochelle. I usually don’t pre-read anyone’s submissions before writing mine. Today I broke the rule and, after reading Rochelle’s (and only Rochelle’s), I felt the need to show her characters a hint of kindness. (A link to the Jewish Ghetto Police during WW II https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jewish_Ghetto_Police)

PHOTO PROMPT - © ceayr

“Be by the gait, half-past ten.”
“But . . .”
“On time, or someone else will have it. Many wait in line.”
“May I bring a friend?”
“Ah, a menage a trois!” She turns in a swirl of sable and Chanel.

Frightened beyond words, the two creep along the wall without whispering. If a dog barks or they leave a moon shadow…
The reward is worth the fear.

Tonight she is clothed all in black, smells of nothing. She passes one sandwich, two, through the bars. Nadine and Martine grasp them with eager hands.

Poor kinder, tomorrow Jüdische Polizei will liquidate the ghetto

 

Lessons

Posted: October 8, 2014 in Friday Fictioneers
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Copyright-Rochelle Fields

Irena arrived by Kindertransport. Although strange, her new parents were kind.
“Poppa” played banjo at the pub. “Momma” mended clothes.
Neither earned much money.
Unlike her friend Amelia, placed in a house where daily lessons were beaten into her,
Irena learned English listening to “Poppa” recite words to songs.
He pronounced them slowly, spelled them for her while she carefully drew letters on the chalkboard beside the window.
Years passed. Irena grew tall and lanky and beautiful. She forgot her home in Warsaw Ghetto, forgot how to speak her native Polish.
Never, ever did she forget her real Momma and Poppa looking out the window of an entirely different train.