I stare at the remnants of father’s store. The sign we had so carefully painted had been torn down and still smolders slightly. Pieces of shattered glass carpet the sidewalk and road nearest our shop. Father's famous pickles lay scattered and smashed, ground into the broken glass. A small cry escapes my throat as I stare at the ruins. Izabella’s hand clutches mine, shuddering.
I turn quickly, and trudge home. Izabella, my younger sister, runs after me, and starts crying. Rushing into the house, I slam the door to my shared bedroom. I flop into bed and try to go to sleep, but not able to get the images out of my head. I pull up my covers and hear Izabella come in and lay down on her mattress.
I stare at the ceiling, cozy in my bed, yet shivering. The Nazis had come. They had come and demolished father’s store. They’re everywhere now, killing people and destroying property. They had hurt Grandfather, beaten him. Then a cruel soldier had pushed him to his hands and knees and got on top of him, and rode him to the nearest well. They had nearly…killed him. I sniffle a little, hoping that won't happen to Father.
I hear a rustle of blankets and the squeak of a mattress. I turn and am not surprised to see Izabella huddling in a ball on the end of my bed.
“Sara” she squeaks “I’m scared.” Poor Izabella. I should have told her to stay when she came with me when I saw father’s store. All the destruction, it must’ve been too much for her. Her young mind doesn’t have room for tales of soldiers and bullets. It shouldn’t be troubled by a demolished store and places to hide.
“It’s okay. Everything will be all right. Don’t worry” I try to hide the anxiety that I’m feeling myself. She shudders, and I doubt my silly little comforting words convince her. “In a couple weeks you'll be going back to school, right? Then you'll learn your letters and numbers, and you'll be a really smart girl.” She stares up at me with her puppy dog eyes.
“It’s not okay. And I am worried. No matter what.” Her little forehead wrinkles and furrows with concentration and sadness. “Daddy’s store got hurt, and now he can’t make money. Then we’ll be poor and we won’t have a house. I won't be able to go to school, then I'll just be a stupid dirty girl begging on the side of the street.” She breaks into heartrending sobs.
“Izzy, don't cry. It makes me so sad.” This only makes her cry harder.
“I can't stop,” she sniffs, “and don't call me Izzy. It makes me sound like a little girl.” she snuggles into my arms, and curls up under my blankets like a little kitten, “Good night, Sara,” she whispers as she drifts off into sleep. She whimpers a little in her sleep, like she's already having a bad dream.
I pet her hair and stare off into space, thinking. What will happen to our lovely little peaceful life we've taken such care to carve into the world? Will the Nazis find us? Will we be taken away? What will happen to us?
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