Okay, so this is a short story, but I was going to write a second part to it, since it was getting long. Tell me whether or not I should continue. Thanks!
The sun was shining so brightly that day and the sky was a bright azure. Wind tossed my hair on my shoulders playfully and it all seemed like a perfectly normal day. A beautiful normal day at that. But I didn’t know what was to come that night. was the first sunny day of winter, and though the February air was still chilly it might as well have been spring. But I didn’t know what was to come that night.
The roars of bombs had kept us awake through the nights, but they had never been close enough to hurt us. Dad and mother assured me that no one would ever bomb our beloved city of Dresden, we weren’t a huge city like Berlin or Frankfurt, therefore our home wasn’t a target. But the very thought of a bomb in Germany made my thirteen year old heart pound and my hands sweat.
“Dinner!” my mother called from the house. I turned and smiled and told her I would be only another minute. I told my friends Liesle and Gretel goodbye before hurrying into the house for a warm dinner of chicken and rice.
I shoveled in the mouthfuls, constantly glancing out the window. I hoped I would be able to be with my friends for at least another hour before it got too dark. Since it was winter, it was dark a lot of the time, and so I didn’t get much time. I had to be in by the time it got dark, even though I was thirteen.
“Where are you going Odette?” my mother asked me as I pushed away from the table and took over my plate.
“To go see Lielse and Gretel,” I said.
“No, its nearly dark. You have to stay inside.”
“But mother, Liesle and Gretel get to stay outside at night! Why can’t I? I am the same age as them,” I whined, stamping my foot in a babyish way.
“Edith,” my father sighed. “Just let her stay outside this once, she can stay out till later. I’m tired, and it will be good for her.”
“But Kurt…what if there is a bomb drill? Or a real thing? How will we know where she is and-” My mother’s eyes were wide and full of terror, something I saw in her eyes often.
“I’ll be fine mother,” I snapped. “No one would ever bomb Dresden, we’ll be fine. I’ll be back before too late. Just another hour or so.” And without another word I left them, my mother’s terrified eyes still implanted in my mind.
She can’t be so idiotic to think that someone would bomb Dresden? Besides, Americans usually bomb in the day, and we haven’t had any bombings all day. The only thing we would have to worry about is the British, they are the ones who bomb at night.
I huffed out a sigh as I found Liesle and Gretel where I left them, still playing hopscotch on the sidewalk.
“Aren’t you supposed to be home in bed?” Liesle teased rudely.
“Nope, my father convinced mother that I can stay out later,” I said, sticking my tongue out at them. “Now lets play! How can you even see the hopscotch in the dark?” I asked, squinting to see the chalk outlining.
Suddenly, the sound of humming appeared overhead, but my friends didn’t seem to notice. “Do you hear that?” I asked, looking to the sky, but seeing nothing.
My friends paused and looked up to the sky as well, listening hard, but shrugging and saying they heard nothing. But I still heard it. Then I heard the sharp whistling sound of an object plummeting down to the earth from the sky.
My friends and I stared in horror as miles away flames rushed up to the sky, their glow seeming eerie and deadly against the dark sky. We stood their like idiots in plain site, just staring with our mouths wide open before we could muster a scream and a cry for help.
I heard the siren signaling the bombing, but it seemed so far away. It all seemed so blurry and so muffled, almost like a dream. “Odette!” I could hear my mother screaming for me as I stood there in awe.
“Move girl!” my dad shouted at me either over the havoc or my own pounding heart I wasn’t sure. He pushed me as if to get me moving, but I couldn’t. I was frozen in that single spot, watching as flames encased buildings and listening to the whistling of more bombs rushing to meet our doomed city.
My father picked me up and carried my down the street, me still staring. Why couldn’t I move? Why did it seem so unreal? I began to tremble, but it wasn’t because of the chilly Febuaray air, because there was none. Just burning smoke and fire.
“In here!” a man shouted at us and my father carried me into the shelter, my mother trailing behind us. I huddled against my parents, my heart beating rapidly and my breathing shaking with each gasp of air.
I don’t know how long we stayed in there, our candles lit. Frankly, I didn’t want to see the tiny flame, it reminding me of the destruction above us. “Do you think Liesle and Gretel are okay?” I asked my father, snuggling into him.
“I bet they are,” he whispered, kissing the top of my head. “Don’t you worry, they’re probably in another bomb shelter.”
“I hope so,” I whispered, closing my eyes and letting a few tears fall before drifting off to sleep.
* * * *
I was woken by someone shouting. “Put out the candles! They’re using the oxygen!”
“But we need light!”
“But we need air!” the first man shouted back, me realizing it was my own father. I found my face wrapped in a blanket, and me breathing painfully. I lifted my head out of the blanket and took in the sight around me. Many in the shelter lay sleeping, but in a deeper sleep that none would ever be able to wake them from.
“Oh Lord, we’re going to die,” an old woman sobbed in the corner, her breathing unsteady and heavy. “We’re going to die.”
“We aren’t going to die!” my father shouted. “Come on, there has to be a way out of here!” He loosened his grasp around me when he realized that I was awake. He looked once into my eyes before coughing. “We just have to get out of here,” he whispered.
“Daddy,” I said quietly. “I love you.”
“I love you too Odette,” he said, kissing the top of my head again. I turned to look at my mother and to tell her that I loved her, but tears sprang into my eyes when I saw her limp figure, leaning against my father in a peaceful sleep.
“We just have to get out of here,” my father said once more. “I won’t let you die Odette. I just won’t.” I could see his skin turning pale even though beads of sweat lined his face. He stroked my hair, his fingers getting caught in the knots, then slowly, getting caught in all of my golden locks, and he suddenly stopped stroking.
“Daddy?” I whispered, but he didn’t look at me, his eyes were closed and his hand was still on top of my head, and his other arm was wrapped around me. The tears fell more rapidly and I kissed his clammy cheek, letting out small sobs. I have to get out of here, I thought. And I will, I will.
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