The story ‘The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas’ is based the Holocaust and World War II. I suggest, if you haven’t already, try reading it or watching the movie. The book is one of my favourites and is very deep.
(A brief overview.) It’s the story of a boy named Bruno, who’s father is in charge of the Final Solution at Auschwitz, the largest concentration camp which killed a majority of the Jews. Bruno forms an unlikely friendship with a Jewish boy named Shmuel. Barely any of his life is shown, but then again, this book is meant to be based upon Bruno’s point of view. So I decided that I wanted to write a fanfic from Shmuel’s point of view.
This would make more sense if you have read or seen the movie, but if you’d just like to correct my grammar and such, and trust me, there’ll be quite a few mistakes with me being who I am, be my guest.
(I’ve only started it from when he arrives at the camp. I haven’t decided to write about his life before that, but I might make a prologue of it.)
The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas
Shmuel’s Point of View
Chapter One: The Lady in the Train
Shmuel’s Point of View
Chapter One: The Lady in the Train
For many hours, the Jews had been plunged into darkness on a train. Their only useful sense was smelling, but all they would be able to smell would be a wretched aroma of urine, feces and body odour. Their eyes would only be able to see faint, grey faces staring back at them. Their ears would only be able to hear the rattling of the train, up against the rusty railway tracks beneath them.
A diminutive child with large, pointy ears sat in the corner of their carriage, warily eyeballing the strangers who he was sharing it with. He was with his family, who of course he was familiar with, but there was only four of them, and around six or seven strangers. They all looked terribly old and sick. One woman, whose face was not grey, but a evident white, looked incredibly weak and had begun wheezing above the rattling of the train.
The boy desperately wanted to help her, but what was there for him to do? He couldn’t just sit here and do nothing though, the guilt gnawed away at his gut. Everybody in the carriage avoided her like the plague, even in such a confined area. His own Papa who he had always known as a kind man was also squashed up against a different person, desperately trying to avoid the sick lady. The little Jewish boy stood, lost his balance, and then used the damp, wooden walls to guide himself over to her.
“Shmuel…” Whispered his Mama in a somewhat scolding tone, implying he shouldn’t go over to her. Shmuel however cast a firm glance over to her then proceeded over to the woman. He reached out for a tiny bucket no bigger than his head and handed it to her. Even though it was dark, her face stood out and Shmuel could make out her faint, generous smile. Although he was in such a cold, nebulous and frightening place; this made Shmuel feel a little bit warmer inside.
After what felt like an eternity, the train had come to a stop. A horrible, ear-piercing screech almost deafened Shmuel as the train’s wheels rubbed up against the rusty train tracks. His hands instinctively collapsed around his ears and he held them there until the noise had ended.
“Papa,” he asked, removing his hands from his ears and placing them on his father’s arm, “where are we?”
His father’s eyes had saddened during the journey, and he had begun to look like the old woman. “I don’t know, Shmuel. But I suggest you hide your watch, perhaps in your shoes. Don’t let them take it off you.”
Don’t let who take it off me, Shmuel thought. He always took father’s words into account though and immediately removed one of his size one shoes. He was just about to remove his wind-up watch when the carriage doors were thrown open and they were exposed to the blinding daylight. Upon seeing what the Jewish child was doing, one of the soldiers, who was wearing heavy, mainly green clothing and a smooth, ball-shaped hat, dragged him out with brute force.
“Drop it!” He spat in his face, with absolutely no respect whatsoever. Shmuel was completely dazed, he had just seen daylight for the first time in hours and now a stranger was telling him to drop his beloved watch?
He wouldn’t have dropped it if it wasn’t for his instincts kicking in once again. The solider was holding a gun, and Shmuel’s grandfather had told him about them and how dangerous they were. They were weapons that could steel a life from huge distances. They shot shards of lead, which pierced through the air and struck their victims flesh with such an impact it broke it and almost certainly killed them.
Shmuel hesitated to move furthermore, the sight of the gun had frozen him until the man lifted it and prodded his chest with it. Shmuel whimpered and fell back into the carriage while the soldier roared with laughter.
“Jewish cowards,” he cried, “now all of you; out.”
Papa and Mama and his brother and the six or seven others (I have inserted so many ands on purpose. When John Boyne does it, for me, the repetition makes it seem like there’s more of them. Therefore, I inserted so many ands to make the carriage seem more crowded. Tell me if it worked, or if I should just use commas,) Shmuel didn’t know all departed from the cart. Along with Shmuel himself. He cast his eyes upon the millions of other people all being loaded off of the train.
His lips parted a little as he stared in astonishment. He had never seen so many people grouped in just one place before. Abruptly, his amazement of the many people was cut short. The woman who he had helped in the carriage had collapsed behind him and the soldiers were crowding around her. None of them hurried to help or panicked though. They just exchanged looks until one of them picked her up and hauled her over his shoulder.
“Another one, Herr Commandant,” Shmuel heard him mutter. The man who he had addressed as Herr Commandant just pulled out a long, ebony stick then pointed to a pile of bodies. It made Shmuel’s pupils dilate with horror. Some of them were dead; some of them were still squirming. Mama cast a quick glance towards what he was looking at, then immediately pulled his head in the opposite direction, not wanting her innocent child to witness such a cruel and sickening sight.
The child’s head was turned and set upon the Commandant once more. The jet black stick he was holding lifted and pointed at a woman with two twins. Her eyes filled with tears, as if something terrible was going to happen to her.
Shmuel didn’t understand; it was only a stick wasn’t it? The stick kept swinging and landing on random people. Some began to cry, others just bravely went with the soldiers. Shmuel didn’t think much of it, until it landed on his Mama.
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Should I continue with another chapter? I have one planned out, but I only intend on putting it up if some people like this one. If it is popular, I'll turn it into a fanfic novel. If not, it will only be this one chapter and I'll move on to something more interesting. c: And also, I may have some of my logic wrong. I've put in what I learnt about the Holocaust a few years ago, but if I've managed to get something wrong please correct me on that.
-Rabbit <3 :3
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