www.whyville.net Jul 20, 2008 Weekly Issue

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Blue Eyes: Part 1

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Author's Note: This is the story I am writing in my blue notebook. It's about if Holocaust survivors can move on with life and forget their past. It is up to everyone who is reading this to please tell me to continue to submit or forget it. I hope you are touched through this story. If you notice any errors please tell me right away!

Darkness. Gray Guns. Whips. I turn side to side, screaming. I wake. My 14 year-old niece stands in my doorway, clutching her huge t-shirt. "Aunt Patty," she says, "Are you alright?" I yell at her to get out.

I lock my door as I leap from my bed. I look in the mirror. Gray hair, dark brown eyes. Wrinkles. I fall to the floor, weeping.

I'm standing in a blue dress. The wind whips my hair from my face. I see my dark curls falling against my forehead. I am standing. A rough hand grabs my chin and forces my head upward into two blue-gray eyes. The Nazi stares at for forever. To the right is death. To the left is life. To the left is suffering.

Panting on the floor I see the blue eyes glinting at me. I scream and pound on the chest of the Nazi. He doesn't move. I stand up and pound harder. Still, he doesn't move. I can hear Mandelina screaming from the hallway. "Aunt Patty! Aunt Patty!" I run away from the Nazi, cowering in my bed. The eyes still glisten. The door swings open and Mandelina turns the light on. Howling like a dog I lie down while my niece tries to calm me. For a moment she looks me in the eye. Her blue-green eyes pierce my heart. "No!" I scream. "Traitor! Blood traitor!" Mandelina grabs my shoulders and shakes me. "Aunt Patty!" she cries. "World War 2 is over! It's alright. There are no Nazis." "The eyes," I whisper, pointing to the mirror.

Mandelina bolts to my jewelry box. She turns and takes out two sapphire earrings. I immediately fall silent.

The soldier nods his head to the left. I made it. But I am pushed into a huge room. A woman roughly tears off my grandmother's necklace. Another takes me reading glasses. I am told to undress. I am pushed among naked women until I am seated on a stool. Another rough hands shaves my head. As each curl falls to the floor I feel my personality go with it.



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