Short Story As I started walking towards school one bright morning in late spring, the flowers were already in bloom. The birds were joyfully singing, and it gave me a great feeling of freedom. I felt that I could fly, if only I had wings. I was usually a dreamer, taking my time and enjoying every bit of crisp morning air. Before I knew it, I found myself in front of the school. Checking my wristwatch, I started running up the stairs, thinking to myself: “I’m late!” I opened the big wooden door and entered the room. It was bright and noisy. Angela my friend was a chubby girl with dirty blond hair. As soon as she saw me entering, she pushed the little skinny boy out of the way with excitement, and yelled: “My friend is here!” The dusty floor was creaking under my feet as I hurried to take my place next to Angela. The sun was so bright, penetrating through the dirty windows of the classroom, and it looked like there were a thousand snowflakes flying through the air, as the sun rays hit the room. Angela’s blond hair looked even brighter, and I admired it secretly while I drifted away into a daydream. I hated my black hair, I always did, as far as I can remember… but I never voiced it. How could I? After all,my parents were proud “Juifs”. I was the only one with fair complexion out ofmy six brothers and sisters, and I always felt that I was special. My grand-mere made sure of that. She would sing to me while braiding my hair in the mornings. She always had ways to make me feel better, after being harassed by my frere. She would say to me: “Don’t listen to him Aviva! He’s justjealous. If you were adopted, you wouldn’t have this beautiful black hair like your maman.” Suddenly, my daydream was interrupted by a noise that sounded like a vacuum cleaner. The jar with pencils in front of me started shaking gently and a siren noise filled the room. This noise was getting louder and louder as we were rushed out the door, through the school yard and into a long corridor that was musty. The door was shut behind us. It was dark and humid. Here and there I could see the little rays of sun through the cracks of the walls. I could feel the tension. We were all nervous, not knowing what would happen next. I worried about my maman and papa, but most of all I worried about my grand-mere. All of a sudden I felt that I couldn’t breathe… I managed to make way through the crowd and get near the cracks in the wall. The noise of the planes flying through the air scared me. It was 1940 and the Germans occupied France. We were in the northern part of Vichy, in the “zone occupee” -occupied zone of the city. What would they do to us, the “undesirables”? As I closed my eyes, I wished that I could fly… I would fly, if only I had wings! Monica
Posted on: Tue, 24 Jun 2014 05:00:36 +0000
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