Friday, 9 October, 1942, pg. 36
There are unfamiliar voices downstairs, voices I do not recognize, but their words and tone I do. They are soldiers. I dare not make a sound. I hear them milling about downstairs, searching, opening doors. I dare not make a sound. Someone is in the kitchen, and the aroma of popping corn on the stove creeps up into this attic. It smells delicious, and it reminds me of the times when I would go to the theatre. Those were happier times. Times when we were free. I want to cry for those times, but I dare not make a sound. The soldiers have not left, but the television comes on. I believe the soldiers are watching a movie. Oh, how I wish I could talk through the movie. "Run bitch!" I scream in my mind, but I dare not make a sound.
Do you like this article? Share It!
