3 August 2012
We are in hiding, The lucky ones, Nice and safe, Or so we thought...
A voice, Speaking in gruff, mean German, "Hand's up!" A gunshot, Loud and ear-piercing... Father is on the floor, Laid in a pool of dark, crimson blood... I leap to his aid, "No, Son," He says hoarsely... "Leave, me..." I am burning up with hatred... A long, wobbly breath from Father...
He's dead. I kneel down and whisper the Kaddish.
I will never forget him... Not ever...
*also wrote when I was 12.
Hidden • Opuss № I