He's not what he seems
We were sitting at the dining table talking about how our new life would work out in Israel and eating supper, it was probably one of the best suppers I've had in years. My name is [BLANK] and I'm 15, my father and I recently left a Holland labor camp at the end of the war. I really miss home, I think father can notice it. I miss my house, my friends, the rest of my family and especially my girlfriend. She was so beautiful and unique, she could always make me smile no matter what. But then one day she resisted the Nazis by going into the park to get a ball for a little boy, made me stand there and watch as they sprayed her body with bullets then they just left her there as if she was a piece of trash! She was nothing near trash, she was exquisite and elegant and not to mention gorgeous, she was nothing lower. I was planning to ask her to marry me but then all of my hopes and dreams were crushed and thrown into a garbage can. That was the moment when my life was ruined, with one pull of a trigger and everything was shattered it microscopically pieces, they didn't even let me say I love you or hold her one last time. I remember her lemon scented golden brown hair, hmm I can smell it now. That reminds me of all of the good times but I guess its time to move on and deal with the future. I should stop thinking so much and eat a lot more. I better hurry up and go back to work on the inventory in our new shop.
As I walked into the shop father was standing there glaring at me with a type of fury in his eyes. How had he gotten there so quickly? I guess I was thinking at the table for so long that I didn't realized that he'd left. "What's wrong papa?" "What toke you so long? I had to leave the front desk to go into the back to get some peas which is your job!" he said with frustration. "I'm sorry." As I started to walk to the inventory room I could icy cold eyes on me.
Once I started to sort and organize the peas and soups I started to have flashbacks of the ghettos, the other Jews and my mother and sisters and I dozed off. "Mama!" I shouted but she just kept walking to one of the ghetto residences. "Mama, Mama! Look at me!" She wouldn't listen, I felt terrible that she wouldn't acknowledge me. Then my youngest sister [BLANK] turned around and started running straight at me. I grabbed this moment because it was my only chance to be a little bit happy for a while. I hugged her tight and she did the same but this was a bitter sweet moment as I was about to speak to [BLANK] a Nazi came over and hit her with his wooden baton. "What are you doing?! She's only 5!" I hollered at him, but then he just ignored me like everyone else, then I woke up.
As I started too actually wake up my father came up behind me and started yelling "What are you doing on the ground?! GET UP!" I started to get up in a stuttered fashion then a felt a hot and cold sting in my face, it was my father's fist. I could feel the oozing blood rushing towards my upper lip and I clasped it in my palm so it wouldn't go any farther. "Get up! Get back to work!" Papa never ever yelled at me. I felt alone, unwanted and unloved, so I got up and continued organizing the other dry foods.
I finished at the shop early so I left the shop and went home and I don't know what came over me but I started packing a few bags. I suppose my mind was in a drive to leave, I didn't want to deal with a father who would disrespect me even though I am his son, I still deserve respect. I put on as much clothes as I possibly could so I wouldn't have to worry about clothes. I knew that father would be home within 30 minutes so I got my bike at started to ride it anywhere, anywhere but my new home would be better, then I started to think about the train station and going back to Holland, to my old house. That's all that was on my mind at the moment so I began my journey with hope and a goal, a goal to see my home once again.
As I was riding my bike across the street I felt this big whoosh feeling into my right side. A man came out of the car, I recognized him and it was my father. I struggled to get up as he was hollering at me "Where did you think u were going?! Where?!" then he hit me heavily in the head as I was holding my side "Why have you been so terrible to me? Hitting me and yelling at me. What did I do?!" "You weren't supposed to be here, you weren't even supposed to be born and you will do something soon!" He said with assurance. "Yes I will!" my father was still looking around to see if anyone was there and I picked up a stick… and I beat him to death, I don't know why, I don't know how or where that strength came from but I did it. As I lay here on the ground with my father a few feet away I felt satisfaction, I didn't care about what would happen after, he got what he deserved.