The rain poured down onto my clothes, hair, and on my tear stained face. Our secret, was finally out. My family, well my foster family, who happened to be Jewish was recently located by a troop of Nazis. I had been placed in my foster family for some time now. After my parents had become greatly ill. There was no way in saving them, and it broke me. I haven't talked much since then, only answering to "yes" and "no" questions.

We were perfectly hidden, I finally felt safe. We lived in an abandoned warehouse a few hours outside of Amsterdam. A town so small that if you blinked you would pass right through it. Whenever we felt danger was close, we'd duck under the flooring until the coast was clear. Except this time we had no time at all to lift up the rotten floors to hide. They busted the doors down and released their German Shepherds, in order to catch us faster. I thought dogs were supposed to be mans best friend. After all that has happened I thought different. I had only herd what had happened at the Concentration camps from thrown away newspapers. It was gross, horrible, and breath taking. Our nightmare was now coming true, and we couldn't wake up. The Jewish star on my shirt and the dried tears on my face say it all, I was on my way for death. At this point I thought crying did you nothing, so I stopped. I stood last in line, awaiting to be shoved onto the train freight that would take us to our prison.

The Nazis walked clear and straight down our line. Making sure that we tried not to pull anything funny. Why would we? We were already in enough trouble. As far as I was concerned we didn't do anything. Hitler was just an unfair man, who thought killing and getting revenge was the only way of healing his own wounds. I didn't despise him. I felt sorry for him. His sins will fallow him forever. I didn't realize until he stopped in front of me. A Nazi, who stood about two heads taller than me, and looked about five years older, stopped in front of me. His face was bruised and cold. He had light blue eyes, but they spoke out to me. Confusing but I knew I'd figure them out eventually, when though? I stared at him with a blank face, not wanting to show my true emotions. Inside I was burning with pain. I wanted to scream, yell, plead for mercy like every other Jew here. I didn't though, I needed to fight my pain, so I didn't give anything away. He suddenly took a tight demanding grip on my upper arm. Causing my blood to turn cold, hurting me. I then looked up the line to see that each Nazi took at least one or two Jews, still struggling to flee. I met his gaze once again to see his eyes soften. He loosened his death grip, seeing that I had no intention of struggling.

Guiding me towards the freight I noticed blood, and lots of it. Everyone's struggle has caused more pain. Because of their refusal they were forced. They were thrown and shoved, cutting their skin on the splintered wood. Now we were only given one chance to get an order right. I decided to obey and think nothing of it.

"Up!" the first command has been given. Without rebuttal, I hoped upon the bloody freight, with his help. He placed his worn left hand on my left hip, griping tight enough to support me enough so that I didn't fall flat on my face upon the hard surface. In my head, I thanked him deeply.

The train left the station as the rain only poured harder. Everyone had become silent. Still trying to take in what had happened. It seemed that I was in one step of the game, but then again who could call this a game? Someone who had mental problems. I could get rid of the hurt a lot easier than most people could. I had a lot of practice during my life time, and I was only 13. I was tired of all of this, so I lied my head upon arms, trying to think of eternal rest. I only slept till the next morning, I think. Unless I slept through a whole day without waking up once. Truly impossible in my state of condition. If it is what day I think it is, it's November 24, 1940. Yep that should be right. I would ask, but then I'd probably be punished. So again I keep my mouth shut.

I look out a little slot in the side of the train, that I noticed last night or the night before, before I fell asleep. After a woman's desperate shriek and the sound of gunfire, I knew what was happening. I turned my head over to the side of the little hole, only to have my left eye look out to see if my fatal prediction was right. Unfortunately, yes. On the ground was a woman, lifeless. She had refused so much, that she had to be "put down". My blood felt cold again, I threw up a little in my mouth but I forced it back down. The woman's family tried their best to touch her still body, only to be cuffed and thrown into two freights down from us. The boy with the blue hair and eyes had to turn away and take a few breaths. It seemed he couldn't take this, I felt sorry for him. He noticed me looking out of the slot and walked over to it. I froze stiff. Should I scoot over and let someone else take the blame, or let him find me. In the end I stayed put. Our eyes locked. He stared, I stared. Now that it was light out I could see his face better. He was perfect. Too perfect, looking at him more caused me to blushed. I hid my head in shame, I blushed because of a Nazi. I was afraid I was in trouble. Until a reassuring hand reached under my chin. His hand was so soft. He lifted my head up to see his gaze again. He took his hand out of the slot, I blushed more to see that he was….smiling. The first smile I had seen in days.

"Don't let any of the others catch you," he whispered, then walked away. Was he on my side? Did he not want to be one of them? What was he playing at? Still it was so nice to see a smile after so long. I on the other hand kept a straight face, giving away nothing.

Every time we stopped to take in more prisoners, he would come back to the little slot. It seemed as if he was checking up on me. What would cause him to do this? More importantly what was his name? We didn't talk at all, just stared at one another. I tried to give off vibes that would tell him to leave me be, it obviously wasn't working. I guess I'll just have to give him a pet name until our plague of silence is broken. Nazi Blue. Yea that was perfect for him. Matching his blue hair and eyes, and what he stood for. I took in a deep sigh and scooted over to my foster brother, Tamo. Tamo was only 4, and he had to experience our pain at such a small age, pitiful. I rested my head upon his as I took his smaller hand into mine. He then started to cry into my sleeve shoulder. More tears, I want to see Nazi Blue's smile again.