Anne and Peter

"Why do they choose to pick on Jews? If something goes wrong it's not the Christians, it's the Jews!"

Tears stung in my eyes as I paced around the attic, expressing every feeling I had towns Peter listened calmly. I hit my fist against the wall, it rattled and dust fell from the rafters.

Peter got up from the stool witch he was sitting and stood next to me awkwardly and put his hand over mine, which was now resting on the wall, tiny splinters of wood stuck in my knuckles, drawing blood.

"Anne, calm down please." he said sweetly and nervously. A tear spilled over and slid down my cheek. I nearly jumped into Peter's arms, and after he realized what I was doing he held me gently. I cried into his flannel shirt, and he smoothed my hair.

"The war will end, and when that time comes Jews shall not be blamed for anything that they didn't commit ever again." Peter sat us down on the edge of the widow that was shielded by a roughly sewn curtain.

"I hope" I said resting my head on his shoulder. Peter took my face gently in his and lifted my chin before softly pressing his lips to mine, somehow making my heart calm and frantic at the same

time.