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gratefully gulp lungfuls of oxygen.
As we press up against the brick wall of the station for the slight
protection it offers, fear becomes reality as we step out into the war-
torn street and glance down toward where our house is. Or was. It is
not there anymore. It has been blasted to rubble by a direct hit. Panic,
fear, shock and sheer sadness close my throat as I wonder what
happens next. I want to run over and search through the rubble for
any of my belongings, especially my picture of Papa and my brother
Lukas before they left to fight.
But I can’t. My mind races as I try despairingly to think of a place
where we could be safe. Finally, I remember. A cave where Franz,
Lukas and I used to play when we were younger. But we have to wait
for Franz. As the minutes draw out, panic pulls me under. I
remember the headache, blurry vision and dizziness I had when I
was in there. And then I know. Franz is not coming. Of all the ways
he could die in a war, he is killed by asphyxiation. Silently, I curse
Hitler and his Nazis for being too cheap to install a ventilation
system in our converted train station bunker. I glance at Mama and
understanding passes between us. We mustn’t cry. We must hold
ourselves together and find safety, or we will all join Franz in death.
My voice cracks as I whisper my idea toMama. She nods her head
and a single tear rolls down her cheek. Together, we run quickly
down the street toward the park as Sofie asks where Franz is. I tell
her not to worry about him, that he’s safe now.
Then I hear an ominous whistling above us. I look up and in the
bucketing rain can just make out a small black object whizzing
toward the ground. The fear in Mama’s eyes freezes my heart and
she frees one arm from Elli’s blankets and pulls me close and we
press the tiny children between us.
And then we are thrown apart from one another as the ground
shakes and shrapnel flies and an enormous bang fills my ears. Pain
floods my body. I can’t breathe. I squint up at the rain and red-hot
shrapnel pouring from the sky, hoping to make out just one star.
But I can’t. I close my eyes forever as I whisper three words.
‘We’re coming, Franz.’
‘
When The
Candles Go Out
11