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Stars In Heaven

Music. Laughs. Talk. Silence. Darkness. Footsteps. Cries. Then finally, ''Take care of her.''

They called me Girl, Baby, Brat, and You. I was only six years old. I wore my pink, floral dress and tights with purple sparkly shoes and a baby blue jacket with five heart shaped buttons shining their bright red color. They had shiny, black, tall boots that stomped around like an elephant stampede. They had scarlet suits with big, golden eagle badges on them. They had red and black hats with golden signs for their group. They carried big; long sticks that spit out metal balls and make people fall down to go to sleep forever.

My raspberry ruggalah was getting cold. This was the only meal I got a day, so I had to savor it. They had a new name for me, Stupid. Though I didn't know what that meant, I figured out that it was not good. They called me and the other people on the streets like me ''Dirty Jew.'' Now I had two names, Stupid and Jew. Now all I needed was one more name, then I would be able to call myself something and tell other people my name. For now it was Stupid Jew. I liked it okay, but I still wished I could have one like Miriam, Marlee, or Rachel.
Miriam, Marlee, and Rachel were the only girls in the wagon to the Promised Side with me. Rachel was the oldest. One day, I asked her, "Who are They?"
"They are bad Russian angels." This was the first time she ever talked to me.
"Why are they here?"
"They are called Nazis and are led by a horrible man named Adolph Hitler to sweep out all the Jews.” She told me in a smarty-pants talk. I was not sure if I should believe her, but I did anyway. We were there. The "Nazis" dropped the Moskwitz's and me off at a shelter building, which was new to me. I had lived with the Nazis for two years in their house down in their cellar. I was excited to live in an actual shelter building with people like me.
A couple of weeks later, three things happened to me. The first thing was that I figured out that all the people in the shelter building are like me. When I told this to Rachel, she was not impressed.
"Rachel, I found out something very important. All the people in this shelter-house are like us, no Nazis at all!" I said excitedly and proudly.
"You didn't know that? We are called Jews. We are Jewish. We speak Hebrew, you dope!" She said in a low, mad-toned voice. Now I had one name, once again.
I think Mrs. Moskwitz overheard her oldest daughter yelling. She came into the bedroom. It took her a while to walk over all six sleeping bags, blankets, and pillows finally; she sat down next to Rachel on the old rickety red couch.
"I know you are frustrated about the apartment, but you don't have to be rude to... uhh." Mrs. Moskwitz didn't know my name.
"Stupid. And what is an apartment?” I asked curiously. I waited for an answer. All of a sudden, Mrs. Moskwitz, Marlee, Miriam, and Rachel started cracking up. I didn't understand the laughter. When I couldn't stand the curiosity that was haunting me anymore, I asked: " What' so funny?" There was silence, then more laughs. Now I was mad and curious.
" What?" Now I demanded more than I asked. They stopped.
" Oy Vay!" Mrs. Moskwitz cried to her children while wiping her eyes with her light blue handkerchief.
" You...you think your name is...is Stupid...?" Rachel hesitated while laughing at my name.
" Honey, you need a real name like mine, Sarah. Something special. A name that people will remember." By now, Mrs. Moskwitz was finished laughing and was talking again. Everyone was silent. Mrs. Moskwitz was pacing. Finally: " Aha!" Everyone jumped when she said this. " I have a new name for you..." All the girls and I were caught. What was my new name?
Before she could answer, there was a pounding on the front door. Everyone froze. We all looked like we had just taken a bath in frozen water. Was it a Nazi? Was it a Jew? Or was it just Mr. Moskwitz?
" Open up!" It was Mr. Moskwitz' low voice. But this time, his voice was different. It had a spark of fear, a spark of shock, a spark of death.

When we opened the front door, Mr. Moskwitz was panting like a beaten up dog. He was sweating hot sweat everywhere, especially on his black, marked up forehead. His chest was pounding like drums in a parade. His legs were trembling a lot, and hard. Not only on his forehead was he marked on with dirt, dust, and cuts, but also on his trembling arms and legs and his torn up shirt, too. I couldn't imagine what could've done this to my stepfather? Or maybe I should say whom.


A few minutes after we let the poor man rest and gave him a roll and a swish of water, Mr. Moskwitz passed out. We knew this because he was still breathing. That night, Mr. M slept through dinner and music. When all four of us girls lay down in our sleeping bags, I asked Mrs. M a question.
" What's my name?" The whole world seemed to shift at me; even Mr. M seemed to turn. Sarah’s smile slowly turned into a gray frown. Did she forget? I was not sure. Again, there was dead silence. She whispered to me: " Kira." Then walked away.

Kira Moskwitz. Kira Moskwitz. Kira Moskwitz. It was beautiful. All day I couldn't let it go. It was like a painter without a brush. When I changed and washed Mr. Moskwitz' clothes, I thought “Kira Moskwitz”. It was truly Jewish. When Mr. M finally woke up, I gave him the homemade challah bread Rachel made and apple juice. Then we gave him a shower to wash off the cuts and dirt. While I washed him off, I told him about my new name. He was confused. He did not understand what my other name was, so I told him.
" I didn't have a name. I called myself Stupid Jew, but then Sarah told me I needed a real one, so she gave me Kira. Kira Moskwitz." He liked it, I could tell by the look on his face.
It was winter now. On the first day of December, it snowed. All the little Jewish kids were so excited. I wasn't as excited as them. I may have screamed out once or twice a yell of happiness. I was disappointed, actually. Today was my birthday. Out of all the things I could have remembered, I remembered the day I was born. 12/1/30. It was like my new name, I couldn't let go of it. I had no cake. I had no friends. I had no presents. I had no candles. I was Jewish. That was the lame excuse. I was Jewish. I had always wondered what the star on my neck was for. It was the star of heaven, freedom, God, and Jews. Everyone on this side of Warsaw wore a star. We now were the angels of the stars of heaven.
That night, I told Mrs. M something.
" You are the best mama ever. You are an angel. You are protecting your family like a good mother. You even protect me Thanks. Mama."
She got teary, then kissed me and whispered, " I love you. Now good night, Kir."
I was nine years old. I was confused. The Nazis of the damned, the ruling, and the unfair cursed me. They were what they sounded like, Nazis. They took and killed many Jewish kids. We heard more and more of our neighbors dying. Then one day, one of us was taken.

I think she was a spirit. Maybe they all were, so I left them. Even if they were spirits testing me, my mama was killed. They raided the little house we lived in. With masks. With guns. Clubs. Rifles. Sticks. Weapons. Eagles. They took her. Beaten by them. Killed by them. Those cursed Nazis. That cursed Hitler.
She was hit. She was punched. They didn't want to stop till she was gone. She was holding Marlee. She was not breathing when they let go. She was a dedicated Star Of Heaven. I wanted to be there with mama and hear her warm, smooth, calm voice whispering, " I love you. Now good night, Kir."I was lost. I was nowhere or nobody. I was not Kira without a Moskwitz, but I kept it. I didn’t have a family. I slept in the dark basement of a restaurant. I thought about how the Nazis took mama away. I started to cry. Where was mama?
Three kids who were playing soccer on the dusty, dull streets of Warsaw woke me up. They kept stomping at the small window. I swore at them and screamed, but they did not stop.

I opened the creaky, old, rusted, window and dumped myself and my pillow sack full of my few things on the dirty, run down street. Lice flung off my scrawny, blonde hair. I looked at the kids. They looked at me. Then I gasped. I saw a familiar face I knew.

I couldn't think of his name. He had tan, shiny skin and blonde, curly hair, like me. White dandruff fell out of the messy hair when he kicked the dirty ball. He was fast. Tanni. Tanniel. He was my brother. He was older than me. He was nine. I was eight.
I ran over to him. He kept playing and running. I tried hugging him once more, but he moved to get the ball once more. Instead of hugging him, I hugged the wall. I finally sat down on my pillow sack. I waited until the game ended. By the look of it, Tanniel's team won. I got up when everyone was gone except Tanni.
" Are you Tanniel?" I asked the familiar looking boy.
" Ken. Ani Tanniel." The boy answered politely.
I had forgotten that I knew Hebrew, but these were very basic words. He said, " Yes, I am Tanniel."
" Do you remember your family?" Although I felt I was pushing too much, I was desperate to find my brother.
" I 'm ’ember family. Mama, Aba, Tanni, Leah. You Leah?" Tanniel answered. He was obviously my brother. It was also obvious that Tanniel couldn't speak English well. Just by looking at him, you could tell that Tanni was a wandering Jewish orphan, like me. I walked to his "house" with him in silence. When we got there, Tanni said a secret password and the old wooden door creaked open. I shouldn't have looked as soon as I did.
Boys who looked 8 years old and older were whistling smoke from small sticks and throwing things at each other. You had to strain yourself to breathe or see the people through the smoke. My brother told me he lived here I waited a while to think, then asked, " Can you blow smoke like them?" I pointed my pointer finger at a boy who was blowing smoke in a corner of the shed in an old wooden chair. The boy had big boots and torn up blue jeans. He wore a yellow shirt tucked into his pants. His hair was tied back with string and he had the smoke-blowing stick was in between his middle and pointer finger.
Tanni laughed and answered, "Ken, Ani smoke, lo as much Lio. He Rosh boy. He best clothes." At first I did not understand Tanni, but then I figured out he did, just not as much the boy in the chair, Lio. He was the head of the group, so he was the best dressed.

That night we slept on the cold concrete. There were shadows of Nazis and non-Jews, but we hid in an alleyway, where the guards could not see us. We tried to use the food usefully, but after four days, it was gone. Tanni and I were so used to having pounds of food right in front of us. After we escaped from the shed, we were starving.
Now was where Tanni's skills came in. He was fast, tall, and sly. He was our only chance for food. He stole it from non-Jewish ladies with long nails and white gloves. They had make-up on and fox fur scarves. They had white, fur coats and boots that were black and shiny and beautiful. They held pink purses and carried shopping bags with clothes, toys, and food in them.
That's where my brother stole. One night, Tanni brought back a big bag with a lot of stuff in it!
" What's this?" I asked, holding -up a golden necklace. It was in the shape of a star on a silver chain.
" That is the Star of David. It is a sign that you are a Jew. But why did a non-Jew have one?" Tanni sounded confused. I put it on. Then we smoked a cigarette and drifted off to sleep when we got tired.

It happened again. In the middle of the night. We left. Again, I knew why. So I still didn't ask.
Our cigarettes ran out after a while. Tanni looked and looked for more, but there were no more. Tanni and I were addicted. Not for long. These were hard times. As soon as we found a nice place to live, we left. I never asked. Thankfully we were never caught. It was because of my brother. The bag Tanni stole was added onto our pillowcase. The necklace I tried on reminded me of my other one. It represented the thousands, soon millions of Jews, Angels, and Stars. Stars of Heaven. The stars that were in heaven and in our hearts. The dedicated stars in heaven.
Soon, there was a wall. It separated Jews from Nazis. Jews from Gypsies. Jews from non-Jews. It was simple. It was cruel. It was mean. We couldn't do the things we used to be able to do. Like steal, hide, run, play. We were not as useful as we used to be. Our clothes were torn. We hadn't eaten for days. Soon, Tanni got skinny. Really, really skinny. He was starving and so was I. I was afraid that we would soon be one of those stars in Heaven. Maybe one on my left that I saw every night. I hoped we could choose where we sat in the black sky. It reminded me of the smoke that was in the Crew's shed. It reminded me of the black smoke that came out of the Nazi's sticks. It reminded me of the black rubble and dust we walked on. And it reminded me of the black blood coating my cuts on my legs, arms, ears, chest, feet, and face. Yes, it was a cruel time to live. These were the hard times.

The night I saw my brother was so skinny, we moved, almost not soon enough. We were sleeping between two big buildings. Tanni pulled the pillow sack quickly and me. When we got up, bleeding from the sidewalks, and turned around, the building on our right fell down. A few people escaped, but many got smooshed to death, like a fly.
One kid who escaped was screaming. I ran over to him. He had a big cut on his leg. But I don't think he was crying about that. He was scared. He was sad. He was confused. I calmed him down then asked him, " What's wrong?"
" I... I... I lost my mama. She died. I don't know where my family is. Help. Please." The boy said, weeping.
" What's your name?" I asked him politely.
" Moses. Moses Canter. I am five." He answered, wiping away his tears.
" Come with us. I'm Kira and this is my brother, Tanniel or Tanni." Tanni nodded in agreement, and we left. I felt bad for him. His own mother: a Star In Heaven.
He turned out to be a kind boy. He always had good manners, unlike Tanni and was neat, unlike Tanni. He said please and thank you when he got his food. You could tell he was a Jew because he wore a woven, blue and white, small cap on the back of his head. It had the same star on the cap as I had on my gold necklace. We were Jewish and so was Tanni. Children of Israel. Children of Abraham. Jews. Dirty, filthy, poor Jews.

Another building fell over. We had felt it, seen it, and now heard it. We moved so we wouldn't be stars. So we wouldn't be like Mrs. Moskwitz. Like the Crew. Like Moses' family, neighbors, and friends. It was hard to put it like this, but so we wouldn't die. All these people died. Although we saw them every night, they were not on this brutal and cruel ground. Nazi invaded ground.
It was during the Holocaust that I was six to fourteen years old. It was during the Holocaust that I grew up in. in Warsaw, Poland. That was my home. I was born there and loved it there in my own way. Adolph Hitler led the mean Nazis to kill us. All of us. He sure got close, but not quite there. I was a Holocaust survivor. I was proud of that.

Tanni looked like paper, now. He was getting pale, now. He lost his pants, so tore the bottom of the pillow sack and used my hair band for a belt. We used the non-Jewish lady's bag to hold our stuff. Moses had something to add to our bag: his teddy bear, Ezra.
Ezra was brown with a blue and yellow bow. It also had green eyes and pink paws. It was actually quite cute. It gave me a memory. A good memory, of when I was small. I was playing with a teddy bear. There was a parent next to me: Mama. She looked just like me! Her name was ... Sarah. I was ... I was ... " Kira! Get the bag and hurry up!" Moses cried. I did as I was told and was saved.

We had made a circle around Warsaw. We ended up back near the Crew's destroyed shed. Now it was all dust and rubble. It was the same with many other buildings around there. There was one thing that these buildings had in common: Jews owned them. All the shops owned by non-Jews weren't touched.
As Tanniel got skinnier and skinnier, I got more and more afraid. If he became a star, I would be lost. He would be sad. I would have no family alive. I would have Moses but he was just my friend. I still cared about him, but he just wasn't family.
I was already lost and no longer ate. I no longer cared about food. I was in my own world. I couldn't think about surviving. Tanni tried to find more food each day, but all he could find was a pickle or something like that. And as he got skinnier he got less active and slower at running. My life was a piece of rubble that kept getting blown up into smaller pieces until it was dust blown away by a Nazi soldier. I was getting skinny. But at least I wasn't sick!

Tanni was almost dead. You could tell. He was not himself and couldn't get up. He was sick. He was skinny. Pale. Still. Dead. Was he now neighbors with Mrs. Moskwitz? Or was it the Crew, Moses’ mom, or a new person ... my family?
The next night, we sent Tanni off looking for food. He was getting his color back and was hungry. Moses and I waited for a very long time, and then took our bag to set out looking. When we found Tanni, he was laying on the cold, hard, gray, street. Moses helped me pick him up and we brought him to the closest alley. He was blue and skinnier than ever. I felt his dirty forehead. It was still and cold. Colder than a new egg.
Moses had big tears running down his cheeks. We both new what had happened: from two ways. First of all his skin was frozen and blue. The second way was across the street. Nazis were beating up Jews. They were hitting, punching, kicking, and spitting. They were killing. They were torturing them until they turned blue. They killed Tanni. My brother. He wasn't going to be hunting down food anymore. He wouldn't be carrying the shopping bag anymore. He wouldn't be with me. Actually, he would. He would be in my heart. Forever. I would remember him and dedicate my journey to him. He was still my brother, Tanni.


The day Tanni died had long passed. We turned that into a personal holiday: Tanniel M. Moskwitz Day. It was pretty simple, but that was always good.
Now I was eleven. At fifteen, Moses and me would get married. We had a name chosen for a boy if we had one, Tanniel Moses Moskwitz. For a girl it would be Leah Kira Moskwitz. Although we had names for kids, we would not have any until about twenty.
I had seen many things within two years. On December 1st, I turned eleven. Each morning before Moses woke up, I went to where we buried Tanni. The night he became a star, we had a funeral for my brother. We put a big, orange rock on top of his grave so we knew that that was him. I collected flowers for him ... or maybe stole them to put next to the grave.
We were moving on in our lives, but never forgot about him.

One day, a few Nazi soldiers let groups of Jewish folks into the Golden Side. We now called the non-Jewish side the "Golden Side" because every time our neighbors talked about it, they said it was the total opposite of "this dirty, disgusting, destroyed place." They sounded like they’d rather be dead. I personally thought you should be thankful for what you have and everything around it. You don't have to be a rich merchant to be happy. I was at least a small bit happy.
It was a lie. All of it was a lie. It was a trap. It was a joke. They laughed at us and called us things like, "Dirty Jews! Stupid pigs!" I had heard those words before and knew they were not good.
Even the neighbors lied. The Golden Side was not the TOTAL opposite. It was also fairly gray. It had a couple of wrecked buildings, but not every other one. It had some rubble and dust on the ground, but not piles. It didn't have clear tears falling to the cold ground. It had the smell of sweet heaven in the air, but not as much as the Other Side. There were not people who were on the concrete covered with a single piece of newspaper.
It was all the Jews' dream. The non-Jews' dream was to leave Warsaw for the rest of the war with all their things. Although Warsaw was home, sweet home to thousands of people from different ethnical groups, they were all human beings. They were all people. We were supposed to be different. The Lord Himself wanted us to be different. We were different, but the same.
Each night I looked up at the stars. Each night it seemed like there were more and more stars in the sky. Each night it seemed like there were less and less people living in the town of Warsaw.

It was not a very exciting town anymore. The playgrounds were ashes. The people were gone. The food was gone. The whole town seemed to be drifting away to heaven. If it succeeded, I would live with Mrs. Moskwitz, Moses' family and friends and neighbors, the Crew, and of course my brother, Tanni.
One day, when Moses and I were walking through the alleys, we heard a loud noise. It was a noise I had never heard. It screeched and smoked. It smoked like the Crew. It smoked like Lio in the corner. It made a repetitive bumping sound on a rusted out path with bars across it.
I asked Moses if he knew what they were.
"I do not know. I just know its path is called a track." Moses answered my question quickly.
"A track." I repeated Moses so I could learn the word and feel it on my chapped, cold lips.
The long bus-looking thing with old wheels had windows, but was dark inside. Moses and I looked for the straight answer: What was this car on "tracks"?
We found a boy about my age that was walking a small dog. The dog had white curly hair with small black highlights. It had black, beady eyes.
"It's called a train." The boy said in a know-it-all way. All of a sudden, a lady in furs, make-up, pink nails, and a white coat and gloves ran up to the boy and covered his eyes and turned him around to walk the opposite way.
"Never talk to my son, dirty Jew!" The lady yelled at us. I could not understand her because she had a strong Russian accent.
Many people had been coming to Warsaw to see the damage and how the war was. A majority of the people were non-Jews. They watched us leave for heaven. The non-Jews would be watching us leave for heaven on big, old, rusty trains and would watch us convert into Stars In Heaven.

Moses and I slept in the alley next to the trains that night to make sure we didn't miss anything. We didn't. Although we did not miss anything, we stayed up all night. We watched people walking by. They had sad, innocent faces on. The walking groups of Jews looked distressed. They only had three sacks of stuff per family. One person wore a golden necklace, like the one I wore that was a star and was shiny. It was the Star of David. The man had to stop to tuck in the necklace when he approached a Nazi guard. The guard yelled at him and then finally violently shoved him into the train.
At dawn, the trains left with thousands of Jewish people inside. Where did it go? Why was it here? Would it take Moses and me?
We watched the rusted trains go by each day. One day I saw a familiar face.
On a dark, cold night in February, I saw a tall girl with black braded hair. She had blue eyes and a blanket with a small sack inside. Next to her was a man with brown hair and green eyes. He had on rugged clothes. Just like many other people in the crowd, he had a big sack filled with special family things. Next to the man stood a young boy. He had blonde hair and blue eyes, just like me. I pulled Moses to stand next to me and sling our bag over his right shoulder.
"Oomph! Where are we gooooing?!” Moses hesitated at the anonymous pull. I stood next to the lady and said, "Ken. Ani Kira Moskwitz." The lady looked shocked with her mouth wide open and her eyes almost out of her head. She chuckled a bit, but kept walking with her family.
"You don't need to talk to me in Hebrew. I am your old friend, Rachel." I was right. The one thing I was good at was recognizing faces. I held Moses’ hand firmly. I couldn't to ask questions. Finally, it burst out:
" Who is in your family?" It was loud when I let it out of my chapped, cold lips.
" Oh, excuse me. This is my husband, Saul. And my two children are Eli and Esther. What's your husband’s name?" She was lucky she had a family.
"No, no, no this is my friend I live with.” I responded to Rachel's question.
"Keep movin', ya pigs!" I could tell that we were nearing the trains. Moses gripped my hand and so did Rachel's family.
"Where are we going? " I whispered my question this time, but obviously others heard as well.
"The Devils' Dungeon."
"To Heaven."
"To America."
"To the Nazi Graveyard."
There were many different answers, but which did I choose? None. I listened carefully to Rachel's answer, "To a concentration camp." For some reason I believed it and stuck with it. It sounded right.
When we got to the entrance of train number 003, a young Nazi boy with tomato-red hair was standing in soldier stance with his back and body stick-straight. His right hand went up, touching his forehead with two stiff fingers showing. He barely looked down at us when he said, "Hustle in, punks! Rachel, her family, and Moses obeyed teenage Nazi. I had been walking at a higher rank than the others and walked up the steps slowly because my knees hurt.
"I said HUSTLE, hog!" The Nazi was getting furious with me and kicked me with his big, black, spiky boots in the behind. It was hard and I fell forward on my face inside the dirty, crowded train.
When I struggled to get up, I felt throbbing on my nose. I touched it, and when I brought it back up to look at it, my finger was all bloody. Red, warm blood oozed out of my nose. I ran to find Moses and Rachel's section. I finally found it and sat down. My pants were wet. Not because I was sweating, but because us poor Jews did not have bathrooms. Moses reached into our sack and pulled out that non-Jews woman’s' handkerchief. He handed it to me and I put it over my nose. It smelt awful.

We were in the train for many, many days. We tried to make it exciting, but it stayed miserable.
One horrible thing happened today. A Nazi with black hair, brown eyes, and a long, black mustache came down the large space on our train. He stopped at the people in the space in front of us. He asked a young girl with blonde hair and blue eyes if she wanted something to drink. I smelt some Nazi cruelness drifting within the dirty train air.
"Yes Please!" The young girl wanted a drink badly. You could hear it in her voice. He poured her what looked like punch. The girl drank it at once. The man another Nazi soldier called Hitler.
A moment later, the girl fell to the floor, dead as a poisoned person can get. We heard screams and cries throughout the trip. My life was a crisis. But I knew I was not the only one.

On an early morning, the Nazis let us out of the train. The dead people were left behind if their peers were not there. The dead folks all had one thing in common; they had blonde hair and blue eyes. They were like me. Why didn't they poison me?
When I jumped off the old rusty train, the family, Moses, and I looked around. It was like the inside of the train. It was crowded and dark and gray. It was cold and the floors and wall were black and cracked.
The Nazi soldiers gave us dirty costumes and soon followed us into these "camps". They split us into groups and put us in different parts of the two camps. Thankfully, we were all together in a small corner in camp A003. In Rachel's bag there was food, birth certificates, pictures, Jewish stuff, and more food. Moses and I were lucky. Each day people got more and more hungry. After a few weeks, many Jews had died on these cold, hard floors of camp A003. Each night we prayed for our lives. Each night we prayed for the other Jews' lives. For the ones who are not yet stars and the ones who are already dedicated Stars in Heaven.

Our tattoos with numbers on them showed and seemed to mean more and more as the days went on. There were not many live souls left in camp A003. We and two other groups were alive. I wondered if we would ever be let out of these miserable camps. I was not the only one who was wondering the same thing.
One dreadful afternoon, a Nazi soldier came into the camp. They came in each month to empty out the stars. A little girl was the only one who was in her group, all the rest were gone. She was terribly sick and lost her memory. She often talked to herself. We prayed for her. When the Nazi came in, she asked, "Are we going to leave?"
"The mean officer took it personally and ran away. He soon came back with a long, black, sharp strip. He took it in his hands and flung it back. Then WHAMMM! It hit the girl on her bony, pale back and made her topple over onto her stomach. When she wobbled back up, her eyes were crossed and her nose was bloody. But he was too quick, and slammed again. I stopped breathing and got bumps all over me. Purple-red blood covered her area. I thought I saw her angel floating up, up to Heaven.
"
“Stummes Schwein!" The Nazi swore at the girl and finished his job. He didn't forget her.
He left the blood. When he closed the door, I hopped over the group and took a small bottle. I walked over to the blood and sampled it. I kept it, too. Nobody dared to ask another question.
We lived in the camp for a very long time. Rachel's oldest child, Jenny, died and so did the other groups. But I lived my life. My life was this story. All dedicated to us Stars in Heaven.





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