I was hungry. I was cold. I was scared. I was only wanting to know, why us. Adalae was what everyone called me. That is what I went by, up until that day…







Dear Diary,







We have been in hiding for a very long time now. Food supply is low and my mother is dying. I am scared and hungry. I am still not allowed to speak. The days are lonely and the nights are cold and quiet. I just hope that the green police don’t find us here, under the floorboards of this house. Life is difficult here. The only light here comes from cracks in the floorboards, which comes through a window in the house. I am tired of spiders and stray cats making a home with us. Food comes once a day, if that, from my not Jewish uncle. Dark is nearing and my light supply is running short.




~Adalae








Dear Diary,







I will not sit and complain as I did yesterday. I just want someone to talk to and you are my only comfort. I miss doing the things that most fifteen-year-old girls do. I miss real sunlight and seeing that clear blue sky. I miss smelling the air, and being under a house for a year, you long to breathe in real, fresh air, and not moldy dirt smell.

I long to see my friends and the boy that sat two desks in front of me. I long to live. Talking to you is the only thing that makes me want to live.

I want to live.




~Adalae


I hate to say this, but that was my last diary entry. Soon after that everyone hiding under the house and my uncle were put in the back of a truck and we were whisked away to concentration camps. My mother didn’t last long there and my father was shot right before my eyes. I died a week later. You’re probably wondering who is telling my story…me, Confused, think big, think God.