London: 1940

My daddy says little girls like me don't belong in London right now, but where else should I go? Mommy left to Canada without telling us, and some mean looking men took my aunty and uncle away. My big, big brother's off shooting guns at the bad guys, so it's just daddy and me in the big city, wondering why mommy never came to the rescue *For Movellas King And Queen*


2. Me, Daddy, and Hope

I was fast asleep when daddy came to wake me up extra-early that morning. I was quite sad that he did, because I was dreaming about mommy, and Maxwell. 

Mommy was hugging me, and crying. But, I don't think they were sad tears, I think they were the happy kind. Because, Maxwell came in, and scooped me up with his big, muscular arms, and he whispered,

"I missed my little sister." And he cried too. So I whispered,

"Did you shoot the bad guys?" 

"Lots of them." He responded. 

Then daddy walked into the room and said, "Frieda, wake up! Wake up! We need to go down to the basement! Frieda!" Except he said it in my old language, which you wouldn't understand.

My eyes shot open, and I said, "Daddy, must I get up, it was such a beautiful dream, and I don't wanna do any more dusting today!" Then I realized the sky was a strange colour. "Daddy, why does the sky look so weird?" 

"Frieda, just come downstairs with me. NOW." He scolded."

"Very well." I saw a shooting star stretch across the sky, then explode, creating a cloud of black smoke. "Daddy, should I be scared?"


I cried, and cried, as he lifted me up, and he ran down to the basement, as I lay in his hands. I knew it was bad, if even my daddy couldn't comfort me. He ran down ten flights of stairs, running as fast as he could, with me in his hands. I guess some people ran even faster than us, because some other people from are flat were already there. I turned to the pretty young lady next to me, and said, "Why did the star blow up?"

She turned to my father, "Get that little girl out of London. She's only a baby."

"Excuse me!" I said, offended by someone calling a grown-up-four-year-old, a baby, "I'm four foot, in American, thank you very much!"

"Cover your head, Frieda." Daddy said, "It'll be fun." I didn't think it would be very fun, but I did it anyways, because you could tell daddy wouldn't take no for an answer.

"A four year old girl, in London, with a Jewish name, a Jewish father, and a Jewish mother? She's gonna' die." The mean, pretty lady said.

"God would never do that to me." The lady opened her mouth, but daddy stopped her, "Don't! Now is the worst time to stop believing! What would we have, if we didn't have faith? I have kept my daughter safe for four years, and I will for four hundred more, if I have too! I know, I'm not alone!"

"If I were you," a middle aged man, with a scary beard said, "I would have left her on the steps of the Abbey the moment she was born." This made me cry more.

"Raising a girl in London, with no mum? Crazy." The mean, young lady said. She then looked down at me, glared a terrible glare, and looked back at Daddy, "Why didn't you leave her like her mum did? Four years ago."

"Because unlike her mother, I love her. And actually, it's three year, three hundred and ten days, and fifteen hours ago."

I tightened the grip around my head, as I heard the bombs drop, the sound was too near for any to fight. For anyone to talk. For anyone to move. I think there hearts may have skipped a few beats, as they felt the ground shake, hearing the crash, knowing that the bomb landed only feet away. No one was safe. But who is ever safe, when it comes to war?

I flashed back to the last time I saw my beloved aunty and uncle. They said that they might never see me again, and that if that happens, I need to remember that they love me. They also told me that they were in the most trusted of hands. They told me not to worry. And I didn't. How could a three year old worry? I just waved goodbye. 

Now that I'm older, and I think back, I wish I'd said more. I wish I'd told them that I love them, but, I think they already knew that. I hope they did.

I think I fell asleep on the hard, uncomfortable floor of the basement of that London flat, because I still remember when I woke up, and we were safe. For then, at least. And I sensed that the worst was over. Wether it was, or it wasn't, doesn't really matter, because that morning a four year old sensed hope, through a city of not just ashes, but discrimination. A city that had heard words one should never hear, and had watched families be destroyed, and innocent human's live's be taken from them.

I think that hope got me through those horrible times. Even when I thought that there was nothing, there was alway Me, Daddy, and Hope.


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