Paint The Roses White

• Makayla Funnell, Grade 7
• Short Story
• 2018

I felt the old pages against my fingertips; I felt the spine on the palm of my hand. I carelessly flipped it open to the middle and took a massive sniff of the pages. The words danced on the paper - my eyes paying attention to every single one... I sold them for money to support my family. These were the kind of books Adolf Hitler hated; and that's just another reason to love them more. My Mama wants to cook my cat - I really better get hurrying on. I look almost exactly like my mother with the features of: strong cheekbones, mid-length chocolate hair, a tall figure and a beautiful complexion. Problem was, no one wants to buy books from a peasant girl; saukerls, why not? The books aren't poison- I didn't spit on them.
"Beautiful pre-loved books! In good condition!" Just at that moment, Max Retural took the book out of my hand and threw it in the mud.
"You filthy saukerl!" I screamed at him as he ran off laughing. "Sauchmech! Not so loved or in good condition now!" back.
As if he had the right to insult me! I'm the one supporting my Jewish family by selling the things I love most (in Nazi Germany mind you), while he was playing dirty tricks as he starves to death. And I was stuck with him as a best friend.
Saukerl - the dirty pig. As I bent down to pick it up, everyone began running inside as the Nazi truck bell rang; I had too many books. I couldn't gather them all - a Nazi hopped off a truck and started to slam the books into the mud. One of them kicked me in the side and spat in my hair. "Judischen dreck," he called me Jewish filth. A tear dropped down my face and of course Max Retural came to my rescue and helped me and tried to save the books. One of the Nazis shot him. I mouthed, “Sorry. Thank you," to him and he just mouthed back, "I'm fine," but that saukerl was not fine. He has blood all over his arm.
I took him home with me; I had to cut the bullet out with a knife. I heard it slice his skin. Sewing him was a pain. 15-year-old boys these days; what is worse than a boy you hate, than a boy you love? I went to wash my hair as best I could- without any shampoo. Nazi spit gathering underneath my fingernails. The ghetto isn't the best place, but it's not the worst either. Okay, it is the worst and maybe I just want to die. Die or have the war be over and escape to somewhere nice. That's all I want. And here I am nursing Max back to an okay state. The war can go take a stick and shove it up its backside. I hate the Fuhrer - more like the devil of Germany.