Last One Standing

• Katja Zumpe, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2019

She walked along the broken corridor, light fracturing the dusty air. The broken tiles scattered along the ground, stone cracking under her tattered brown shoes. Doors hung off hinges and creaked eerily in the hastily creeping gloom. Her footsteps echoed down the hall, the sounding of gunshots following her every move. The school grounds that were filled with laughter now seemed eerily quiet. Not a living thing stirred around her, her tortured breaths coming out in gasps and fog escaped her dry, crumbling lips. To her right, the makeshift swings twirled in the diminishing light, a desperate dance with the biting wind. There were ghosts here, she realised with a jolt. It was them who gave her the urge to come here, a seemingly safe haven in the death and violence on the streets around them. Now that was gone.

In her mind, she remembered. She remembered the children running down the corridor and filtering through classrooms. The slapping of wet shoes on the clean tiles, panicked, breathy laughter on the way to class. She remembered how fights would break out in the middle of classes and everyone would rush to the door to see the outcome. The students were beaten after that, but the excitement was welcomed while it lasted. She remembered how she felt, the first time she walked down this corridor, an outsider, a loner, an orphan. Enthralled with this new vibrant world, where colour still seemed to exist in the drab time they lived in. She remembered turning in a full circle, stunned. Stunned at how such love and kindness still existed in the horrific 1943. How the bomb drills weren’t taken seriously and giggling still escaped the mouths of restless children when they dived under their desks and into waiting cupboards. She remembered, and her heart shattered to know that no one was here to remember it with her. That he wasn’t here to remember it with her.

Stopping in the broken doorway, she looked in on the classroom where she spent most of her time. He always sat to her right, his golden hair falling softly his eyes as he grinned mischievously whenever she looked at him. He was her best friend, her light in the darkness. He became her makeshift family, someone to give strength to when they hid in neighbour’s basements or when reports came on the radio. Memories collided in her brain, desperate for her attention. In every one, she found a piece of herself, as if she wasn’t her without him. It seemed hard to imagine back then that this was the future for them and for their small German town. What was life without his friendship, his laughter, his compassion, his fierce loyalty, bravery and love.

Now, alone and heartbroken, curled in on herself and crumbled to the ground. Finally, she let the tears fall once more. Falling, falling, falling onto the cold stone like the bombs which fell on them in the dead of the night and caused so much destruction and pain.