Loud

July 1st, 2016

Dear Diary, I have found pieces of writing from past relatives. It was astonishing, incredible and yet so disturbing. I never knew that I had people in my family that were in World War 2. This is from my great great great grandaughter's diary. I feel so sorrowful for her and her father, it's sad that I never knew about them till now.

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April 16th, 1938

Dear Diary, this is my very first diary! I wanna keep note of all my stuff, but something bad happened last month. I can't recall it all, but this is the best I can do.

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It’s so loud..why is everything so loud?

All I hear is screaming and rustling, my head cradled in my hands.

I hear someone struggling as I bring my feet over the side of my bed. I shuffled my feet across my wooden floor, rubbing my tired eyes as I slowly creaked open my already half-opened door. I made my way down the grim hallway, glancing up at the family pictures on the wall. 

“Let go!” I hear my mom shout, making me instantly tilt my head in utter confusion. I peeked around the corner and into the kitchen, my tired eyes widening. My mom was brutally held down by the familiar men in uniforms. Why were they being so mean to mama?

“Mama,“ I began quietly. “Why are you so loud?“ I asked, the 2 men looking right at me. I felt this sudden rush of horror..why was mama so red?

I felt my feet move on their own, my body practically flying through the air as I ran. I have to find Papa, he needs to help mama. As I ran up the stairs, I could hear their shouts and the loud footsteps from their heavy boots while they chased me. I felt my chest become stuffy, my breath quickening as I took a sharp turn and something pulling my arm. I stumbled into a dark room, something covering my mouth. I took a small part of the texture, pinching it between my teeth. I heard a sudden breath, then a small voice.

“It’s me!” A familiar tone exclaimed...I know that raspy voice. I spin around to see Papa, taking no time to hesitate before wrapping my arms around him and pulling him into a tight embrace. 

“Where’s mama?” He asked as the heavy footsteps passed our door.

“Those tall men were being mean to her.” I muttered, my voice quiet yet shaky. I heard my father curse under his breath, which worried me. Papa only said bad words when something was really going on. He cautiously approached the door, slowly opening it. He peeked out into the hall, the whole house filled with silence. It was deafening. He softly grabbed my hand and gently pulled me out into the hall.

I gazed down at my bare feet, walking against the now muddy floors. I couldn’t process what was really happening, it's too early. I remember seeing those men walking around my school, one even smiled at me and gave me a high five. I used to make fun of how they spoke, their weird way of speaking English. Me being Jewish and my father being American, it was quite easy to learn the two. As we reached the main floor, my father eventually stopped walking when we got to the kitchen. My eyes followed his motion as he slowly approached my mom's body, kneeling down to hold her in his arms. I heard quiet sobs come from him as he pulled her head up to his chest, her hands falling limp against the floor. I stared emotionless, if anything, I felt like I was dead. Everything was so loud, my mom’s shouts ringing through my ears from before, the heavy footsteps, my own voice yelling at me to just hide and wait till I wake up from this messed up nightmare.

But my main question is...

Why is mama so quiet?

May 4th, 1938

Dear Diary, it’s been a few weeks since what happened with Mama. I still can’t understand..why us?

Papa had to tell me bluntly, apparently, the truth was too harsh to sugarcoat. Mama is gone. The men I was continuously making fun of were trying to terminate all people of my nationality; Jews were apparently a ‘disgrace’ and ‘living sins’ from what my dad heard. We have been living under garbage and in dark alleys. Once it was behind my favorite bakery, but papa said it wasn't safe to get my freshly made sandwich bread anymore. Today we were traveling to a neighboring town, one that we heard hasn't been overrun yet for some reason. I held onto my dad’s hand tightly as we walked through the streets, hearing people laugh and cheer made me have hope..maybe this will be a good day. In the distance, I could hear someone shouting, speaking English the same weird way those scary men do. Papa and I had to pass the shouting man, he was so loud..and scary.

“They are INFECTED! They are SINNERS! We are a perfect world without them, our lives are wonderful! Let them burn!” He shouted. I stared at the ground, feeling my eyes burn from the stinging sensation of forming tears. I hated being who I am. I want to play at school again. I want my friends back, I want to keep learning math...I want mom back. As I was in thought, I felt my arm being tugged and my hand slipping out of my dad’s gentle grasp around it. My eyes darted up at the same man from before, staring right into my eyes. 

“Are you one of them? Are you ONE OF THOSE PIGS?!” He screamed in my face, making me flinch from both his tone and spit spraying on my face. Gross. I heard my father yelling at him, not wanting to be too defensive and he finds out. 

“I’m not one of those..sinners.” I quickly said, the fake accent rolling off my tongue with ease. I remember when I made fun of those scary men, I’d pretend to be one and talk like them..I’m oddly glad I did. He stared at me for a bit longer, before gently letting go and patting my head. I remember hearing him whisper that I’m blessed or something. My father and I walked a bit longer, our pace faster every time we passed people. Once we got to a bakery, I felt my stomach growl. I’ve barely eaten..and it hurts so much. 

“Papa? Can we have some food?” I quietly asked as my father came to a holt. He let out a heavy sigh, leading me over to an outdoor table and sat me down. He kneeled down in front of me, holding my hands in his own.

“I need you to stay here..do not leave unless I come out and tell you to. Do not talk to anyone, period. I love you, Ari.” He softly instructed, and I couldn’t help but smile when he said my name.

He usually just calls me things like sweetheart, sweetie, and honey instead of Ariana. I nodded, my lips curling into a wider smile when he kissed my head before walking inside.

“You are Jewish, aren't you?” I heard a stern voice question, making me immediately tense up. I heard a low chuckle, then coughing. Maybe an elder?

“I am too, no need to worry.” The voice added, making me slightly relax but not completely. I slowly turn my head in the direction of the voice, seeing two old men playing chess. I slowly nodded in response to his question, and he gave me a smile as he moved his king a step. 

“You look young, how old are you?” He asked, and I stayed silent. Instead, I held up 10 fingers and got a nod in response.

“Do you know what is going on? Has your father told you?” I felt my stomach twist, how does he know? He must have been listening, is anyone else listening to us right now? Will they terminate us as well? I hesitantly nod.

“I lost my two grandchildren, one was around your age and the other only 9 months..heads bashed in.” He said contently, which made me feel sick. It was so blunt..and so easy for him to say..what is wrong with him?

I quickly look up when I hear a click, seeing that he had knocked the other man’s king over. He simply gazed at it for a moment, and it gave me a moment to properly look at him. His eyes had an expression of pain in the dark shade of brown, his hair a dusty grey while a scar rested in his cheekbone. He looked so lost..his hope slowly withering away.

“You seem to be taking this all quite well, seeing that you’re still alive. Most kids I’ve seen just let themselves die because they’ve just lost it. You must be close, seeing that you’re so quiet.” He said coldly, his tone a lot harsher as he picked up the chess piece.

“I’ve been told that I’m mature for my age..” I replied quietly, looking down at my muddy shoes. He scoffed, making me tense up again. I heard the bell of the bakery door open and my eyes dart up just to see my dad standing there with a bag. I smiled widely at the fresh and satisfying smell of the potential pastry. I stood up, my eyes focused on Papa’s expression. He looked startled..and anxious. He quickly grabbed my hand and practically dragged me as he speed-walked. He eventually just stopped, picking me up and I wrapped my legs around his waist, looking over his shoulder. The scary soldiers stared at me, and I felt my skull being shot through by the disgust and hatred in their expression. Papa hurried into an alleyway, putting me down beside a smelly dumpster. He kissed my head and left the bag beside me before hurrying off. I peered over the side of the container, seeing my dad on the road waving his arms around and shouting in Judeo-Italien..that’s our language..is he crazy? His eyes met with mine before he ran off, and two of those scary men ran after him. I tucked myself away with tears forming in my eyes, covering my ears and squeezing my eyes shut. I hear gunshots in the distance, and I feel my stomach flip. I shakily uncovered my eyes as I heard the place quiet down..and was faced with a shotgun barrel poking the tip of my nose.

 It will all be quiet now.