Scenariul putred de la capătul puterilor/The rotten scenario

Part 1-english

  This story it's written în english and romanian.
   The rotten scenario from the end of the powers
   -Please repeat these five words, after me: "FAMILY"; ,,THE CHURCH"; ,,PUP"; "CRIME" and "SCENARIO".
   - Um ...! SCENARIO ...!
    I didn't know how to continue, so he got up and left. But leave the pen and the sheet on the table. I looked at them and the more I looked at them, the more they attracted me. I take the pen in my hand, pull the sheet beside me, and the ideas begin to flow by themselves. What was I writing about? About my life, on behalf of all who are in the same situation, to do "JUSTICE".
     Suddenly I hear footsteps from the hallway. In order not to be punished, I quickly hide the evidence and resume my innocence. The doorknob is pressed and the door opens. A tall, well-built gentleman appears. With his blue eyes he mesmerized me, watching my every move. He sits down in the chair parallel to me and repeats the series of questions to me:
      -So, I hope it lasts a while. What are you up to? Is it about US? Are you going to make fun of US?
      - Shall we make fun of each other? We! Have you tortured us for years, taken us away from our families, treated us like animals, and are you still the victims?

     His angry gaze confirmed to me that he didn't like what he was hearing. Moreover, you had the impression that his breath, so pressed, roared like the steam of a train. He gets up and leaves the room, waiting for someone outside. I quickly pull out my sheet and pen, trying to put an end to the story. In my script, the hero character, also a Jew like me, no matter how much he was hit, offended or humiliated, did not betray his brothers in any way. He went to the last drop of blood, managing to bring justice, but paying the price of his life. Honestly, I invented this character just to imagine that in all this ordeal there is a hero who will save us all. Unfortunately, it's not me!
     As I approached the door, I could hear the words thrown by the two Germans:
    -So what are we doing? We can't let them get away so easily! 
    -Surely! If she doesn't understand, we just have to torture her until she tells us the truth!
     "TORTURE." I knew what this word meant, I saw with my own eyes how this ritual went. I looked around and noticed the camera. Square, small, with boring green walls, it gave you the impression that you were in a prison. The white floor, which showed the footprints of those who stepped here, and a brown door that had a window, only had been barred with rusty iron bars. And in the middle, forever a high table with two parallel chairs. They were face to face, the same, but used differently; the first, for the one who decides and the second, for the one who endures. Yes, I was in the landscape. A 17-year-old girl, Jewish, thin, due to hunger caused by the Germans, brunette, very short haircut and full of bruises. But maybe I was sick on the outside, but I was still strong on the inside. I kept thinking and wondering, "Will I find my end here?"