A girl and her camera

Prologue

It all started with a camera.

Not many stories I have heard of started with a camera, but believe me; this one did. This particular camera, a small, kodak cine with a brown, plastic coating, was meant to cause more trouble than it was worth. Its' original use, against the wishes of its' owner, was to film, and document the conditions of the Warsaw Ghetto, on behalf of the Red cross army. On the orders of Kommadant Von Schleif, the shots filmed were to be 'flattering, less offensive; to set an example of good, honest, German work'. But in times, such as those; honesty was a term taken very lightly.

Martha Gillespy. An ordinary name, for an ordinary girl. And she, to the surprise of both me, and my imagination, is the protagonist of this story. She was just sixteen at the time, a young girl, with bright-eyed ambition. She wanted to grow up, to be the biggest, independent flim-maker Europe had ever seen. She, herself, was given the camera as a present for her sixth birthday, from her late father, Jakob Gillespy. Unfortunately, it was the last present he ever gave her. And certainly something he couldn't never imagine, being used for such a cruel purpose. But unfortunately for me, I couldn't possibly weave in fantasies where they don't belong. No. All I could do is document the short, eventful life which was Martha Gillespy's. And what a life it was too.

Now, let's imagine that her story was beginning, as if it were the opening scene for a movie. This would start, all in black and white, with a shot of the grass, swaying gently in the autumn breeze. From there you would get a distant shot, blurred slightly, of three children, playing in the outside of a courtyard. With them was a boy, of about twelve or thirteen, keeping a close eye on all three of them. Especially the middle girl. And, whilst his mother couldn't see him, he saw no harm in sneaking himself a ciggerette while he played babysitter to the restless, energy-filled youngsters.

The oldest of the children was a boy; about seven years of age. He was tall, thin, gangly, with healthy, white skin, cheeks adorned with tannish freckles, and a head of dark auburn, almost brown hair. His eyes, which glowed from the fresh air and play, were of a bottle-green colour. As his mother would say 'The spitting image of his father'. His name was Samuel Maarden. A name one ought to remember.

The youngest was a little girl, of five years in age. She was small, petite, with a button nose, a rosebud mouth, Samuels freckles, and a head of curly, apricot-coloured hair. Her eyes too, were green, but a more lighter, vibrant shade. And one could tell, just by looking at her, that she was going to grow into an exceptionally beautiful, young woman. This girl was Karoline Maarden. Samuel's little sister.

As for the girl in the middle, it is only fitting that her introduction comes last. She was six years old; younger than Samuel, but older than Karoline. She too, was small, a little petite, with a small, ski-slope nose, pale skin, roses in her cheeks, and hair so appealingly brown, that it nearly resembled melted chocolate. Her eyes, which Samuel liked best about her, were on verge between blue and purple. Indigo. For a little girl, she was beautiful, and like Karoline, the beauty would only grow. And this little girl? Her name was Martha. Martha Gillespy.

At that moment, Martha had temperarily abandoned playing with her friends, and ran over to her brother Michael, the boy at the courtyard. Behind her, she heard a protest from Karoline, but she didn't go running right back straight away. She had to ask Michael something; and it seemed important.

"When did mama say we have to go home?"

"In about twenty minutes," He said, "You'll have plenty more time to play until then. Go on!"

Satisfied, Martha returned to Samuel and Karoline, who were both crouching into balls, on the ground.

"We wanna play leap-frog, Marta!" Karoline insisted, "Play leap-frog!"

"Okay, okay!" She giggled, in response. "Ready?...Jump!"

Martha sprung, like a frog, over Samuel and Karoline. And when she was at the front of the line, she crouched into a ball, like the rest of them, for it was Samuel's turn to leap. He bounded over Karoline without a problem, but when he lept over Martha, his little foot came in contact with one of the toy-cars he'd left, sitting on the grass. Needless to say, Samuel was lying, face-first, in a puddle of watery mud.

"You think this is funny?" He turned to Martha, who was laughing so hard, her stomach hurt.

"Uh huh," She choked out, "You should've seen your face when you landed in the muck!"

"Hah! I'll show you," He threatened, his hand advancing towards her ankle. "Gotcha!"

Samuel yanked her down, by her ankle, and dragged Martha, face-up, into the muddy puddle. And for good measure, he scrambled forward, and laid on top of her, to keep her down. Above her, Samuel was smiling, a mixture of smugness and triumph. Hah, that should teach her, he thought. She shouldn't laugh at something that could reach out, and bite.

"Who's in the muck now?" He taunted.

"Still you!" She replied, "Now please get off! You're crushing me to death."

"Nuh uh, I can't." He replied, "We're playing mummies and daddies. You're the mummy, and I'm the daddy!"

"But mummies and daddies don't do this!" She protested.

"Yes they do! I've seen it," He said, "I saw mama and papa doing this in bed, hugging." He draped her small arms around his neck, and in turn, fit his around her neck and shoulders. "Do you know what else they were doing? Huh?"

"What?"

"They were kissing."

"How? Like this?" She cranned her neck up, planting his cheek with a peck.

"No, it was like this." Then Samuel did something to Martha he'd only ever seen adults do. He bent down, and pressed his lips, sloppily to hers.

Martha wasn't sure what to make of Samuel's kiss; if you could call it that. Did it feel good? She wasn't sure. His breath tasted like onions, from the pie his mama made for them, for lunch. And his lips felt warm, and wet against hers. Again, like onions. Did it feel like a kiss should? Martha wondered. Like the way fairytale princesses were kissed in story books. She didn't know yet. She was too young, too...inexperienced.

"Mara!" Michael called her, "Come on, we have to go home now."

Martha hugged her friends goodbye, happily ignorant that this would be the last time she'd ever see Samuel, or Karoline in a very long while. Of course, her family didn't know that they would see the Maardens' for a while either, nor did the Maardens' ever expect to be seperated from the Gillespys'. But from what I'd learnt over the years, everything happens for a reason. It would've been quite nice to say that Martha and the Maardens' stayed friends for many, many years after that day. That Samuels' innocent kiss would've just faded into a fond memory. But if I said that, there wouldn't be a story.