A girl and her camera

Chapter eight

The next day, Martha gave the story to Hanna, as promised, this time within their 'printing office'. Better to give it to her there, Martha thought, than drop by her house again. She didn't want to cause any trouble for Hanna, by angering Eve. Even though it was none of Eve's business what Hanna did, that still wouldn't stop her from interfering again. So Martha had to be safe.

When Martha handed over both the interview, and the idea to Hanna, she was positively delighted with the entire concept. And as a sign of gratitude, she even hugged Martha. Even though Hanna wasn't used to physical affection, she didn't mind hugging her friend. Besides, Eve never hugged her, her mother only ever did so if it was absolutely nessicary, and her father felt as awkward with phyiscal affection as she did. So if Hanna was going to hug anyone, then it would have to be the only one who would hug her back.

That being over and done with, Hanna set to work on typing up the interview. So this was Samuel, she thought, scanning over his thin, scraggly handwriting. His words were honest, at least. And as he spoke on the page, he seemed to describe his life as 'different' to the way it used to be, but despite that, he continued to look up. To hope for the best. And in the mean time, while he had something good in his life, he was determined to hold onto it while he could. A strong voice, Hanna thought, as she punched at the cold, metal keys of the black type-writer. He was sure to reach out to at least half of her building audience.

Once her first article of 'The truth' was finally planned out, Hanna reloaded the type-writer, and began to work. So furiously, she punched at those keys! Her mind was completely absorbed in her work. So much that all she really heard was the harsh 'clack a-clacking' of her keyboard. She was, as her father called it, within the keyboard. As if it were her mind, controlling that typewriter, rather than her hands.

The first of her 'first edition' was completed within fifteen minutes. And it both looked, and sounded just what Hanna had imagined. Perfect. This was exactly what these teenagers needed to hear! Not the garbage the Nazi's fed them. And the sooner her story would be spread, the sooner more and more would begin to stand up for what was right.

To Hanna, this wasn't just about fame, or acknowledgement anymore. This was about telling the truth; hence, the title of her newsletter. Of course, Hanna knew that she wasn't a hero yet. But at least she was going to do something. It would be more than what her family would've done, she thought bitterly. But then...Martha was right, she thought. Hanna was her own person. If she fell, she fell alone. Nobody would be dragged down with her. If Hanna wanted to sacrifice her reputation, then she would. She didn't need her sister's, or anybody elses permission to do so.

But unfortunately, that was a message Evelyn refused to comprehend. For a few days later, she approached her sister with more anger, and more dissaproval than what she had the last time. She looked at Hanna, with utter hatred and shame. And Hanna, rather than recoil like Eve expected her to, simply glared at Eve, indifferently. It was rather brave, the way Hanna reacted. But in that time, bravery was often mixed with stupidity.

"That little 'story' of yours, is all around school," She hissed, in a tight voice. "How on earth did you manage that, Hanna? I burnt that interview myself! How did you suddenly ressurect it?"

"Easy," Hanna replied, in an emotionless voice. "I got a new one. I wasn't going to leave so many waiting, Evelyn. They wanted a story, so I gave them one."

With that, Eve slapped her. Hanna had expected it, and instead of either fighting back, or crying, like Eve would've expected, she just sat there. Plain-faced, and passive. Whilst their parents were out again, Hanna and Eve occupied the house for the night. So their parents wouldn't see the violent dispute between the two, 'loving' sisters. And now that Hanna was refusing to nurse an already forming bruise, Eve decided to inflict more pain.

"You think you're so clever, don't you?" She sneered, "Playing the journalist for papa. You've really got him under your little spell, haven't you? He can't even see what a spectacle you're making of his name!"

So this is what it was all about, she thought. Eve was...jealous, of Hanna's relationship with her father. Why? Eve had never desired to be daddy's little girl before. Always, she'd been her mother's protegy. Always dressing up in pretty, frilled frocks, sipping on cups of tea, and twirling her favourite, lacy parisol about as she walked through the streets. Never, had Eve taken any interest in her father's career. That was always Hanna. And now? Now it seemed that Eve wanted absolutely everything to herself. Excluding Hanna.

"I can't believe it," Hanna chuckled. A sound so mockingly bitter, that it made Eve wince. "You're jealous! You want the entire world to adore you, Evelyn. And as long as papa loves me, that can't fully happen. You want him to hate me, don't you? Just like you and mama hate me. And you think that once he finds out about my newsletter, that he'll finally do what he should've years ago, and throw me into the streets. Isn't that what you've always wanted, Evelyn? Me gone, and you, the treasured child?"

Eve didn't bother holding herself back any longer. So she let go of the very thin amount of control she was clinging to before, and she really let Hanna have it.

Slapping, punching, kicking and scratching. That was all that Eve unleashed upon Hanna, in the strange, but violent tangle they were caught in. Eve was always on top; always the one to dominate the younger sister, to show that she was the one who had the upper-hand. Because with Hanna's taunts, she just didn't have enough control. So she had to enforce it. She had to show Hanna that she could not defy the stronger ones.

"How does it feel, Hanna?" Eve taunted, wrenching at one of her braids. "How does it feel to have your dignity at risk?!"

"I'm not the one, beating her little sister senseless." Hanna stated. As calmly as she could, given her current position. "Now, if you wish to save your dignity, I suggest you get off of me, go clean yourself up, and go to your room before mama and papa get back. I'll tell them I'd taken a fall, on the walk home."

Eve blinked for a moment, utterly surprised that her sister was willing to help cover up this mess. Why? She wondered. What was wrong with that girl? She'd just been beaten, and she offered to help conceal it? Eve just couldn't understand.

"Why would you do that?" She whispered, "Why would you help me?"

"Because believe it or not, I still care about my family." She replied, "And if mama and papa knew what you did, you would lose more than you would gain. Do you want that?"

"No," Eve replied, quickly. "I'll go. Put some makeup on, for school tomorrow. You look terrible."

Hanna stood, straightened her clothes, then retired, briskly to her room. Once the door was closed behind her, Hanna fell to her bed, in a crumbled heap. And into her pillow, she sobbed and sobbed. Nobody loved her, she kept on thinking. She was liked, respected, and tolerated. But never, never loved. Maybe her father could've loved her; but if he did, he never showed it. Her mother, quite obviously hated her annoying prescience. And Eve? There was no hope for her and Eve. There never was. Now, Hanna was all alone. Apart from Martha, and perhaps Bart, Hanna had nobody but herself.