the only thing worse than a boy that hates you.

Himmel Street

My lips stuck out from the cold and I couldn't help sulking a little as we treaded through the deserted streets at this time of night. "Papa, where are we going?" I said, dragging out the last syllable moodily. I kicked stones as we walked, my head down as I tucked my hands deep into my coat. "Rudy," my father whispered. "Yes?" I snapped, more aggressive than I had meant to be. "Rudy, look." He said, his face lit up in what I could only make out as a smile, a rare sight these days. I pulled my head up slowly, half heartedly looking at whatever my father was showing me. To my surprise I saw Himmel street again, still desolate, still destroyed, and my breathe darted down my throat without warning. I choked, before calming myself down and glancing at my father. My eyes rolled as I looked back at the sight before me. "What are we doing here? It's late. I have school tomorrow." I complained even though I knew I probably wouldn't be going anyways. School didn't really care, losing the majority of your family is such a tragedy I don't know if they'll be expecting me until after Christmas. Today certainly wasn't a successful trial.

I don't like Himmel street anymore. Memories of football and walking the prettiest girl in Germany to school had been destroyed with the brickwork and my heart sank with every splatter of blood. "We haven't seen it in a while, have we?" My father mumbled, to himself or to me I could not tell. My throat tightened until it felt like I was being choked - perhaps I was, and my hands shook as I stepped over the rubble. My father was the shell of the man he used to be, I realised as he walked in front of me. His legs were nothing but bone and his stride had gone from the smart and proud army march to a sort of slump, as he tiptoed over the broken houses.

I think about the last day as we walk to the Steiner household. I ran home from school that day, scared my mother would be angry I was not there to help with the washing. I had ran with Liesel. I remember it now. She looked beautiful with snowflakes in her hair and her lips slightly chapped. Her hair was in braids and bounced as she ran, laughing with me. My eyes well up.

I remember that night too. Mama was ecstatic as we had a letter from father. His neat handwriting had told us that he hoped we were all doing well and it looked as though the war was to finish soon, and he'd be back with us before we knew it. I laugh now, but it is a dull and painful laugh, like irony that stung. I remember how mother looked that day too, her blonde hair was curly for once instead of ironed straight and she was smiling, her face lit up by the words my father had written. I catch my fathers arm and he turns around and I tell him this, and watch his face light up, his mouth shaping all of my brother and sisters names, before slowing down and mouthing my mother's, one syllable at a time. "Bar-ba-ra." He chokes, his eyes streaming with tears and I know he has the same feeling in the back of his throat that I do.

He grabs me and pulls me in and we embrace, as he weeps onto my hair and I weep into his chest. It is cold and dirty and tragic and I feel lost, but it is nice to be able to share the feeling of being lost and dirty and alone with someone else.