Inside the Camps | A World War Two Story

Inside the Camps - Part 1

// Quick notice before I write it all out.

* I'd really appreciate if you kept hate comments to yourself! If you see something wrong with the grammar, punctuation or with spelling, feel free to comment on the paragraph and let me know! ;)

* I am trying to get into writing stories now, so if there is something you'd like to suggest for me to try and write, leave it in THIS comment section! Otherwise, it may get lost with other comments.

* I like to write about anything so.. Just whatever. :P

//On with the story!
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    ~Flashback~

A small, German boy jumping excitedly around a bakery while his mother made delicious, warm, duff bread. The same boy whose mother, later on, died from a sickness and blamed his father. The same boy who, now, worked in the same bakery to relive old memories of his deceased mother only a few years ago.

    ~End of flashback~

The bells jingled as a man walked through the clear door. I didn't look up at him, too busy with rolling the dough, though I knew who it was. "Good morning, Herr Heinrich," I spoke. He came inside the bakery at the same time, every day. He felt pity for me and my deceased mother, even after all of these years. I forced myself to smile warmly, though I'm not sure he would even be able to see it.

    "Hello, James! What are you cookin' up?" I cocked my head to the side, not in confusion, but only to let out a small laugh. "Cranberry bread, Herr." He waved his hand dismissively, making a disgusted face. "Bah. What else?" He bellowed. I looked up, grabbing a small pan that was covered with a damp cloth. I extended it to him, dusting my left hand off from the flour. "Mary Ann cake?" As the works left my lips, his eyes widened as he rubbed the scruff on the back of his neck. "Well, I'll be. Mother used to make such things. How much?" He shoved a hand in his pocket, digging around as I smiled.

    I waved to Herr Heinrich as I scooped the coins into my palm. "Enjoy!" I waved after him, smiling as he carried the box of goodies out. As I counted the coins, I noticed he had paid more than enough. I picked the extras out of the pile, jumping over the counter as I rushed out to give them back. When I pushed the door open, I heard a thud, followed by a loud yelp.

    "Ow!" I sighed heavily before peeling the door back. A young woman, by the looks of it, sat flatly on the ground, a small pan with smashed bread inside, over spilling on the ground. She held her hand to her nose as a small trickle of blood overlapped and squeezed between her small fingers. I extended my hand to her, immediately apologizing.

    "Frau, I am so sorry! I did not see you there!" Unexplainable words kept spilling out of my mouth, as it was obvious I was frantic. I pocketed the coins I held in my other hand, grasping hers and gently pulling her to her feet. Since I held both hands, I now had blood smeared on my palm. I quickly wiped my hands on my apron, grabbing the pan of bread. I placed my hand on her far upper back, gently leading her into the bakery. "I will get you a cloth and make some more bread." I spoke softly.

    I wiped the pan down to remove some dry or bloodied crumbs. "Are you sure you have time to make bread? I don't need it, it was a... gift." The way she said the last word had me slightly suspicious, though I brushed it off. For the most part, her voice was muffled by the bloodied rag over her mouth and nose. "It would be my pleasure, Frau." I didn't look back at her as I chat, though she was quick to speak up after.

"My name is Cade Schneider. I'm currently seventeen years of age, if you were wondering." I had to admit, I was wondering. As she conversed quietly, I knead the dough, nodding occasionally. She told me about her family, how many siblings and cousins she had, and then ended with something I wasn't expecting. "..And I'm polish. I come from Szczecin." I looked back at her, a slightly shocked expression painted onto my face. I clapped my hands together to dust off the flour, leaning back on the counter. "I'm guessing you would like for me to return the information. I am James Weber. I am German, clearly." I eyed the bakery slightly as she laughed, before continuing. "This is a Jewish bakery I grew up in. My mother passed before my tenth birthday." A sympathetic look crossed her face as I said the last part, but I waved my hands dismissively. "I'm nineteen years of age." I smiled, pushing off of the counter and throwing the dough in the pan. I laid it on a wooden paddle, shoveling it into the dimly lit furnace.