Only Us (A Holocaust Love Story), Simon and Garfunkel

Prolouge

All anyone could hear was screaming. People running out of the way of the big tanks. Kids running to cacth up with their mother's

They thought they were safe from Nazi Germany's grasp. No one was safe from the Nazis.

Poland had just gotten annexed and taken over. Now everyone had to abide by Germay's foul rules. World war two had just begun.

The Polish Jews of the area suffered. Their houses were ransacked and they were left with nothing. Not even a penny to their names.

Soon enough they were robbed of their houses, and belongings. They were only aloud to bring 25 kilograms of their stuff, or whatever they could bring in a suitcase per family member. They were sent straight into the ghettos that were established.

A boy named Paul lived in a small village right outside of Warsaw. He farmed with his mother and father. They sent their corn and other vegetables to the city and that is how they made a living.

Paul's favorite things to do would be sitting on the porch hearing his mother tell him about stories from her childhood. He loved to pick the vegetables once they were ready to be picked and sent off.

They weren't the wealthiest family. They were actually quite poor, but they didn't mind. They had enough food, it was all home grown. They didn't eat much meat, because they didn't have cows or pigs on their farm. Most nights they'd enjoy a hot bowl of potato soup to curb their hunger.

They had the false assumption that they would be safe from the Nazis when they first occupied Poland. They carried on with their lives. That was until the shop that took their food, would not take it any more.

They said because they were Jewish they could no longer take their food. They spread the rumor that the food had diseases in it, so people stopped buying.

At least they had enough to eat. For awhile.

Paul was sitting at the dining room table waiting for his father to come get him to walk with him to the pumpkin patch. Instead of hearing his father's calm voice, he heard the sound of him yelling. He never yelled.

"I'm not gettin' on one of your trains even if you kill me!" He screamed and threw his fist up.

So they did.

With a sift pull of their trigger, Paul's father laid limp on the ground. His eyes wide with terror. He didn't think they'd actually kill him.

Paul fell to his knees. His head bent, he began to sob. His father was the biggest influence in his life. Before Paul could utter a word, they pointed a gun at him too.

"If you don't board that train, we're going to shoot." The man yelled. Paul knew they were serious, he had just watched his father die.

He took a deep breath in. He looked around for his mother, who was no where to be found. Tears bursted out of his eyes.

He was thirteen years old.

Another boy, the same age as Paul lived within Warsaw. His name was Arthur, but his friends called him Art. He had the prettiest blond hair with the kinkiest curls, at least that's what his mother would say.

Boy did he have a voice. Passerbys would hear the sweet tenor sound flow out of his mouth. He believed god had given him this gift at birth.

Him and his family would sing Hebrew songs, and other songs they heard on the radio, like Mieczyslaw Fogg-Zal before the war. His family was a very musical family.

He loved to read and write, and descover new things school had to offer. Until, they banished him and his Jewish peers from going to public school.

He had to go to Hebrew school, which he already was in. He had had his bar mitzvah a few months before the war erupted. He didn't like going one bit.

Art was also a shy and reserved kid. He prefered to work on his math homework until it was perfect. He admired his grade that he worked so hard to get.

Because he was a shy kid, he had this close circle of friends. None of them were Jewish. So he lost all of them, once the war happened.

His father was a talior and his mother a school teacher. His mother lost her job farily quickly, and his father came tumbling down.

"This will surely blow over." His father reiterated many times. It didn't just blow over though, it only got worse.

When Art came in contact with his old friend Wanda, she didn't have anything nice to say. She even made fun of his curly hair saying, "Only a Jew would have curly hair like that."

Art had to take it in. He could not say a word, her father was a Nazi. He just waved her good luck and continued on his way.

He remember the day they had lost their house. His father was in a panic, and so was his mother. They were frantically getting their stuff in suitcases.

"May I ask what is the matter? Where are we going?" Art asked eyeing the messy suitcases.

"We are simply being resettled, not to far from here actually. They are putting us in a ghetto. They say they do not want Jewish filth on their streets. I think it is only far, they will finally leave us alone." His father slammed the suitcase closed.

They were only given a one day notice. They had to move out of their house by seven o'clock sharp.

"Do you need my help?" Art asked.

"Just entertain your brother." His mother waved him away.

Art sat next to his younger brother Jerome who was playing with building blocks. They had the letters a b c on them. He wad only nine years old.

"Where are we going?" Jerome looked at Art with his dark brown eyes.

"Somewhere where the Nazis will leave us alone." Art smiled. That is what he believed, but only in the beginning.

"I'd like that." Jerome continued to play with the wooden blocks.

Art almost said, "All Jews would like that," but he refeained, his brother was so young, only nine.

The next morning they boarded the train, away from their house and into the ghetto near by.

Art wished for the best.

Paul saw the worst.