My name is Eliza Hummens. I am a Jewish girl, growing up in the troubled times of World War II. My family and I are constantly on the run. We are too scared to trust anyone and too hunted to make new friends. I have never gotten much schooling done, considering we stay in a new place every month. Our constant fear is that we would be captured and taken to those concentration camps. And this is my story.

                                   ***

I ran away from my brothers, Mark and Jacob. We were doing a race, just to forget our worries, just to pass time. I slammed into Jacob, who was standing still, his eyes wide. He pointed at our house,in which Mama and Papa were hauling the boxes out. I ran to them and asked worriedly, "What happened? Where are we going?" They replied, 'We're moving."

A few days later, we were on the run again. This time, it was different. The air was more tense and we were silent in fearful anticipation. When we finally reached our destination, it was dark. The place we reached was a cozy home with a fire crackling merrily. Papa went and knocked on the door. The door opened and there was a plump woman. Papa muttered a few words to her and she pursed her lips, but let us in. I stepped in gratefully and saw she kept a room for all five of us. When we stepped in, Mama informed us that we would be staying in there for some time. I nervously nodded my head and settled in the corner.

Life in the room was tough. We weren't allowed to outside and I longed for the brisk air and bright sunshine. We were served at 12 and 6 daily. Everyday, around 1 o'clock, I heard children playing and shouting on the streets. I ached to join them, but of course couldn't go.The only way I entertained myself was to talk to my brothers, who were more restless than I was. They had experienced the outside world more than I had and they were longing to go back.

One day, there was a fierce banging at the door. Then, the owner of the house came rushing into our room. She gasped, "Hide, and don't come out. They are here." All of us panicked and hid in various places. When the German soldiers came in, they looked around, a gun in their hands. Papa coughed slightly, and the soldiers found him. They threatened him about where we were hiding. Papa shook his head. He wouldn't tell the soldiers where we were.To my absolute horror, They took the gun and shot him. I stifled a scream as I watched my father topple backwards, a dark red patch spreading through his chest.            

Apparently satisfied, the soldiers rushed out of the room. When they left, I ran to Papa and tried to shake him awake. He wouldn't get up even after my persistent cries and shakes. I sank to the ground as I realized he was gone. Vanished off the face of the Earth. 

The next few days, we held a burial ceremony for Papa. Mama was devastated and couldn't stop crying. My brothers, although white-faced and shaken, comforted Mama. I just was in shock. I still couldn't believe that he left us. A few months later, though,  Mama gave birth to a baby boy. We named him Rudolf Junior, after his brave father, who died protecting us from the Germans.