A Yellow Star

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Mama pins a yellow star on my coat. I like it, it’s pretty. Mama says something to me then, but I’m too busy touching the new star on my coat to hear her. I’m trying to twist it but it doesn’t twist very much. I look up. Mama and Papa and Ezra have stars on their coats too. I want to hold my star, but it won’t come off my coat. I try to pull it off but it doesn’t move. Mama looks at me then and starts yelling at me. Mama never yells at me. She says I’m not supposed to take off my star.

**

I’m walking down the street with Mama. She’s holding my hand tight, and I ask her if we can go to the candy store but she says no. She always says no. Two big men in green walk by us and start saying things to Mama. They’re saying mean things, I can tell. Mama doesn’t like them. She looks scared. I don’t like it, I start to cry. One of the big men laughs at me. I don’t like him. Mama squeezes my hand hard and pulls me down the street. The big men yell at Mama as we walk away.

**

Mama tells me we’re moving. I tell her I don’t want to move, and she says she doesn’t want to either. I ask her why we have to move then, and she just says that we have to. I ask Ezra why we have to move and he says because the green men told us to. I ask him why we have to listen to the green men and he says they’re like the police now.

**

Our new house is crowded. It only has two small rooms. Our old house had a lot of rooms, and I had my own room. I tell Mama I want my own room again but she says we all have to share now. Mama, Papa, Ezra and me all have to sleep in the same room. Ezra and I have to share a bed, too. Ezra moves and kicks a lot when he sleeps. I want to go back to our old house.

**

Our new neighborhood is really big, and really crowded. There are a lot of people out in the streets and a lot of other little kids. I want to go out to play with them, but Mama makes me stay inside. Papa doesn’t go to work. We all sit inside the house all day long. Ezra and me make up games, but Mama and Papa just sit there and talk to each other. Mama leaves the house sometimes and comes back with food. Only, it’s bad food, and she never gives me enough. I tell her I’m still hungry but she says there isn’t any more.

**

Green men come to our door, and Mama says we’re leaving the house. I’m happy, because I don’t like it here. We walk through the neighborhood, and there are a lot of other people walking with us. Mama holds my hand tight, and she holds Ezra’s hand too. She says we’re going to the train, which is good because I like trains. We walk out of the neighborhood, through big walls. I didn’t know our neighborhood had walls.

**

The green men lead us to the train. Everybody walks inside the train, only this train doesn’t have seats. More and more people walk inside the train, and I’m squished against people I don’t know. I can’t see Mama or Papa or Ezra anywhere, all I can see are the pants of a big fat man that are right against my face. I start to cry. Mama squeezes my hand. I forgot I was holding Mama’s hand. She pulls me to her, and I hug her leg and cry. I hear other kids crying too, and even grownups crying. And lots of grownups talking. Everyone is talking or screaming or crying. Then the train starts to move, and everybody cries louder. I cry too, and I squeeze Mama’s leg. Mama picks me up and hands me to Papa, and Papa puts me on top of his shoulders. I like it better up here. I can breathe better, and I can see the tops of all the grownups’ heads. I’m bigger than all the grownups up here.

**

The train is still going. Mama is holding me in her arms now. We’ve been in the train forever. The train is really hot, and I can’t breathe good. I’m hungry too, and thirsty. I tell Mama I’m hungry and she says she knows. I tell her I’m hungry again and she says everything will be okay. But it is not okay because I can’t breathe good and I’m hungry and I’m thirsty and I’m tired too and I want to go home. I want to tell Mama this but I’m too tired to talk. Nobody is screaming or crying now.

**

Mama yells at me. She says I have to wake up and she says the train has stopped. I didn’t know I was sleeping. I want to get off the train now. I look down and I see people on the ground. I ask Mama why they are on the ground and she says that they are sleeping. There is a girl on the ground sleeping with her eyes open. I didn’t know people could sleep with their eyes open. Her chest isn’t moving up and down like Papa’s does when he sleeps. I tell Mama I want to sleep on the ground now too but she says I’m not allowed to sleep on the ground. It isn’t fair, because the girl gets to.

**

We get off the train. There are big red buildings everywhere. Everyone walks slow like they are tired. Mama tells me I have to walk on my own now but she holds my hand. I look back in the train and the sleeping people are still on the ground. I tug on Mama’s hand to show her but she won’t listen. The green men are shouting things at us. They make us get into lines. They tell Papa to go in one line and they tell me and Mama and Ezra to go in the other. Mama and Papa are screaming. They want to go in the same line, but the green men won’t let them. A green man weaves his gun and says something mean. Mama and Papa stop screaming and me and Mama and Ezra go back to our line. Papa looks at me sad from the other line and he says something, only I can’t hear him. I don’t like the green men.

**

We all wait in line. Me and Ezra are holding both of Mama’s hands again. Mama is crying a little and so are other people. I don’t like this place. I want to go home. I ask Mama where we’re going and she says we’re going to take a shower. I don’t like showers but right now I don’t care because I feel sticky and I want to feel clean again. Way in front of us there is a building with big chimneys with big smoke coming out from them. Mama’s acting quiet, so I ask Ezra all quiet what the smoke is from. He says it’s from a fire, just like how we used to have fires at home. I ask him where we’re going and he just says to take a shower, but I knew that.

**

We almost get to take our shower now. The line is really long. We are inside a building now, and the green men still yell stuff at us. The green men tell us to all take off our clothes for the shower. The grownups don’t want to take off their clothes in front of the other grownups, but the green men yell loud and point their guns. Mama helps me and Ezra take off our clothes. She keeps kissing me and telling me it’s gonna be okay, but I’m tired of being here and I want to go home.

**

Everybody is naked now. I’ve never seen Mama or Ezra naked before. I’m ready to take the shower and be clean again. We have to wait until the last people are finished taking their shower, the green men say. There are big gray doors. Finally the big gray doors open and we get to go in to take the shower. But once we get in it’s really crowded, just like the train, and I don’t like it. People are talking and screaming and crying. I start to cry again and grab on to Mama, and then the big gray doors close.




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This is surprisingly chilling, considering the way it is written. Perhaps that's what makes it so chilling. That child's tone, that naivete, that absolute innocence. One might call this, then, a story about the loss of innocence. I wondered why it was not sitting in the 'Historical Fiction' section, actually. Because it'd fit there perfectly.

It reminds me so much of the ending in 'The Boy with the Striped Pajamas.' *shivers*

Obviously, I can't exactly critique the plot here, since it's based on so much reality. However, it seemed predictable, while being engrossing. I knew what was going to happen before it happened. I'm not sure if this is a good or a bad thing, though. It sort of elevated and dampened the horror at the same time. Mostly, I'm someone who likes a healthy dose of surprise, so that would have been nice.

I think I like the asterisked section-breaks. They add this surreal feeling to it - as if the memory itself comes in snapshots here and there that add up to make the bigger picture. It's something I'm trying with my own work too, actually, and I'm rather attached to it. It saves having to write out and drag out one whole scene. But sometimes compression can also be a disadvantage. There is the possiblity of squashing something so completely that it loses its impact. I think you are not victim to this much, but it's something to keep in mind, that's all.

However, even with this, I think some lines have monumental impact that they may not have had otherwise:

Mama never yells at me.


Breakdown of family relationships due to social upheaval, much? :D This is a great way to show the effect of societal changes on the individual without overdoing it.

I tell her I’m still hungry but she says there isn’t any more.


I really don't know why, but telling actually does work here, more so than showing would. Showing would seem wishy-washy; it'd beat about the bush quite a bit - but this, it captures the feeling exactly, immediately, without seeming too direct.

I’m bigger than all the grownups up here.


This is great. The feeling of powerlessness is something you capture well in this temporary powerfulness the child gains. I like the lack of elaboration - I feel like it does not need explanation. It's a wonderfully pared back style of writing, so different from your other one. I'm enjoying it.

I didn’t know people could sleep with their eyes open.


*gasp* Need I say more?

I don’t like showers but right now I don’t care because I feel sticky and I want to feel clean again.


I love how you innocently weave themes into this - cleanliness and dirtiness also as something related to religion. But nowhere do you explicitly state that it's religion, either, which makes it all the more subtle and intelligent.

Okay, now for some pointers: (overall, there was relatively little that was majorly a problem - just little things!)

Two big men in green walk by us and start saying things to Mama. They’re saying mean things, I can tell. Mama doesn’t like them. She looks scared. I don’t like it, I start to cry. One of the big men laughs at me. I don’t like him. Mama squeezes my hand hard and pulls me down the street. The big men yell at Mama as we walk away.


I felt this bit tried too hard to sound...childish? 'Two big men in green,' 'mean things, ' 'looks scared,' 'I don't like it,' 'laughs at me,' 'don't like him,' yell at Mama.' It feels like a repetition of the same idea. Take a few things out. Put some different things in.

all I can see are the pants of a big fat man that are right against my face. I start to cry.


Seemed a little inappropriate and an unecessary complication, although it does seem understandable in the cramped conditions. Basically, it seemed like you were throwing in details for the sake of it.

The train is still going. Mama is holding me in her arms now. We’ve been in the train forever. The train is really hot, and I can’t breathe good. I’m hungry too, and thirsty. I tell Mama I’m hungry and she says she knows. I tell her I’m hungry again and she says everything will be okay. But it is not okay because I can’t breathe good and I’m hungry and I’m thirsty and I’m tired too and I want to go home. I want to tell Mama this but I’m too tired to talk. Nobody is screaming or crying now.


Ooo, yowch. Hungry, thirsty, can't breathe good, tired, screaming, crying. I don't like seeing those words after each other in such quick succession. And you've repeated them - probably on purpose, at a guess. Even so, here's the thing: whatever effect you're going for, doesn't work here. It doesn't highlight the child's stubborness and selfishness at all - it just seems ridiculously unecessary and unbelievable. And this is why: children will get extraordinarily irritable, correct. But they will not necessarily know why exactly they're like that. Therefore, repetition of exact phrases like 'hungry' and 'thirsty' sounds...unnatural. These are explanations an adult would concoct for the child's behaviour. In fact, when I'm irritable, it actually takes me quite some time to figure out why. So I don't see why a kid could do it that fast and drive the point home in that manner, like some kind of a debate.

Mama and Papa are screaming.


They're screaming. Are you sure? Why be this melodramatic, when you've been so wonderfully subtle before? I think you can do better than that. Replace the verb.

it’s gonna be okay


Which age is this set in, again? They would never have said that it's 'gonna' be 'okay' - try not to use these neologisms, please. They're embarrassing.

People are talking and screaming and crying. I start to cry again and grab on to Mama, and then the big gray doors close.


This is such a strong piece - I'd love this ending to be stronger. As it is, it seems like you haven't put too much thought behind it, ending it where it seems...predictable to end, I suppose. Firstly, the screaming and crying is beginning to annoy me - be a little more creative with your verb choice than this. Secondly, the 'big gray doors close' ending is predictable, hence sounding fake. Cheap, almost. Think about where this piece might end so it's a little more imaginative in terms of structure.

--


But yes, a good read nevertheless. Thanks for the read. Any questions / changes - PM me. :D




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Navita was correct in saying this story was chilling. Because it was kind of scary because the reader pretty much knows what's going to happen, but you described the Holocaust well. I liked how you wrote like a ten year old would talk. I liked how you described the last couple stanzas, especially when they end up in the concentration camps and when they take the showers. Very descriptive.
Keep writing,
Jane
Apple of my soul,
Eats me whole,
Take one bite,
No delight,
Rotting hole.




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Like everyone else, this story was chilling. I liked how you told it though. Writing from the point of view of a little kid brought such pure and innocence to the story. You could tell what was going to happen but it was still a great description of the Holocaust. Your use of words and the repetitiveness of strong adjectives added to the chill of the story. Well done.

-xangeleighfshox




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It's hard to find fresh perspective on a time in history that is so thoroughly documented -- in literature and film as well in news articles and photographs and history books. I think you've achieved some of that freshness in some really pivotal places, but it's still lacking for me.

I'll start with the things that I like: I love that you've chosen a child's perspective and played with our existing knowledge of the situation; we know how much danger she's in (he's in?) and that adds so wonderfully to the tension of the narrative. I love that the writing characterizes the child so well.

However, beyond the original POV (and some really haunting writing), there's nothing to the narrative that doesn't feel rehashed, which I think is a pity. It's very connect-the-dots in its portrayal of the Holocaust, which is to say that no moment in this story is a moment we haven't already experienced through a number of other works in the written and filmic world. So only a few moments are actually very emotionally resonant, and that alone speaks to the strength of your writing. I'm not asking you to reinvent the events, but I do want a moment that feels specific to this story and not to the general history.

So, for example, a moment with her teacher before Jews are banned from attending schools. A moment with a friend, or even a situation where she encounters a soldier on her own, before everything spirals out of control with the Nazis. (These are examples off the top of my head, just to illustrate my point; obviously, don't feel obligated to take any of these, and stick with situations that you feel are true to your character / story.)

It's a very difficult (if not perhaps impossible) thing, to find unique perspective on the Holocaust. I think you're on your way to finding a way to give new light to this story, but you're not quite there yet.

I will also say that this is the most cohesively written story that I've read in the past 48 hours, so good on you for that.
"He yanked himself free and fled to the kitchen where something huddled against the flooded windowpanes. It sighed and wept and tapped continually, and suddenly he was outside, staring in, the rain beating, the wind chilling him, and all the candle darkness inside lost."



The brain is wider than the sky.
— Emily Dickenson