Young Writers Society

Dresden, Germany, February 14th, 1940

Momma told me that everything would be okay.

Momma also told me that Papa was coming back after the war. She kept telling me that, over and over. But I had been watching when she got the letter. It was still in her chest at home, underneath the shawl Grandma had given to her, stuck between Papa’s picture and Roy’s. It was the second letter. I couldn’t read very well then, I was only eight and had not been to school very often, with Momma being sick so much. I think it was the letters that made her sick.

Or perhaps it was because she knew he wasn’t coming home again, just like Roy.

But none of that matters now, she went home to them. Only I am still here, stuck in this hell on earth.

Momma says hell is a bad word and we should not say it. She told me that if I do the devil will come and take me away on his skeleton horse. I am not sure if she was lying or not, but I think the devil has all ready come to take us all away, we just do not know it yet.

The fires still burn, clouding the air with smoke and ash which burns the airs and the throat. If you want to go outside, you have to soak a shirt or a rag in water and put it over your mouth. Many people have gotten sick from it all ready, those who did not die in the fires or the explosions or the machine guns. That was how Momma died. She was all ready sick, but the smoke was to much for her. Her hand gripped mine tightly as she coughed, I remember. She coughed a lot, and her eyes were swollen and puffy and red. Just like mine, only there was no light in her eyes. She could not even cry. When I woke up two days ago, she was stiff and cold.

I wish I could go back to our home and get Papa’s picture, so I could hold it one more time, just so he would be close to me. But the others, the adults, tell me that it is to dangerous. Though it has been a few days since the attack, most of the city is still ablaze. At night, it is so bright out side you can read without a lamp or the moon. You can not even see the moon, as the sky is dark and clouded.

It all started with the sirens. We had heard them before, and we were used to it. Nothing ever happened, but Momma still insisted that we put on our suits and go to the shelter a few blocks away. It was over by the river. We could see Waterloo from there.

We waited for what seemed to be hours, and still the call that all was safe did not come. Someone else had brought a radio, and we turned it on to listen. Momma told me it was the BBC. I did not know what that meant, but we were able to hear what was happening. Once, one of the soldiers came into the shelter. The radio was quickly turned off and hidden behind a stack of crates full of supplies. This made no sense to me, but when I started to ask Momma why, she put her hand on my mouth.

Then, we heard it.

At first, they were far away. The walls shook but little, and it was only like the thumping of our own hearts. The shelter was quiet, no one spoke, and I began to wonder if it was only our own heart beats that we were hearing. But it got closer, until they were right over us.

Momma knelt over me as small bits of concrete and brick fell on our heads, knocked loose by the explosions that shook the ground. I was afraid and I started to cry. I was not the only one, though. Even some of the adults, even the men who were supposed to be strong and courageous began to cry. We were all scared.

For how long we sat in the shelter, I can not say. The explosions would move away from us, then more would draw closer, then shift to somewhere else. It was late, and outside everything had grown dark, and still it continued. Once, one of the explosions landed near the shelter. A large crack in the wall appeared and the noise was so loud it hurt my head. I could not see straight for some time, and even when Momma called out to me, all I heard was ringing. I can still hear it, it is still stuck in my head. Like the lonesome song of some field full of the beautiful notes of crickets. But when everything finally grew quiet, and we climbed out of the shelter, there was no green grass. No flowers.

All around us was destruction. A few standing buildings were left, but most had been consumed by the fires that were still burning. A tall structure only a few feet away was almost entirely consumed by the flames, and we had to shield our faces so they were not burned. Momma picked me up and walked with the others to a place of the city that was not burning yet. And we waited.

That was when Momma died. I knew I should not have fallen asleep, she was so tired and old looking, just like Grandma had been, but I could not keep my eyes open any longer. Now, I only wish that I could go back and hold her hand one more time, kiss her just once. But she is gone now, gone with Papa and Roy.

A few of the others asked if I needed help when I woke up. I did not know where to go or even what to do, so I thanked them and we began to look through the rubble for food and water. They were all talking about how it would be best to leave the city, and so we started walking.

That was when I first saw the American flag.

We had been told about the American’s, how we were at war with them and the British, how we were winning. It did not look like that now. As we walked, we heard the hum of their planes, like those nasty grasshoppers which climb into your skirts and stick you with their prickly legs. There were many of them, and we did not know what they were for. And then they started shooting at us. On the first pass, many died. The rest ran, and in all of the shock I was pushed to the side, falling into a pile of half burnt stones. I could not bring myself to move, I was so scared, so I curled up into a ball and waited for the noise to stop.

There were people running and screaming, some were bleeding from wounds. I shut my eyes to the sight. When I fell asleep, I had nightmares of burning people, and through it all, the devil was flying one of those American grasshoppers and laughing as he shot at my Momma and my Papa and my Roy. That was when I knew that this was hell, and they were all in heaven.

Now, it is so dark. I have not eaten anything in three days. I went down to the river to get a drink of water, but it is thick with ash and dirt and is foul to the taste. I am beginning to feel weak, and I wish that it would just end so I could go to Momma.

Then, I saw her.

The clouds had grown darker. I thought it was a bad omen that they were coming again, that there would be more fire, but it was not like that. At first, it was just a few sharp taps on my cheeks. Something cold and wet splashing against my hand. I was afraid, afraid because I thought it was some new devilry coming to inflict itself upon me. But it was only rain.

There was no sun, and it was cold when not close to the fires, still being in the winter time, but I welcomed the rain as it started to sprinkle down, pattering in the ashes and singing sweet songs as it tickled and kissed the fires. It was washing away the filth and the pain. And she had brought it.

I was not sure if she was an angel, she did not have wings, but her hair was shining red like crimson. Her skin was pale and white, like a porcelain doll’s, nothing marking or marring its beautiful surface. I sat up a little as she came closer, starlight shooting from her fingertips. Her voice was like that of a mountain stream, tinkling over the marbled bed.

‘Hello my child.’ She said. What should I answer back? I was rude, I said nothing, but she seemed to understand the very thoughts of my heart, and knelt down beside me, resting a warm hand on my cheek. ‘You are so cold.’ She pushed her hands down into the ashes. When they came out, there was not rubble or brick or bone, but a thick fur coat, so soft and clean. This she wrapped around my shoulders.

‘Why?’ I asked when I mustered enough courage. ‘Why has this happened?’

She smiled, her alabaster teeth gleaming at me. ‘That will always remain a mystery. Why do men’s hearts yearn for more? Why must greed and selfishness plague these lands? Do not trouble yourself with such things.’ She patted my head, then removed more items from the ash.

A silver platter filled with puffy danishes. She took one and broke it in half, putting one part to my mouth. The flavor was very good, like golden honey on a spring evening. It filled my body with energy and instantly the pain of my cracked and bleeding lips, of my tired and aching legs fled before its majesty. She ate the other half and we chewed slowly together, relishing the moment.

A golden cup containing a sweet, crystal clear liquid. This she placed to my lips and urged me to drink, which I did. The warm juice seemed to flow to my heart, where it raced through my veins and filled my soul with light and happiness.

And three small pictures.

One was of my Papa, standing in his regal uniform, the red and black swirl gleaming on his breast. One was of Roy, also wearing a uniform, though his was made from a lighter green material. He had two stars pinned to his collar. And the other…my Momma, smiling back.

‘Wh…how?’

The woman placed a finger on my lips. The rain began to poor more heavily, drenching the the fires and suppressing their heedless anger. It cascaded off my coat. I was not cold. She stood, smiled, and then walked away. It happened so quickly that I had forgotten to thank her, so I leapt to my feet and rushed after her, tugging on the hem of her skirt.

‘Thank you, mam.’ I said, looking up at her with endearment. She stopped and turned to me, her red hair flowing in the wind, the rain pelting down all around us, but not directly upon us. ‘What is your name?’ I asked.

She thought, for a moment, then answered, ‘I am called the Bringer of the Clouds. Not all clouds are bad, you know.’

‘I know.’

And then she was gone.

Many years have passed since that fateful day. The war has come and gone, the cities have been rebuilt, lives repaired. Many times have I told my story, but few have believed. What evidence had I? The silver plater and golden cup had disappeared in my dreams. The only things left of the memory were the three pictures. I have begun to wonder if it was not as they all have said, if I had not been only dreaming. It does not matter, I suppose, but in the end, I will always remember.

I will never forget, the Bringer.

On February 14th, 1940, an alliance of British and American bombers and warplanes descended on Dresden, Germany. Nearly three thousand tons of bombs, both large 'blockbusters' and smaller incendiary, were released on the heavily populated city below. Before the night was over, an estimated forty thousand people were killed.

The operation was considered to be a needed strategical attack, even though it would be acting out against innocent citizens. The consensus was, though, that there was a war being waged, and lives would have to be sacrificed if the Allies were to win and suppress, once again, Nazi Germany.

Through it all, only a few survived.

As time wears on, people seem to blur the lines. Nazi Germany was corrupted, and needed to be stopped, but the German people were nearly as oppressed as those Jews in the camps. They had no choice but to follow their Fuhrer. We must never forget, though, that every life is great.