[deleted]

*LOCKED*

Plagiarism.

"You're a Jew."


"Yes."


"My father says you're evil."


"Mine says the same about yours."

This was really good, congratulations! I don't actually know the story of the Boy in Striped Pyjamas (which you convinced me to look up later) but this does it credit! The perspective is well-written, although sometimes he is a bit mature, which will obviously come from being around policemen etc. A few little things, however.

Plenty of soap and buttons.

A song with no meaning, no emotion.

Six soft pops, like the sound at New Year's Eve when all the corks on fizzing champagne were yanked out.

The music died mid tempo.

halfway free, halfway trapped.

We had to write something in English mirroring 'The Boy In Striped Pajamas'. It's a bit simplistic compared to the over-descriptive approach I normally take, since it's from the eyes of a child. I am WAY out of my comfort zone in this piece, so it may be awful. Ye have my leave to tear apart.

My father is a large man. Larger than a normal man. He's very important. People say so, but they don't need to. I can tell he's important. He knows so. He wears a uniform. A fancy uniform with big, brass buttons and a silver belt.

The news says silver is hard to find. It also says soap and buttons are hard to find. But we have plenty of that here. Plenty of soap and buttons. The buttons barely shine and the soap has an odd smell, but I'm clean. The people in the striped clothes aren't though.

My family lives in a small house. Not too small, but not very big. It's always cold here though. Father says we are not to use the fireplace often. We used to, but the trees have all been cut down. They're all dead. Just open fields. Mother can still use the stove though, but not for much. We eat from cans, unless father comes back from hunting with food. But that doesn't happen very often. It snows a lot here. I miss Germany. I don't have friends here. The sons of Father's friends are all grown or gone.

I woke one night and it was snowing outside. Far across the field there's a small, black building. I'd never noticed it before. It lay beyond the fences. The fences are sharp, made of wire and metal. Through the window of the building I could see an orange glow. Orange and bright. Like fire. Outside there stood

a small line of people wearing striped clothes. Like a clown's clothes but black and white. Sad colors.

sad colours.

They marched slowly into the building, led by a man wearing the uniform of my father. A shadow passed

over the glow. Soft music, a single violin, pierced through the night, loud and shrill, the same three notes.

A song with no meaning, no emotion.

The man in the uniform shut the door. Strange sounds rang out into the air. The music couldn't cover them.


Six soft pops, like the sound at New Year's Eve when all the corks on fizzing champagne were yanked out.

The shadow moved and the glow returned. The music died mid tempo. Black smoke billowed out from the chimney. The door swung out and my father exited the building with three other men. They spoke a few words and parted.

My father approached our house. He wore his gloves that night. There was something on them. Something red. Dark red, almost black. He glanced up into my bedroom window as he passed. I scrambled into bed, pulling the sheets up to my chest.

Outside I could hear my father walk, his heavy boots beating against the wooden floorboards. Beating in quiet rhythm, like a tribal drum.

I opened one eye and glanced across the room. Through the crack below the door I could see the light from the hallway. My father's footsteps stopped. His shadow blocked the light of the hallway. He stood there for a long time. I shut my eyes. I may have fallen asleep. When I opened them again, he was gone.

My father has a gun. A Luger, he calls it. It's very beautiful. Silver and black. He's a policeman, he says, and a guard. He carries the gun in a brown holster he clips to his belt. It's always loaded, he tells me, ready to fire. It's a beautiful weapon. From afar it sounds a little like my toy pistol.

I was walking in the snow one day, bundled up in two coats. Mother insisted I wear

them both. I passed through the empty field and headed towards the camp. The silver fence shined

under the sunlight that made its way past the clouds.


The black building stood beside the northern fence. Smoke spilled from the chimney, not as strong, never as strong as when night fell. The smoke, the fires, never stopped. At the corner of the gate a boy around my age sat huddled in the snow, hugging himself. His striped clothes looked too big to fit him. He glanced up as I approached, just for a few seconds, then he looked away. I sat across from him, my hands resting on the fence. I spoke first.


"I'm Severin."


He didn't lift his head as he spoke.


"Olaf."


He shivered in the cold. I removed my first jacket.


"Are you cold?"


"Yes."


"You can have my coat."


"Ok."


I tried to toss the coat over the fence. It was so high up. It bounced off and drifted back to the earth. On the third try it landed atop the barbwire and stuck there, halfway free, halfway trapped.

"I'm sorry," I said.


"It's ok."


He wore a yellow star on his sleeve. A set of numbers were imprinted in his skin, like cattle. Branded. I stared at the star.


"You're a Jew."


"Yes."


"My father says you're evil."


"Mine says the same about yours."


He clutches something tight in his hands. I recognize the dull shine. A button.


"Where did you get your button?"


"It was my brother."


"Your brother is a button?"


"Now he is. Buttons and soap."


I shook my head. He wasn't making sense. I watched the smoke rise from the chimney of the building behind him.


"What do they burn in the fires?"


He didn't speak. His arms shook.


"Where is your father?"


"They took him. They took him today."


"What-" I began, then the music started to play.

Thankyou so much for reading, KJ! I really appreciate it.
x

Only thing I really spotted that was worth pointing out was this small blurb:

The silver fence shined under the sunlight that made its way past the clouds.

Thanks for the reviews, you two.
Maybe I should have explained better. I've changed it above now. We weren't meant to write a piece 'inspired' by the book, more like mirroring it, etc. XD
x

This story was very interesting indeed, but I agree with the above user. At times, a writer can be "inspired" by a movie or other story and want to write something similar. A problem arises when the plot line only differs in a jagged movement. You can change characters names and seasons all you want, but if a plot line is too similar, you're up for tons of controversy.

Now, on to a small review

The news says silver is hard to find. It also says soap and buttons are hard to find. But we have plenty of that here. [s]Plenty of soap and buttons.[/s] The buttons barely shine and the soap has an odd smell, but I'm clean. The people in the striped clothes aren't though.

Hello, god I haven't commented on this site for about a year!

This is actually pretty good, must agree it is incredibly simple, but since this is from a young boys point of view it's alright.

I wouldn't say this is "inspired" by "The Boy in The Striped Pyjamas", I would say it's basically the same story apart from the fact you've changed the season and the names. The plot is basically the same. I'm sorry if I sound harsh but I'm just incredibly touchy on that subject and recently watched the film with my college.