I was in my house. It was Christmas. We were celebrating,
when all of a sudden our cat, Misty, started crying and generally being the
nuisance he always is. Strangely, when I walked into the kitchen I found that he had given birth
to four kittens. This is strange for two reasons because:
The kittens, even though they had just
been born, could already see and walk quite well.
We had previously thought that Misty was a
male, and had fixed him as such.
A few days later, the air raid warning sirens went off. We were going to be bombed, so we all rushed
into the basement, the only place where we would be safe. We all got down there and I remembered two
things: We were at war against an inhuman enemy, who raped and pillaged and tortured for fun, and
that the kittens were around somewhere. I looked and looked but couldn't find them. Finally I asked
a few people they'd seen the kittens around, and then I came to my father, and asked him. He didn't
say anything, just brushed me off and went on working, getting ready for the bombs to fall. His silence
said all I needed to know. He had killed my kittens. I knew why he did it too: It was wartime and we had no way of sustaining any
extra life beyond our own, and the friends who were staying with us. To take my mind off of the horrible
hunger that came between breakfast and supper, (we had done away with lunch, and drank only water which
we got from the snow outside) I had taken to reading the classics: Dickens, Wilde, Hardy etc...
I know he had to do it all the same, but the fact that didn't tell me about it, just made me more angry
I tried to get him to respond to my accusations. I was yelling, crying, screaming at him, when the bombs
started to fall...
I went off into my corner, and sat down organizing my suitcase full of books. There were 15 explosions
After the commotion had ended, my father went upstairs to survey the damage. He
then came downstairs and told us we had to leave, leave everything behind and get going. Where, I didn't
know, but it would become all to clear in a moment. So I decided I would take one book. I asked
Neil what book I should bring, and we decided upon
"The Brothers Karamazov"
by Dostoyevsky. When we got upstairs, there
were two Russian Lieutenants telling us the war was over, and we had lost. I knew they were Russian
because they were dressed in the same military uniforms I had seen so many times in James Bond movies.
We were going to be taken to an internment camp. I was scared, I kept thinking
"...at least I'll be with people I know..."
, and usually this thought would comfort me, but it didn't this time. I turned off everything so I could
say goodbye to the house I had lived in all my life....
When I was brought back, I was told we weren't
leaving. My father had taken a chance, and saved our lives. He had this feeling that the Lieutenants
were lying, he risked everything, and gained our freedom. Apparently their bomber had been shot down, and
crashed outside our house. They thought with hostages they could make it back to Russian occupied Alaska.
As it was, I watched them walk out of out house, and away, into the frozen wasteland that is a