6. Pessimistic

Slow currents of air forced themselves through the small window. The others were all closed. It was hot and humid, very humid. She could have sworn they were in the tropic, but was it so? No, they weren’t. But the weather suited the situation in a twisted way.
Smiles and laughter had gone with her. Fun and happyness had packed their bags and left. They didn’t know how to go on, if there was even a future.
Their black clothes nearly choked them, but she wouldn’t let them wear anything else, and they had nothing else, either. It wasn’t fitting for these children to walk around in black. They should run away, they should flee. But she wanted to stay, she didn’t let them. How often had they begged her, and she had always responded the same way. The bruises on their backs would never heal if she didn’t stop. And to make her stop they would have to stop telling her they had to leave, now. But they didn’t want to give up, and they knew very well they wouldn’t make it alone.
Then the first germans came, and they gave up hope, like she had when her best friend had died.