Rose

A Holocaust story.

Rose

As my eyelids fluttered open, the back of your bare, upright torso came into view. The smooth, pale complexion of your skin was illuminated by the contrast of your olive bed sheets. Behind your figure, a large window took up the entire wall of the room. The window was illuminated, almost as bright and vibrant as your being. It cast a shadow as dark as the curls that cascaded down your back. I pushed a few locks away, propped myself up and leaned into your body. My lips swiftly grazed your right shoulder, soon turning into a hungry display of affection. When you cocked your head and stretched out your neck, I accepted your invitation and planted my lips upon your skin again. I peered over your shoulder and noticed something glimmering in the palm of your hand, which lay relaxed in your lap. I made it out to be one of my medals, which decorated my uniform like a Christmas tree. I thought I heard you moan from pleasure, but I quickly realized it was a sob when your shoulders began to rise and fall. I took another glance at the window- and I saw fire. Fire like I’d never seen before. You threw my medal at the window and let out a terrible scream. I looked up at your face.

Author's Note

For anybody who's confused: the man is a German soldier and the woman is Jewish.