Rena

I've been working on this... Tell me what you think.


It was the week before The Night of the Broken Glass. I had my little name book, and looked for a respectful lady or gentleman to share my found knowledge. I walked up to a man with a black suit and black hat with a strange red sign I didn’t notice much. If I looked closer, I could have been saved from such prejudice. I looked up, my eyes searching for his eyes. Finally, he saw me. His lip curled in disgust when he saw my little yellow star on my brown coat.
Of course, I’ve seen people do that before, their expression, but the pain seared through me as if never before. I cleared my throat of the pain and began. “Hello, sir, would you like to tell me your name?”
“And why should I tell you?” He said in a sarcastic falsetto.
I showed the hating man my name book. “I got it some years ago. It’s still in mint condition though, isn’t it?” I asked proudly.
He rolled his cold, grey eyes and ignored me.
I didn’t think he understood the idea. “You see, sir, the idea is to give me your name, and I find the meaning to you. It’s like a game, and I try to get everyone I meet to try it out.” I shook the book in front of his gaze. “Do you want to try it out?”
“No.”
“Okay, watch.” I said as I flipped the pages to find the letter R for Rena. “My name is Rena. I go to Girls’ and flip to R. Look! “Rena: joyous song.” My mummy says I sing exceptionally well. Do you want to hear?”
“No. I don’t care what your mummy says or what your name is!” He snapped angrily, saliva flying into my face.
I tried yet again for him to see my point. I started to sing, “There are many paths we travel to seek a drop of tru-“
His expression got tighter and tighter, until he unleashed, and slapped me hard, making me drop my book. “Sing about that, you Jew!” He spat. It was then I realized what his black suit and hat meant, with its odd red sign. I looked closer, and my stomach lurched as I saw the dreaded swastika. He was a Nazi. (The mere thought of talking to a Nazi always scares me.) So I picked up my book and I ran, crying the whole way, for the pain of the slap and the normally beautiful word now used as if it was a curse.





What do you think? Is it good?


MaskedCat MaskedCat
13-15, F
May 20, 2012