This story is inspired by The Boy in the Striped Pajamas written by John Boyne. This was originally a part of my homework for english class, by using a particular context to create an opening of a story. I considered this whole story as an opening, but either way, it seems like a full story to me.

This is a oneshot only.


Papa had a really bad bruise on his cheek. It had a strange shape. If I had put my right hand over the bruise, it would almost be the same shape as my hand, except it was much bigger. I think the men in the uniform with the guns did it to him. They always hit him and shout at him. It scares me. Papa tells me to cover my eyes and stop crying.

They would always hurt us, even if we were too little or too old. They didn't let us play nor have any fun and they never let us go to the other side of the fence.

The fence was so scary. It had spiky things all over it and it was so tall, that even if the tallest man in the world jumped up high, they would not reach the top.

I don't know why they kept us here. I don't like it here. I had so much fun back at my real home.

I miss my mama. They took her away, too. I can't remember how she looks like anymore.

"Papa," I called him. I found him sitting on the bed in the hut. It didn't look like a bed, but that's what we slept on. Lots of other men slept in this hut too. There's usually no room to move, but Papa and I were the only ones in there at the moment.

He looked up at me and quickly looked away, covering his left eye. It didn't matter. I saw it. His eye was red and blue and black and purple and all different colours. There was liquid stuff coming out of it. "Not now, please," He said to me.

"Papa, why are we here?" I asked him eagerly. "Why do they treat us like animals? Those men in uniform? And why don't they ever let us have fun? Or go out of this stupid fence?"

He covered my mouth so that I wouldn't ask any more questions.

Papa answered in a whisper. "They want to get rid of us. They don't like us because we are Jewish." He hesitated for a moment. He sounded like he was going to cry. "You must behave yourself and do everything they tell you to do. I don't want you to get hurt. Please, be good to them." He pleaded.

As soon as he finished speaking, a man kicked the wooden door open with his shiny boots and cocked his gun towards us.

"Get out." He commanded in a loud voice.

Papa stood up immediately, stepping in front of me. I just sat there, more frightened than I had ever been.

The man in the shiny boots stomped closer to us, aiming his gun at my head. "Get up, you useless Jew! GET UP!" He bellowed.

Papa held the end of the gun and tried to point it away from me.

There was a deafening bang.

Papa fell down.