Rose A(hiatus)

United States

Hi! I'm Rose
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Flowers of Fall

Hamilton Fan
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obsessed with books
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kind of decent writer(?)
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a little weird ngl

est... um... September 2020??

Message from Writer

Sorry for being so inactive for the past month! I technically broke my hiatus, so I figured I should update this. I might come on here a bit more now, but I probably won't be on here regularly until summertime. But I think I can remember to update my shoutouts once in a while.

If you've come to my profile, say hi! I'll check out you and your WtW pals.

Here are some amazing writers that I think deserve a shoutout. You should totally checked them out! If you haven't been on here yet, but you want to, let me know!

anemoia (#words)

Please check these writers out!

Remember to smile! And a huge thank you to the 90+ people that follow me. It means a lot! :)


Abagail's Diary

September 22, 2020

Date: January 13, 1942

Dear Diary,

It’s been a little over a month since the attack on that military base. The United States has joined the war. Uncle Amos and I were playing cards and listening to the radio when it happened. He was teaching me some American card games when H. V. Kaltenborn came on. Uncle Amos was incredibly angry. His face got red and he began yelling in German- even though we had agreed to speak only English until perfected it.

“Curse em’!” He shouted, storming off to his room in our two-bedroom apartment. I sat there for a moment, shocked. I had a feeling something would happen eventually, but this? I took the cards lying across the table and stuck them in my pocket. I knew Uncle wouldn’t be coming out for a while so I decided to start on a paper for my English class.

You see, Uncle Amos was a teacher, so he’s very strict about education. That’s partially why he had me buy you, Diary. We’ll get back to that, though. When we arrived in the U.S., the first thing my uncle did was set me up at the local school. Then, he rented us an apartment. It’s tiny, very different from the german manor where I once lived. “Now Abagail,” he told me the night we came here, “Things are very different from Germany here. There will not be as many pleasantries as you are used to. No more endless snacks, no more weekly dress shopping. We need to hold on to our money.” 

That was two years ago. Before the Americans stopped letting as many Germans and Jews in. Now, Diary, I’ve only had you for a week, so you don’t know much about me. You see, those two years ago, I lived in a wealthy Jewish family in Germany. I was one of two children. I had a brother, six years my elder. My mother was about to have a third child. Our parents were very loving. And our birthdays were filled with presents, family, and friends. We were all very happy. But when the Socialist party began to take over, my family was in trouble. Why you might ask? 

  Because we were Jewish.

All of the Christian friends that we’d had turned their backs on us. The only people that would speak to us were our fellow brothers and sisters. I would spend several nights crying in my father’s lap, wondering why my friends no longer liked me. I was very depressed. When my father switched me into an all Jewish school, I didn’t complain or ask why. I saw it as a chance to start over. I did not yet understand the rules we had to follow.

But our isolation wasn’t enough. Soon, they began taking away Jews. My mother and father grew worried for our safety. When they heard about the labor camps, they decided we needed to go. We had to get out of Germany. So, they got together with my Uncle Amos to plan our escape. We would pay for a visa to get into the U.S. and use our generous family savings to find somewhere to live.

You might wonder why I talk about them in the past tense. That’s because they didn’t come to America with us. We were boarding a train that would take us to France, hiding the six points within layers of clothing. We had to be quiet so as not to draw attention to ourselves. I was very whiny that day. Our quick getaway meant I couldn’t take any of my dolls or my luxury dollhouse. And whiny and sneaky aren’t the same thing.

My father was a very kind man, slow to anger. But eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore. “Abagail! Will you stop your whining? No more talk of your dollhouse! We all had to leave stuff behind, alright.” this might have gone unnoticed if not for the Stormtrooper boarding alongside us. My mother looked at me, eyes wide as he walked towards us.

My father and brother stepped in front of us protectively. My brother glanced back at us. “Run!” he commanded. Mother nodded, grabbing my hand, and taking off. We darted through alleys and streets. My mother was having trouble keeping up. After a few blocks, it was too much. She collapsed on the ground. I huddled next to her, scared.

“Mama, what are you doing? We have to go!”
She looked at me with tired eyes. “Sweetie, I’m afraid I can’t go a step further.” she patted her protruding, seven-month pregnant belly. Her face was red and streaked with sweat.
“But they’ll take us! We’ll be sent away,”
“No, I will,” she said firmly. I stared at her. Her voice softened.
“You will run. Run and find your uncle. Then you will go to America and be free.”
“I won’t leave you!”
Footsteps sounded behind us. Mama handed me our savings. 
“Go, child! Hurry!”
With tears blurring my vision, confusion frazzling my thoughts, I ran as fast as I could.

After huddling in a cold alleyway for hours, I ran to my uncle’s house near the station and we left the next day. I haven’t seen my family since. I don't know what happened to them, or if they're alive. It’s not so bad, sometimes, I forget that anything happened, but remembering is even worse. I’m consumed with grief, guilt, anger. 

That’s also why Uncle Amos got you, Diary. He said expressing your feelings makes you feel better. I’m still a little skeptical, but this is the first time I’ve ever told anyone about what happened. And… I feel much better. So maybe he was right.

I hate to end my time with you on such a sad note but my Uncle is calling for me. Looks like I got to go. I’ll tell you more later, Promise! 

Abagail Franklin

PS: I think we’ll be good friends!
This is a fictional story about a Jewish girl who has escaped Germany and went to America with her uncle.


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