Behind a Bookcase

Summer 1942

Well our family is quiet as mice, hardly moving during the day. All I have are books mostly to amuse me with. I wonder when this will all be over? Us being in hiding. I feel trapped like tuna in a can. I remember days of running free wth my sister, games we would play in the street. The way wind feels. The way rain feels. The way sun can tan and warm. The way dirt feels on my feet. The way freedom feels. I love my family but there is more out there, out there in our now war ruined land. At night I move more freely but it is not enough. My father gave me a diary for my 13th birthday, in it I will write and write and write. Forming letters, ink to paper my silent dreams, thoughts, wishes. Beyond this secret annex, beyond the movable bookcase, my imagination is still free. I am not a mouse but I feel like one!

Anne