sunshine // h.s.

one

"And who might you be?"

The question came too quick as I stood in front of the desk. The young women raised her eyebrows, hurrying me along with an answer.

"Eleanor Jane."

"Last name?"

"It's-"

"Eleanor! Darling!" My head whipped to the side as I saw the man rush towards me. "I'm so glad you could make it!"

"It's no problem, dear," I said. He started to walk, waving his hand for me to follow him. I moved the cane and began to follow him, walking slower to pace myself.

I followed him into a small room. The room was bare; all that was in it was two chairs and a table, while a tape recorder sat in the middle, preparing to record every sound made.

He rushed towards the table, sitting the folder in his hands down and flipping through the contents. He took the sleeve of his over sized suit and wiped off his forehead as sweat trickled down it. He moved quickly as he then pulled out one of the dark green plastic chairs.

"You can take a seat here," he said. "We're so glad you could make. I understand you don't like to get out much." I gave off a soft smile and slowly sat in the chair he pulled put. He then frantically moved to the other chair and sat down. "Alright, Mrs..." He scanned through his papers, trying to find my last name written somewhere.

"Eleanor is fine," I said.

"Awesome. I'm Marcus by the way," he said. "Are you ready to begin?" I nodded and he smiled at me. He pressed record on the tape, and flipped through more pages. "How old are you?"

"I'm 94," I softly spoke. "95 in October."

Marcus nodded, writing down my answer to his question. He seemed to be nervous as he moved quickly, making everything perfect.

"It says here you were part of the Holocaust?" He asked. I nodded, pulling up my sleeve to reveal the six digit number permanently inked into my skin. "Do you remember anything? Would you mind sharing?"

"Of course," I said. "It was the 11th of October, 1942. A couple of my girlfriends and I were walking along the shops, gazing through the windows. We always wished to get our hands on some of those beautifully threaded fabrics," I paused, recalling the events. "It was my 18th birthday party that night. We were all excited to throw my first party. That is, until we heard a shout from the distance..."

***

"Hey! Get your filthy hands off of my husband!" A woman yelled, trying to tug her husband away from the soldier. The soldier chuckled, throwing the man towards a different soldier in blue - instead of green. He grabbed a hold of the woman, yanking her arm to make her fall against his chest as she struggled to get away.

"Marilyn! Stop, you're making it worse!" The man held captive yelled, tugging to get his arm free. Marilyn started sobbing, but she didn't listen, she kept fighting.

"Get off of me," she screamed, flaring her arms and trying to run towards her husband. The soldier grabbed her shoulders and threw her to her knees, watching as she hissed out in pain, and looked down at the ground below her.

"Shut it," the soldier said. I watched he reached back and pulled out a smooth, black pistol. My eyes widened and my hands came up to cover my mouth in horror. Marilyn clasped her hands together in front of her and begged to be let go, while the soldier only shook his head, aiming the barrel of the gun to the center of her forehead before-

"Eleanor!" I whipped my head to the side, looking to who called my name as a gunshot and a thud was echoed throughout the city. "We have to get out of here!"