Anne Deboer: A Fictional Narrative

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Early one Saturday morning, Anne woke up to the sour smell of gun smoke and the shrieks of dying soldiers. The dark clouds covered the beautiful sun as he stared out the window wondering what had just happened. Nazis were parading themselves into their small town in the Netherlands.
Suddenly, the door burst open. A tall man shouted, “We are looking for Anne deBoer.”
Anne came running down the stairs, wondering who it was. He saw the symbol on his left shoulder. Oh my gosh, am I looking into the dark eyes of my family’s killer? Then he realized. “No, you can’t do this to me, you can’t take me away.”
The man barked, “Come with me, now!” reaching for his gun.
Anne walked outside and saw his best friend, Arie. They walked through the bloodstained meadow where he had
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Anne’s daughter was there, and she was headed to the showers. Anne thought that wasn’t so bad, but then he saw a man pouring in gas and his daughter fell to the floor with a scream so loud and disturbing. He collapsed, crying. He would never see her again.
Another two months passed. Arie came into the room as skinny as a broom shaft. One day later, he was dead, sitting in the chair. Stopping in his tracks, Anne stared at him. “He is sleeping, just sleeping.” They never take his body, so every morning and every night, Anne stares into the lifeless eyes of his once best friend. Arie will never see his family again, he thought. Finally, men take his body . . . but then things got worse. Anne was alone afraid and starving.
Four months passed, and Anne was as skinny as Arie was. Three days later, the Canadian army came. There was a huge battle, and Anne was shot in the leg and chest.
Bang ! Bang ! Shoot, bang ! Bang!
He was shot again in the chest. His life flashed before his eyes. I’m dead, he thought, but he found the courage and strength to run to the train.
As he arrived home, he shouted, “I am home, I will never leave
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