January 2025; Seattle, Washington, USA Yes, he was old, whithering, on the brink of death. The Grim Reaper stared him in the face and didn’t look away, and yet, something happened when he felt that soft, inviting slice of fabric. He…………….

Still…………….

Heard…………….

It…………….

September 1939; Danzig, Poland

**** The young boy turned thirteen today. He was tall and lean for his age, and handsome. Very handsome indeed. He was usually very confident, too, but today, he stumbled over Hebrew words, reciting them oh so carefully as to not mispronounce anything.

He made it through.

When he stepped off of the podium, there she was. The young lady was his age, and she was prettier than most. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her and her perfect, shiny hair.

And her dress.

Her dress was made of wine-colored velvet, and she stood shyly in it.

“May I have this dance?” She asked in soft, familiar Polish. She reached out a pale hand, and it shook on the way.

The boy, starstruck, reached for her hand. He took it. Softly, slowly, surely, he drew her in and placed a hand on her shoulder, and the way it felt… That soft slice of fabric was so distinct, he might never forget it. The two started to sway together, but bedlam was unleashed just a few feet away.

There were screams and hurried, running footsteps and a large, booming crrrracckkkkk!

He realized soon enough that it was the door being broken down.

There were uniformed men, and the harrowing sounds of angry, alien German.

He might have blacked out somewhere along the way, but the last time he saw her, she was being dragged away by two men, her face a fine portrait of helplessness and pure terror.

Who knows if she made it through.