Disclaimer: I love these characters, I write about them, but they
just aren't mine.
Historian's note: Warsaw was actually taken by the Germans in both world wars: 1939 in WWII, and 1915 in WWI. Given my estimate as to Danny's age in 1943 (the year the movie is set in), he would have been 5 or 6 in 1915.
The rumbling was getting louder. He didn't know what it was, but it scared him. He was hiding under his bed when he heard his mother's voice.
"Danny, where are you?!"
Her footsteps were barely audible over the rumbling as she ran up the stairs.
"Mama, what's happening?" the boy called from under his bed. His mother appeared in the doorway of his room. She crossed the room swiftly and knelt beside the bed.
"Come on!"
She pulled her son from his hiding place and hurried him to the stairs.
"We must go to the cellar."
"What's that noise?"
"I'll explain later, just come!"
The pair reached the bottom of the stairs as the house shook. Pieces of plaster rained down around them as they crossed the living room. They had taken but a few steps when there was a deafening roar and the house rocked violently. An enormous bookcase was upset by the shaking, spilling its contents before it fell on the boy so quickly that his mother could do nothing but try to get it off of him until the roof came down a few seconds later-
Danny awoke in a panic. It was so dark, he couldn't see! In a few seconds he realized where he was. He was in his hut at the POW camp, and it was many years from when his nightmare had been real. He sat up quietly, rubbing a hand across his face in an attempt to banish the memory. Why did he have to remember now? Why must those days come back to haunt him when he was to spend weeks digging an escape tunnel so tight that he could barely crawl in it? He scarcely had more space in the tunnel then he'd had trapped under that bookcase so many years ago. By providence alone the oak bookcase had landed in such a way that he'd been trapped between shelves, leaving him cut and bruised, but not seriously injured. His mother hadn't been so lucky. When their house had collapsed, she was crushed by the rubble. He had spent agonizing hours listening to his mother's laboured breathing just feet away, and to the rumble of German bombs. His mother stopped breathing long before the bombing had ceased. The two days after, all alone, had nearly killed him. It had taken that long before his neighbours dug him out of his tiny prison.
He took his hand from his face. It was wet, and not for the first time. Even as he lay back down, listening to the gentle breathing and snoring of his roommates, he knew he would get no more sleep tonight.
Historian's note: Warsaw was actually taken by the Germans in both world wars: 1939 in WWII, and 1915 in WWI. Given my estimate as to Danny's age in 1943 (the year the movie is set in), he would have been 5 or 6 in 1915.
The rumbling was getting louder. He didn't know what it was, but it scared him. He was hiding under his bed when he heard his mother's voice.
"Danny, where are you?!"
Her footsteps were barely audible over the rumbling as she ran up the stairs.
"Mama, what's happening?" the boy called from under his bed. His mother appeared in the doorway of his room. She crossed the room swiftly and knelt beside the bed.
"Come on!"
She pulled her son from his hiding place and hurried him to the stairs.
"We must go to the cellar."
"What's that noise?"
"I'll explain later, just come!"
The pair reached the bottom of the stairs as the house shook. Pieces of plaster rained down around them as they crossed the living room. They had taken but a few steps when there was a deafening roar and the house rocked violently. An enormous bookcase was upset by the shaking, spilling its contents before it fell on the boy so quickly that his mother could do nothing but try to get it off of him until the roof came down a few seconds later-
Danny awoke in a panic. It was so dark, he couldn't see! In a few seconds he realized where he was. He was in his hut at the POW camp, and it was many years from when his nightmare had been real. He sat up quietly, rubbing a hand across his face in an attempt to banish the memory. Why did he have to remember now? Why must those days come back to haunt him when he was to spend weeks digging an escape tunnel so tight that he could barely crawl in it? He scarcely had more space in the tunnel then he'd had trapped under that bookcase so many years ago. By providence alone the oak bookcase had landed in such a way that he'd been trapped between shelves, leaving him cut and bruised, but not seriously injured. His mother hadn't been so lucky. When their house had collapsed, she was crushed by the rubble. He had spent agonizing hours listening to his mother's laboured breathing just feet away, and to the rumble of German bombs. His mother stopped breathing long before the bombing had ceased. The two days after, all alone, had nearly killed him. It had taken that long before his neighbours dug him out of his tiny prison.
He took his hand from his face. It was wet, and not for the first time. Even as he lay back down, listening to the gentle breathing and snoring of his roommates, he knew he would get no more sleep tonight.