When you’re young, they say the world is yours. Like you can reach up and take it.
“The world is like a balloon,” my father told me.
“A red one?” I asked since red was my favorite color. My father nodded.
“Yes, the world is like a red balloon. In order to grab it, you must reach high, but once you do the balloon is now yours.”
“How do I know when to reach the balloon?” I asked my father. He smiled.
“You’ll know when the time comes.”

I always dreamed of my time coming. The point in my life where there was a red balloon in the sky. I often dreamed of the red balloon that would fly higher and higher, yet, I always seemed to be able to reach it.
This kept me happy. Until, one day, when everything was destroyed.

It was a normal day with my father sitting at the table. Sweat on his shiny bald head, as he rubbed his mustache. My younger sister was also sitting at the table, slurping something out of a wooden bowl. Her long blonde hair was tied in a ribbon and her bright eyes were red from just waking up.
“Jacques!” My father exclaimed as I approached the table.
“Are you ready for school?” I nodded.
“When can I go to school?” Adrienne, my younger sister, asked.
“Next year my little fille (daughter).”
“I’ll be going now,” I said.
“Goodbye, my le fiston (son).” I smiled. My dad threw me a red apple that flew through the air and into my hand.
“Thanks le pere (father). Goodbye sœur cadette (little sister)!” I called. I was about to step out of our wooden house, when a siren blared. I turned sharply around to see my father’s eyes wide with panic.
“We need to get into the shelter! Now!” The siren blared and I dropped my books and my red apple. They landed on the ground loudly, the apple then began to roll towards the door.
My father ushered us out the back door and into the yard. The door flew open, as we made our way over to the steel door on the ground. My father opened it, with dirt falling into the dark abyss that was a shelter. I heard a loud sound of planes flying overhead.
` “Hurry Les enfants (children)!” My father shouted. I went down to the shelter with my sister closely behind me. She then suddenly turned around on the steps.
“Mère (mother)!” she shouted. “The picture of mère (mother) is still in there!”
“No! I tried to grab her, but she ran past my dad and back into the house.
“Stay here Jacques!” My father told me. He shut the shelter door, leaving me in a dark abyss. I heard the planes fly overhead, which made my eyes grow wide. I climbed the steps back up to the steel door. I tried to lift it, but it was too heavy.
I pounded and banged on the door. Yelling and screaming for my le pere (father) and sœur cadette (younger sister). I heard more and more planes fly overhead, which worried me as there was no sign of my le pere and sœur cadette.
Then… I heard it. The sound of a bomb crashing. The shock sent me flying to the ground; my head banged on the cold concrete floor and the world I knew disappeared as I lost consciousness.

Germany had taken over France. The bright, glistening, red world I knew turned to grey and ash. The Germans found me in the bomb shelter when I had only recently regained consciousness. They spoke a foreign language to me, so they used a translator to ask me my race. I wasn’t a jew, so the verdict was concluded to send me to an orphanage.
“What about my le pere (father) and sœur cadette (younger sister)?” I asked the soldiers.
“Was ist is meinem Vater und meiner jüngeren Schwester?” The translator asked. The soldier looked into my dark eyes. He then looked at my wet mattered brown hair, the freckles on my nose, and my plain clothes. It was like he was trying to see right through me.
“Folge mir,” he said.
“Suis moi (follow me),” the translator told me. I nodded.
We made our way out of the shelter. My mouth flew open as no words came. I was stunned, shocked, horrified. The once green, lush, yard with my Mère’s (mother’s) garden was no grey and ash. Nothing remained of the house except some wood almost ash and grey smoke and clouds.
I ran to the house, the only noise was me screaming. The soldiers tried to grab me, but I slid past them. The upstairs was completely gone, and wooden beams and ash still fell. I stepped on something that cracked beneath me. I looked down to see Mère’s picture on the ground. I picked it up and scraped the ash off of it. The glass was cracked and the bottom was half gone.
I looked back over to see the soldiers coming towards me. My instincts kicked in.
I ran, as fast as I could. Out of the house and onto the barren ground. I ran onto the sidewalk and down our street. I could hear the soldiers running to catch me, but I kept going. All the buildings around were grey and ash.
I ran faster and faster, closing my eyes to block out the grey world. I wanted something bright, something that I could hold. I wanted my sœur cadette (younger sister) and my le père (father).
I opened my eyes and saw a street that I could turn and hide from the shoulders. I looked behind me to make sure that the soldiers were far enough away. When I saw that they were, I turned the corner and pressed my back across a half-burned wall.
I breathed in and out heavily as I looked down at the broken picture frame in my hand. I saw a bright glint in the glass making me turn to the side.
Then, I saw it.
The red balloon.
It was hovering, just above the ground. It was bright and glistening in the grey world. It seemed like the only color alive right now. I stepped closer to it, remembering my le pere’s (father’s)words:
“Yes, the world is like a red balloon. In order to grab it, you must reach high, but once you do the balloon is now yours.”
I reached out my hand, towards the balloon.
“ ….you must reach high, but once you do the balloon is now yours.”
I reached out and grabbed the balloon, and in so, I seized the world that day.

The End.