I was like a bird in captivity, longing to be free.

The attic, my cage, which only spoke through the

creaking of its floor boards.

I searched for the key, so that I could open up.

But alas my selfness was forever lost in the war.

Over the months, the barbed wire loosened,

I could almost taste the cold air outside.

Until one day, we almost got caught, and I could

finally feel the truth about why we are hidden.

I despised the attic, with each day my hatred toward 

it, growing stronger.

And then it was over, I wasn’t trapped anymore, but 

the place I was headed to was a million times worse 

then any attic.

Margot never spoke much, but she longed for more.

She was grateful to be safe, although couldn’t help 

feeling trapped.

Oh what she would give  just to smell the grass outside.

She was just an ordinary kid, like most of us, except the

war had taken away any sense of freedom she had left.

What if this had happened nowadays?

What if we had to hide and depend on rations from

someone on the outside?

The best thing we can do in remembrance of the 

people of the annex is to try and emphasize with what

they had to go through. 

Perhaps see through their eyes, live through their

stories.

And carry on their legacies, forever and always.