author's note: This was an optional assignment I decided to do for my English class regarding racism and homossexuality. It's a little angsty (I swore to myself I'd never write angst) and it's not really my thing, but hey, it's not that bad.

So I hope you enjoy it :)

Michael unfolded the worn, crumbled up paper from his old mahogany desk, erratically sketching on it the things he had witnessed for the last couple of days.

Shoes without its pair.

Broken watches.

Dead bodies. An ungodly amount of bodies lying lifeless on the floor, stripped, naked from any dignity, just dumped there; some shot in the back of their head, others strangled and beaten to death once the Arians’ guns had ran out of munitions, every single of them drowned in the puddle of their own blood.

An unsettling feeling of tightness took Michael’s chest and squeezed it. His body erupted in a chain of uncontrollable shivering as soon as the gruesome, disconcerting images replayed over and over on his mind, torturing his restless soul.

Michael knew no one was safe but the pure-blooded ones. Last week They had taken his little sister; she was found two days later, floating over the Schwentine River, just a few miles away from their home. Nothing else but bruises covered her petite, feeble body.

Streams of salty, hot tears trickled down his weary, white-snow face.

It was a matter of time before they got him too. There was nothing he could do about it; his hands were tied, it was an unequal fight, and he was powerless. His senses were getting number and number, soon enough he wouldn’t be able to feel anything.

He lifted his tired eyes away from the table, stealing a quick glance over the modest, hay mattress he’d call bed, to find Bradford, napping so peacefully, sleeping away all the worries and sorrows of his young and scarred life. Just yesterday, he finally came with terms about his…attraction towards male and confessed it to his family. Bradford’s father told him he’d burn in hell as well as the other faggots, that he was praying to God Hitler would get him and give him the punishment he deserved. He was thrown out of the house and Michael had been the first person he’d thought of going to.

Another knot in Michael’s throat was formed at the possibility of losing Bradford. It was quite evident he was a Jew, as well as Michael and more than half of the entire country. His curly, ostentatious afro that he’d show off with so much pride and joy was probably, the most obvious give-away about him.

Michael couldn’t even conceive the idea of losing the love of his life to an uneven, pointless war. I couldn’t They just let them be?

The youngster scrapped off an old, washed-out sticker from the table with his dirty, uncut nail, feeling his heavy, burning eyelids forcing closure, giving into the exhaustion of three nights without sleep. One Michael filled with restlessness, despair, sorrow and hopelessness looked over the window, contemplating briefly the gloaming scenario of destruction and abandon of the streets.

He had given into the exhaustion for that day, tossing the chewed pencil carelessly over the wooden surface, the young Jew got up, crawling defeated over the suddenly-so-appealing mattress, nesting behind the heavy-sleeping Bradford, timidly and frightfully tangling his arm around the curly haired’s skeletal silhouette, allowing his mind to wander over Dreamland. For brief seconds his mind had come at ease. Maybe life isn't so tragic if you have someone to share it with.

How much innocent blood needed to be shed until it ended?

Why won’t They just let them be?

author's note:Please care to leave a review? It would make my day, plus I'm sick :3