Gretel studied her cards, the pins shone in the light filtering from the window. Humming, she looked down at the journal that detailed the army's movements. Smirking she pushed one of the pins deeper into enemy territory, they would win, she was sure. Germany was superior, no one could resist its anger! She frowned as she had to replace one of the happy red pins with a moody blue one, the thrice cursed North Americans had captured one of the troops! Her fingers fumbled as she tried to move another pin and it fell to the floor. bending down she spotted him driving, he stopped a few feet from her dolls. Grabbing it, she looked at them, they had fallen into disarray as she had begun to neglect them in favor of her cards. She turned around, tensing as she heard the floorboards creak, she moved closer to the half-open door, looking through the crack she saw... her brother. Bruno, the annoying one of her life, aged nine, always determined to embarrass her, to annoy her and, above all, to be a nuisance; Although he wasn't as bad as before they arrived at Auschwitz, she thought, watching him try to be stealthy as he descended the stairs. She closed the door as his head disappeared down the stairs, he was no doubt going to get a snack. Gretel turned back to her dolls, picking up one of the ones at the bottom; We remember well the day she received it. Gretel gave Bruno a bitter look, having not yet forgiven him for breaking his favorite doll the day before. "G-Gretel," he said hesitantly, "What?" she snapped as he approached her. He looked at her like he half expected her to rip his head off. "I-I bought you something...I'm, I'm sorry I broke your doll yesterday..." He paused and brought up a no-quite... middle of paper.. ....large metal pot in front of her. Mother shook her head (most likely because of Bruno's antics) and started looking for Bruno. She was joined by Father half an hour after her search began. After being joined by my father after about half an hour, they both searched for another hour. The mother came in and collapsed on a chair, while the father shouted “Bruno! » one last time. “I don’t understand, where could he be?” » my mother asked, pinching the bridge of her nose. Once impeccable, she was now slightly disheveled: the hem of her skirt was covered in mud and her red hair was starting to fall out of its net. “Maybe he’s dead,” Gretel said. She didn't believe it herself, but it was supposed to respond to Mother. "Gretel! Don't say such things, your brother is not dead!" “Maybe he ran away like a character from one of those fantasy novels he loved so much back then,” she said, examining her nails...