The Music Box

The thin-faced girl ran through the blocks of devastated homes, clutching a mysterious object to her chest as she fled. Bombshells were being dropped overhead like drops of autumn rain. The girl ran as quickly as she could, as the Nazi tanks neared.

Panting, Eekra hurriedly climbed a pile of rubble that was once her school, and as she caught her slight foot on a twisted mesh of metal, she fell over with the box still in her arms. She tumbled down the high pile and fell backwards through the broken window of the adjacent building that was still standing. Eekra found herself lying on the dusty floor of a dark abandoned cellar. Frightened, she pulled herself up with her little box and crawled to a corner. She sat quietly, hardly daring to breathe, listening for the soldiers. There was nothing for a few painfully quiet moments and then - - another explosion. Eekra finally cried, holding the badly-wrapped box more tightly than ever.

You see, Eekra was eight today. She and her parents were forced to celebrate ever so quietly, what with the coming of the troops into their Polish town. Papa had the neighbors come over, and they actually had great fun in the midst of the war. Mother had kissed her, and handed Eekra the little package she still held in the cellar now. Eekra had not yet opened it, because at that very moment, the side of their feeble house was blown away. Panic ripped through the smoky air. Papa was yelling at everyone to go beneath as the neighbors screamed. Mother started, and in an attempt to grab Eekra by the arm, she failed, blinded by the rising and falling dust. The force of the explosion had completely thrown Eekra off her feet anyway, and she had fallen into a heap by the far wall that was swaying ominously. Mother choked Eekra’s name hysterically. Dazed and completely stunned, Eekra lay on the floor with her gift still in her hands. Motionless, Eekra squinted through watering eyes as Papa grabbed Mother and pushed her into the cellar, in a bid to save at least her life. Eekra was jarred into her senses as suddenly as she had been thrown out of them, and she quickly scrambled out the back door, racing with the whistling shots. Only when she reached the end of the wrecked street she turned, and caught a final glimpse of her home, before it collapsed down to its very foundations.

And now she cried as she fingered the package. Slowly, she turned the square-shaped object in her small, rough hands and examined it through a blur.

A tank rumbled overhead.

Gently, Eekra tore the creased brown paper at the edges and pulled it away. She gazed at the beautiful silver box beneath with childish wonder. It gleamed in her grubby hands, and she traced her finger over the beautiful engravings on the lid.

The tank stopped.

Eekra slowly lifted the lid, and she took no notice of the fresh onslaught of bombs as music fell on her ears. Her music box was now her only possession in the whole world, and she was its only sharer. She held the music box tightly to her chest and rocked to and fro, humming with the tinkling soft tune as she cried. She gradually slumped onto the floor, and her humming was replaced by a light snore as her sobs were overtaken by uncontrollable sniffles.

The tank above was quite finished with its destruction. It continued to plough through what used to be a homely town. And as it passed by what it presumed to be a lonesome building, it was deaf to the sound of music.