The Yellow Crayon

The cold breeze coming from a barred window.

The papers under a glass flapping up and down from the draft.

A boy sits at his desk next to the window in a darkened room.

A pencil in hand, doodling a drawing on a piece of paper.

The boy looks out the night sky through the bars, the streets barren and lifeless.

In the distance, an eagle perched up on a watchtower, eying the streets.

The cawing from it, loud and clear, piercing through the boy’s ears.

The boy holds his ears and clenches his eyes shut. 

A slight tingling of nervousness growing within.

The boy turns to his bed, illuminated by the moonlight.

At the foot of his bed lies a black buttoned coat, a star right on the chest of it.

The boy closes his eyes, the look of light suddenly piercing through his eyelids, ever so slightly.

The sun is now up.

The boy suddenly feels safe and has nothing to fear.

Brightening the room, sky, and brick red tiled roofs in the distance with its yellow haze.

An image so beautiful that it burned into the boy's head.

Outside, the streets are alive with people walking and cars of different colors driving around.

The boy looks at his bed, the coat still laying there, but the star is not in sight.

The boy opens his eyes, the room back to darkness.

He stares at the dark black sky.

“One day.” The boy says before grabbing a piece of paper…

and a yellow crayon.

YOU are not just a survivor. 

YOUR story is greater than the Holocaust. 

YOUR identity is valid and deserves recognition. 

YOUR legacy will endure, preserved forever. 

YOU will not be forgotten.

WE will honor your memory.