Little Dark Hair

• Fiction

								
	I remember once my father told me about the family that lived across the street. He said that they were different and that I shouldn't make a habit of, "seeking them out." I was young, seven or eight, old enough to understand that Father meant what he said. The family that lived across the street was gone the next morning. The world was in chaos and my younger brother Lars and I were as far from understanding what that meant as we could be. I can only begin to understand the madness now.
         We moved to the country the summer I turned nine. My father had moved up in rank and that meant a new placement. The city had become something I couldn't recognize and the smell was both sickening and terrifying. But Father said the country held new memories and less turmoil. I must admit that the thought of living somewhere new rather excited me. But I was unaware of the loss of innocence I would soon be faced with.
I believe that there truly is a moment in any child's life when a sudden realization overwhelms them. It is as sudden as it is lasting. For a fraction of a second the child is aware that something greater than themselves has taken over. But as quickly as it makes itself known, it drifts away. One might compare it to seeing a familiar face on the street, looking into their eyes, and realizing, though the resemblance is uncanny, the face is that of a stranger. One may not give that moment a second thought for hours; for days. But at some point, that fraction of a second sneaks back into the mind and the thought of the familiar face resurfaces. I had my fraction of a second the day we moved into the country home. And it hasn't stopped haunting me for nearly seventy years.
It was the day I played soldier and marched through the house with my hand raised high and stomped over my little brother and said, "You just have that look, little Lars! Now off with you!" The house seemed to grow with streets and Lars ran fast through them being chased by a monster.
"I will catch you, little Lars, with your hair dark and eyes wide! Run fast and hide well but I am a soldier!" I flew through the alleys and shot down the stairs. The shack outside was hidden, dark, but with enough light to spot the shoes of the little dark hair. 
"Aha! I found you, little Lars. Come out and show yourself." I threw up my arm with a sign I knew all too well, and dragged out the body of the little dark hair.
"You aren't little Lars. Who are you little dark hair?"
"My name is Fanny and I am hiding from monsters."
"I am no monster but a soldier I am. My name is Gretel and you are in my game now!"
"I can't play a game, Soldier Gretel. I am hiding from monsters."
I raised my arm in the air. Fanny let out a cry, "You are one of them, soldier Gretel! Please just let me hide."
"One of who, little dark hair?" I am a soldier I said."
"You have hair yellow, like the sun, and clothes with many medals. You are one of his children."
Fanny ran past me like the wind. I raised my arm high, flew from the shack, ran up the stairs, through the hallway, to the kitchen, until I reached the table. "Mother, I saw a Little Dark Hair and this one wasn't Lars. She said her name was Fanny and she was hiding in the shed."
"Gretel, hush and sit still. Father is on his way home from the farm. Take off those silly clothes, girl. This is no time for play. Father is coming to tell us of the camps he's set up."
"What do you mean, Mama? Camps for children?"
"Camps for the others. The dark hairs."
Father walked in, his arm raised high, and said with a smile, "Gretel, it seems you've found the hiding girl. She'll be going to camp with the others."
The day I played soldier and marched through the house with my hand raised high and stomped over the little dark hair and said, "You just have that look, little Fanny! Now off with you!" In my fraction of a second, I killed a little girl. 
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