April 4th, 1941
I am weary to the very bones. The once boisterous little town that I grew
up is now a skeleton plucked to the core by disease and famine. When I was a boy, I can recall recoiling at
the crowds of people trying to drag me out of my introverted shell. Now, I long for those laughing people wanting
to make an honest man out of me.
Every day is a struggle.
The soldiers march through and we rush to their aid as if we are
loyalists. Mother stays safely tucked
away, huddling within our home, praying they do not stare at her too long. If they enter what is left of our hovel, she moves
to give them lodging, food, drink, whatever we have. We learned long ago not to deny them
anything.
Do not even act as if you would deny them anything.
We received word that the prison camps have been
expanded. It is no longer just those who
are labeled Jewish that are thrown away to die.
We are faced with the very real possibility that someone will learn of
Mother’s secret and soon. There is heaviness
in this home, which pushes down upon our shoulders like the weight of a
thousand dead innocents.
At dinner this evening Mother and Father quarreled. I cannot recall in all my years having ever
seen the two of them fight. Mother
demanded to know why my father would not contact ‘Him.’ Father countered with not being able to trust
‘their kind’ and that she should know what ‘He’ would want in return. All I could do was stare at them in wonder as
they stormed through the house and ended up in Father’s study.
I could hear them continuing to shout even after they slammed
the door.
Food is scarce at this juncture and so I finished my bland
soup in silence and then retired to the laboratory below.
I cannot recall how long it has been since I figured out my
father’s secret. I barely recall the
first time I stepped into this place of wonder.
It once frightened and disgusted me, but now I am filled with wonder and
desire. I do not know how he still
manages to get his hands upon the blood, but I can imagine it is why my parents
quarreled tonight. Surely creatures with
the ability to heal nearly any wound and move about in our society unseen could
help us, and yet my father hesitates.
I understand my mother’s anger. There is no reason I can fathom that is worth
Father leaving us in this Hell. Whether
it be from a stray bomb or from the soldiers collecting us and throwing us into
camps; we are going to die here. If
there is any way that we can escape, why not take it? Even if it means making deals with the devils
that walk the Earth.
The night was quiet and so I spent much of it going over
notes and then destroying them. Father
and I have decided his research is far too dangerous for the Nazis to get their
hands upon. Still, we have become
invested in what it could mean for the betterment of humanity. I memorize every page, every doodle, and
every theory, and then burn the pages to ash.
The only record of how to mingle their blood and ours rests in my mind.
One day I will unlock the secret to how their blood
works. There is some sort of mechanism
that gives it the regenerative properties and once I have it, then I can work
towards reproducing it.
Of course, it is a long and arduous task. It may be one that outlives me. Not just because I am constantly under
assault due to this terrible war, but because of my sinful secret. I suppose if I live through this, I may have
to seriously consider a wife and family.
I am not pleased by the idea of having to deceive a woman for the rest
of my days, but maybe I can find one that an understanding can be had with.
It’s possible, isn’t it?
I sincerely hope so.
I will write again when I can, Journal. Goodnight.
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