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Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100
I’ve gone ‘there’ again. When the muse leads, I follow. But as EagleEye so aptly coined last week, “It’s a time too horrible to remember, too vile to forget.”
THE SONG’S STILL HEARD IN SELVINO
“It’s almost sundown,” said “Uncle” Moshe Ze’iri.
Clenching his fists, David followed the others to the huge Sciesopoli dining room. The familiar aroma of chicken soup filled his nostrils. It stirred memories of home and his parents, slaughtered before his eyes. After three years of lice and torture, why should he trust this smiling stranger or the Italians who had allied themselves with the monster?
“Shalom aleynu,” sang Uncle Moshe, his face aglow in the Sabbath candles, his voice tender and melodious. “Peace upon us…”
In that sweet moment the stone in David’s chest softened and beat once more.