Her body was so cold. The man’s hands smeared with blood. I thought we could save Elizabeth. I was wrong. Her neck. I couldn’t take that scene out of my mind. In my mind, I wondered how many people out there in other towns in England were under rubble or pieces of Anderson Shelters. Words couldn’t describe my anger for Hitler. I don’t really know Elizabeth. She has been at my school, so I feel like I have lost something in my life. I could feel tears filling my eyes. They never come down. Looking back at the scene, I’ll never forget looking at the pale, bloody body of innocent little Elizabeth. I picture my life as a bunch of balloons. When something bad happens in my life, one of the balloons pops. Elizabeth is one of those balloons. The balloons of Papa and Mutti have already popped. My few balloons left consist of Aunt Miriam and others like Mrs Huntley. I walk past the perfectly intact green gate. Hitler knew what he was doing, he knew people would die. He just doesn’t care.