To Live is to Love: Prologue

Better summary: Laura Love, passionate about writing, and a victim of war's hardships finds the parallels between Anne Frank and herself phenominal. Afterall, both had been compelled to part from society in order to escape the dangers lurking in every direction of the outside world, both had emptied their thoughts into a private journal, and now Laura has become convinced that she will ultimately meet the same tragic fate. Only when she makes Anne's courage and optimism her own can she look past all of the painful experiences she faced, along with those yet to come, and genuinely feel happy. But forgetting will not be as simple as she imagined it to be when reality continuously gets in the way. For Laura, reality comes in all forms may it be the struggle to understand her older brother who chooses to fight on the wrong side of the battlefield or the confrontation with the very human beings that marked an awful turning point in her gradually disintegrating life.

Author's note: The majority of the characters are based off of people I know in real life and some historical figures and events are included. Regardless of any content that may or may not seem real, please remember that this story is and will always be fictional. **On a side note, sorry if it seems a little short, but I promise next time around, it will be much, much longer. Enjoy, and don't forget to review!

Another Note: So nobody is confused, I just want to remind readers that this is in the form of a diary entry because it is supposed to pay homage to Anne Frank, hence the lack of "story." Keep in mind, it is only the Prologue. I promise there will be a "story" for the first chapter and there on out.


June 15th, 2011

"Although it is my perspective that our own, personal experiences will essentially move us along in life, I have also come to believe that a change striking prematurely can become too much for us to handle simply because we were not prepared for its unbearable weight. I prefer not to think that we who suffer hardships and tragedies have done anything to deserve them, rather that they can happen to just about anyone, and while speaking to others whom you are close to is an integral part of overcoming pain, the power to cope and to heal truly rests in our hands alone. We will endure the struggle to balance our emotions until we eventually make ourselves jaded—a state of mind that would have been inflicted upon me had it not been for Anne Frank, my hero and ultimately my inspiration for wanting to be a writer.

Surely there cannot be many who are unacquainted with this courageous figure, after all she is nearly as historical as World War 2, itself. Beginning in 1942, when Jewish persecution by Nazis increased in the Netherlands, she and her family went into hiding in the annex of her father, Otto Frank’s office building. Anne had brought with her a diary in which she periodically discussed her experiences having been isolated in a small location from the rest of the world, until the day came in 1944 that her family had been betrayed by an unidentified outsider and taken to a concentration camp where death and disease roamed freely. There, her family was separated, forced into hard labor, and after seven months Anne Frank died of typhus. When the war had ended, Mr. Frank, the only survivor of the family returned to the annex where he found his daughter’s diary and had taken it upon himself to get it published.

In the present day, Anne continues to be commemorated through her diary by people all around the world, including me—just another young girl struggling to make it through a difficult time, and trying to pursue a dream of mine all the while. It is not so much what Anne had gone through that I admire, it is mainly her high-spirited and positive attitude that makes her book worthy of reading, and when I think of her, I am provoked to turn into someone I’m not, yet someone I have always wanted to be. We have led different lifestyles, but concurrently we are wholly and utterly the same.

Growing up in a middle class neighborhood of New York City, I may not have been given everything I wanted, but God had blessed me with a nice home, a healthy upbringing, and a loving family, which turned out to be everything I needed. Where I lived and how I was raised, of course, are small matters compared to the unit of people who had been my guide all along to a bright future. It is my lack of gratitude towards them—the people who had enabled me to grow, who had given me a sense of belonging that I feel will eternally be the biggest regret of my life.

My mom for instance, the person whom I had inherited so much from may it be my physical appearance, my intelligence, or my personality, was the light of us all, and conceivably the most gifted woman I had ever known. She owned a small bookstore, and despite its size, it grew to be highly successful, which I believe is because her genuineness had appealed to so many customers. Sometimes I felt like she was the only person I could go to for comfort, or even if I just needed someone to talk to, and it was no wonder to me why others would want to do the same. Mom was not one to keep secrets or cover up what she was truly feeling—if she had something to say, by all means, she’d say it, and that is what I loved most about her.

My father on the other hand was a hospitable and outspoken politician who occasionally became inattentive to what went on within the family due to his busy schedule. Our misunderstanding for one another often led us to butt heads, and sometimes I’d take it too far by belittling him or not showing him any respect. I had said some awful things about him behind his back, things that should never be said about anyone’s father, but what’s important is that I always felt guilty afterwards. Anne was not afraid to admit she was wrong to treat her mother the way she did, nor was I afraid to take back all I had said about Dad. I was also not afraid to admit that I loved him, and I hoped that one day, maybe after my teenage years had passed and we could be friends again, I’d be able to say it to his face.

I also have a brother named Vince who will be turning twenty-seven in July, though I am not sure I have much to say about him. His interest in politics, even though he had studied sociology and human behavior in college, made him the star pupil in Dad’s eyes and I resented him for it. We got under each other’s skin constantly, but I had always assumed it was nothing serious, after all it was completely normal for siblings to not get along--even Anne fought with her sister, Margot every now and again. The only difference was that I had eventually developed this intense hatred for my brother that, as much as I tried, I could not seem to let go of, and now I don’t think I ever will. I had made the mistake of thinking everything that happened to me was just another phase that I could overcome, but nearly fifteen years into my life, I became the next victim of one of those premature experiences, and it was when almost everything had been taken away from me that I began to feel normality slipping away.

Deep within a Minnesotan forest called Stealthwood, there is a cabin, small and lonely, hidden beneath the shelter of the trees. That cabin, the one in which has only three rooms, an insufficient amount of heat, and little electricity, is my new home. Six months ago I had been forced to come here once the war, which succeeded in traumatizing all of mankind, had reached its highest peak. Anne Frank wrote in her diary that ‘there is an urge in people to destroy, to kill, to murder, and until all mankind, without exception, undergoes a great change, wars will be waged, everything that has been built up, cultivated and grown, will be destroyed and disfigured, after which mankind will have to begin all over again,’ and I fear that this is what they have been aiming for all this time. As long as the Deliverance is getting stronger, and continue to bring about more conspiracies and massacres, nobody will be safe. Even I, secured in my own little corner of peace and quiet, am haunted by the thought of these monsters sent up from hell wanting to spill blood, and I am convinced that they are already watching me, ready to make their kill.

My name is Laura Love, and despite everything that I’ve seen, everything I’ve been through, and even though there seems to be no way out of this miserable time, I will not give up the will to live. Mom had always told me that life is a privilege; it should be carried out to its fullest, and not tossed away like some worthless piece of trash. She believed that those who took their own lives, or even the lives of others, were tampering with God’s plan, and had no right to do so because decisions as such were simply not meant to fall into their hands. Children especially, she thought, should not be denied their right to live; they have so much potential to do something great in their lives, so much knowledge to gain simply by being alive. ‘To live is to love,’ Mom always said, and in her honor, I will abide by it for as long as the war prevails."