My days have been numbered, my family has gone into hiding with other families, and I try to happy myself by writing in by journal. Thinking about my death brings me pain and I can not think about it without my head throbbing and my knees going weak. Margo says I am just over reacting and the war will be over in due time, but I am old enough to think for myself and I think she is to freighted to think about what could happen to us as well. Because of Hitler I have had to give up my social life. I no longer have friend that I can talk to, I now linger have my cat, my life has been trampled and ruined. I am thankful for what I have though; I am not in concentration camps. My life could be worse. The other night they broke into the office downstairs. They robbed us. They are the Nazis. my is soon, I feel it in the long winter nights, in the words Mother and Father speak, I see it in the old droopy tree outside the attic, in my Margo's eyes. I take each day on as though it is my last. I do not know how long I have.

 

The other day I witnessed a terrific air battle between German and British planes. A couple allies had to jump from burning planes. The milk man saw four Canadians siting by the road.  One of them asked for a lighter for his cigarette, he said that there were originally six men in his crew. The pilot had burned and the fifth man had hidden in fear. The German came a fetched the perfectly fit men. I wonder how they could keep their head straight after that terrifying parachute trip.

 

-Anne Frank