Short Story

The Stain

Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

Written for OLWG #407. The three prompts
are shown below. This is my story.

© Pinterest

Gertie stood in the hallway of the tiny Flatbush railroad apartment she shared with her husband, Len. She was relieved her face was obscured in the dim light. She had been crying and didn’t want Lenny to know; he was going through a rough time.

It was the anniversary of his parent’s deaths in Treblinka …. at least as close to the actual date as anyone knew.

Len was just a boy when he was separated from his parents; they were sent to one of the kill camps while he was spared. The guilt of his release and salvation in Brooklyn with his aunt and uncle ate at him like a cancer.

Gertie’s heart shattered every time she saw Lenny like this …. inebriated, bitter and so irretrievably immersed in sadness. At first Gertie tried to distract him; her attempts failed and she soon learned it was futile. Lenny had to do this; it was his annual penance.

Len sighed deeply; lost in thought, he massaged his faded tattoo with a heavy hand. The stain would last a lifetime.

NAR©2025
#OLWG

Here are the prompts: 1) German white wine; 2) ice cream on a stick; 3) 5796628. We can use one, we can use three or none at all. We just need to be creative.

This is “Sea of Tears” by Eilen Jewell

OLWG#407- A Tiaga

All text and graphics, including The Sicilian Curveball, are copyright for Nancy’s Notes 🖊️🎶, The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk, The Rhythm Section, et al., and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.

38 thoughts on “The Stain”

  2. Oh, Nancy, this is so much more than weaving prompts together, which you do so well. This is a deeply touching story about a tragic situation that most of us will never fully comprehend. Well done writer! Love the song too… just discovered this band a few weeks ago. 👍🏻

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    1. Thank you, Michele. I’ve received some lovely (and humbling) comments today, including yours. This is a part of history that we would sooner forget but we must never allow it to be erased from our school books, our minds or our hearts. ♡
      It was the name of the song that got my attention; after hearing it, I knew it was the one I was meant to use. 🎶
      Thank you for your kind and gracious comments, cara Michele. 😌

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  5. Survivor’s guilt perfectly portrayed, and the cost that surviving exacts on all. Timely as we slide, tumbling, into horrific times again. Elie Weisel wrote of his time in this very concentration camp, yes?

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    1. Thank you, dear Liz. Your words make be feel both honored and humbled.
      Elie Weisel may have written about Treblinka, however, he was at both Auschwitz and Buchenwald.
      I do not know how people on either side can close their eyes and sleep peacefully.

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    1. Thank you, my dear friend. Even though this is a difficult topic to write about, the words came easily to me. We don’t need to be Jewish to understand and feel the pain; we only need to be compassionate beings.

      The name Sea of Tears is what attracted me to Eilen Jewell’s song. I knew I had to use it.

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  7. That must be an awful anniversary to have to relive every year while acknowledging the pain and suffering that his parents went through and the loss that he will feel for the rest of his life as he is filled with sadness. You chose the perfect title for this post, Nancy.

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    1. Dear David, as I was writing, my goal was to express myself in such a way as to adequately convey the emotions of Len and Gertie and to do this subject justice. Your comments are a great reassurance to me that I succeeded.

      Mille grazie, caro amico. ♡

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  10. I think the saddest part about this story to me, is that the number of survivors is dwindling just as we are seeing an upsurge of the mentality that paved the way for the Holocaust to happen. We will soon have no physical reminders walking among us.

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  11. Heavy stuff. How did those survivors come to this country and forge ahead with that pain and guilt of losing their loved ones to the Nazi’s? When I was a child, I knew a camp survivor, but didn’t know his past until the end of our relationship. He was my mentor and taught me all things Botanical, something learned in the old country from his parents, a skill passed to the generations. I made it a point in life to pass what I know to my sons and grandchildren. My thumb is not as green as it was a few years ago, but my plants understand and give me a wide berth. Need some more of that story.

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    1. Lovely and poignant comments, dear Phil. Only those who have lived through this hell can answer your questions. I tried my best to convey those feelings in this short story. I can only hope I did an adequate job. Your mentor sounds like a good man; you were blessed to have him in your life.

      Thanks, Phil.

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  12. Hell! what an indelible stain, Nancy …

    A Window Stain, (a Tanka)

    Evening tears ebb through
    The window of last year’s stain
    Fear closes the door
    Today the pane is dimmer
    Tonight, the moon is darker

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