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As the storm blew in closer from across the tumultuous sea, Sabine scrambled for safety. The mischievous wind made the task more difficult by throwing her side to side like a rag doll and perverting her hair into a mask. The grass provided no relief either; whipping her face and latching onto her wrists and ankles as she crawled into their embrace. There was nowhere else to hide.

An explosion of light and sound reminiscent of the bombs Sabine had avoided back on the battlefield erupted further up the beach. A burnt scent tinged the air and particles of sand rained down upon her after the bolt of lightning absorbed into the earth. The storm was making it very clear that she wasn't welcome.

Sabine scouted one last time for shelter but still found nothing but grass. As fat drops of rain collected in her hair she realized that there was only one option left: the matches. Sabine darted from the grass and threw herself onto the sand. Her fingers dug into the earth at an almost inhuman speed as she searched for her only chance at survival.

The monotony of the beach taunted Sabine as she carved out several empty holes in the sand. How could she have been so dumb as to bury the matchbox? This storm was the Earth punishing her for her stupidity; weeding out the weak and the worthless. Her tears beat the rain to the punch and her face was soon soaked in salty rivulets.

After the sand had filed her fingernails down to the quick, leaving behind ten bloody nubs, Sabine finally latched onto something solid. Her fingers were too numb to feel the texture, but she knew the shape. It was the matchbox. Sabine was shivering so hard from the rain and the wind that it took her what felt like an eternity to finally seize one match.

Sabine huddled her shaking mass over the matches to shelter them from the rain that was pelting her. She could feel the mixture of blood and mud that caked her body being washed away. One after another, she furiously swiped matches across the strike pad but each time the wind and rain was able to find a way in. A pile of sopping wooden sticks grew at her knees as she watched the birth and death of several tiny blazes repeat in a never-ending fiery life cycle.

When Sabine was on the verge of spreading her body out in the sand and succumbing to the storm, a little light persuaded her otherwise. A tiny log home with silhouettes of fiery figures in the windows flickered in the reflection of her eyes. The glow from the matchstick briefly lit up her smile before accentuating the shadows of her frown. She had nothing to burn.

Sabine held the match to her heart as she tried to think of what to do, but her mind was overwhelmed with an all-encompassing emptiness. Only one thought surfaced from the depths: she would die. But at least she had the flame to keep her company and offer her the last warmth her body would feel.

Sabine fell forward and buried her face in the sand, careful to keep the fire going. She tuned out the crashing of the storm, the howling of the wind, and the drumming of the rain to focus on the crackling of the flame. Her finger tips got hotter and hotter as the fire ate its way down the match until it licked her skin. Maybe it would consume her before the storm did...or maybe something else would...

CLAP.

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All she could see was red. Sabine blinked over and over and over but the color still filled her vision. The last thing she remembered was an intense red flame and a loud "clap" that was still ringing in her ears. A fit of violent coughs overtook her body as her lungs tried to expel whatever was clogging them. One of the only senses that still seemed to be working was taste, and all she could taste was soot.

When Sabine had blinked enough, the bright red began to fade into different colors as her vision slowly came back. Soon she could make out browns and greens and yellows...and a house? In the middle of the woods she now sat in, was a tiny log home like the one she had seen in the flame. So the match had still worked even though she hadn't burnt anything?

Sabine looked down to find herself covered in black ash. It seemed that she couldn't stay clean for very long; from blood to mud to soot. She also noticed a familiar tag-along: the matchbox was still glued to her palm, but this time she was okay with it. Sabine carefully lifted herself to her feet and tried to wipe off as much of the mess as she could. As she stood, she heard the crack of a twig and looked up to see a boy a little younger than herself standing between her and the house.

"Who are you?" he asked. Sabine stared at him with blank eyes. She didn't understand his words but she recognized the thick German accent. His blonde hair, blue eyes, and splash of freckles also helped to identify him as German. "Do you need help?"

"Where...where am I?" Sabine wasn't sure whether he'd understand what she was saying either but she felt the need to say something, to hear her own voice and ensure that it was still there.

"I don't understand what you're saying," the boy responded. "Are you speaking French? My mom speaks French." Sabine vaguely recognized the German word for "French" and eagerly nodded her head. "Come inside, she can help you."

The boy turned to move back towards the house and gestured for Sabine to follow. She took a hesitant step forward before instinctively cradling her left arm to her chest to cover her forearm and the tattoo it bore. So far this boy seemed to respond well to her, even with the color of her skin, but the German accent still worried her. What if he was only trying to get her to come inside to contact the Nazis and get her taken back to a concentration camp?

As they walked the boy pointed to himself and said, "Friedrich." He stared at her expectantly until Sabine repeated his gesture.

"Sabine."

"Nice to meet you, Sabine."

Even though Sabine had no idea what he said, she nodded her head to show that she had heard him and followed him towards the house. When they reached the front door, Sabine had a difficult time crossing it. She stood in the open doorway while Friedrich disappeared into a room off to the side. She heard him conversing with a woman in German, and was once more able to recognize the word for "French" repeated several times.

After another few minutes of Sabine perking her ears to try to pick up any other words she could recognize, the mystery woman finally appeared in her vision. Sabine took a step back in hesitation, unsure what to think of the tall blonde lady who stood before her in an orange short-sleeved dress. Her golden hair was tied up in a neat bun and her blue eyes glistened like the sea she had just left, but kinder.

"Hello Sabine, my name is Maria and this is my son, Friedrich. Do you need help?" the woman asked in a familiar tongue. The gentle lilt of the French words covered Sabine like a warm blanket.

"Where am I?" Sabine asked quietly. She still lingered outside the door frame, waiting to see what they would say and do next.

"We are just outside Passau, Germany," Maria answered. "Would you like to come inside and wash up? Get some fresh clothes? It looks like you've been through quite the ordeal."

Sabine felt the conflict warring in her chest. If she went inside she could clean up, maybe even get some food and rest somewhere other than the cold, hard ground. But on the other hand sat the unknown. She didn't know these people and where they stood with the war. She didn't know how to trust anymore.

"It's okay, dear. You're safe here," Maria tried to reassure her with a warm smile.

"Who is that?" Sabine heard a small voice ask from inside. She turned to see a little girl peeking her head around the corner behind Friedrich, her dark brown eyes staring at Sabine inquisitively. Like Sabine, she spoke French and like Sabine, she was black.

"It's okay, Rose, you can come out," Maria smiled down at the little girl. "We have a new friend."

Rose carefully pushed herself around the wall until she was fully visible to Sabine. She looked to be about six years old and had beautiful ebony skin so dark it was like looking at the night sky. Her hair was short and stuck up in random patterns where multi-colored bows were inserted. It had been a while since she had ran into someone who looked like her.

"Hi," Rose greeted Sabine with a tiny voice. Sabine couldn't help but smile back.

"This is Rose," Maria introduced her to Sabine, resting a hand lovingly on Rose's head. "She's staying here since her parents were killed during the war. There are other kids like her here; kids who don't have homes or families. We welcome everyone in our home." Maria's eyes darted down to Sabine's arm and Sabine quickly realized that she had let it dangle and her numbered tattoo was visible once more. She immediately brought it back to her chest but she didn't hold it as tightly now that Maria's comforting smile was radiating upon her. "Why don't you come inside and meet the others?"

Sabine was still hesitant but her rumbling stomach betrayed her and she found her feet shuffling forward. As she moved inside, more curious heads poked out and after making it through the hallway to the living room she counted seven kids in total, including Friedrich and Rose. There were two more girls and three more boys, and they all appeared to be between the ages of six and sixteen. They stepped out to study her curiously and Sabine quickly felt like a fish in a fish bowl.

"Children, this is Sabine," Maria announced to the curious on-lookers. She then began to introduce the others, pointing to them in the order they had circled around her. "Casmir and Aleksy are brothers, then there's Ruth, Brigitta, and Edgar."

Sabine was quick to notice black numbers etched into the visible forearms of several of the children and instinctively traced her own. Her own tattoo hadn't healed correctly so she could tell the number just by feeling the raised edges like Braille. Not that she didn't already have the sequence memorized by heart.

From what Sabine could tell, these kids seemed to be okay living here so maybe she would too. Maybe this could be her new home and her new family. At this thought, a sense of déjà vu washed over her body and memories of the beach and the storm resurfaced in her mind. It seemed good now, would it get worse? From her experience, things always seemed to get worse.

Her worries were momentarily distracted by the feeling of a tiny, warm hand slipping into her own. Sabine looked down to see Rose smiling up at her, tugging on her fingers as her arm swayed back and forth. Following Rose's lead, the rest of the kids also crowded in closer and began to barrage her with a series of smiles and questions.

"What's in your hand?" Brigitta asked, pointing at the matchbox clenched tightly in Sabine's grip. Maria translated Brigitta's German words for Sabine to understand.

Sabine looked down at her hand, finally unwinding her tightly wrapped fingers from the compressed cardboard box. The curly writing stared up at her and Sabine finally understood what it meant. Matchs de Deuxième Chance. "A second chance."

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