| Writing - Division I The cold, hard, uneven floor pricked my back as I lay in
the dim room. Sobs echoed through the silence as I reflected on my lodgings. It wasn't a
room, really. Solid concrete walls, absent of windows, a steel door at least two feet
thick, the rows of wooden slats where hundreds of bodies slept and wept. Yes, it was
certainly unworthy of the intimacy of calling it a room. Cell, prison, cage, would better
describe it. I drew in another icy breath, and upon the exhale, an alarm rang through the camp. I saw many people among the hoard bolt up, looking like deer, caught in headlights. When I was happy, I probably would have laughed, but I didn't, for I knew that's what we were. Scum, not wanted, to be lined up for slaughter at the hands of a gun. The heavy metal door slammed open, narrowly missing my head. Fear and anger roiled through me as the SS guard screamed at us to get up. He slinked among the slats, smacking his gun against the heads of anyone who didn't get up fast enough for him. We were herded in a line and out the door, into a stark white hallway. As we walked towards the door leading outside, I could feel fear traveling throughout the masses of my fellow prisoners. Thoughts took form, and spewed up and down the line. Speculations of what had happened, why we were going outside, what they were going to do when we got there. The hallway was nearly as dark as the room, which left most of us blinking warily in the early morning light, shining out from behind black rain clouds. We formed a column among two other ones, just like ours. I was near the front, and I scanned the crowds in disbelief. I had never seen so many people in one place, and never, in my twisted imaginings of this killing camp, did I even think so many people would be here. A ripple passed among us, and the crowds twittered like bluebirds, cruel and unforgiving. Word had it that someone had tried to escape and had been brutally shot. Now the rest of us were being counted, to make sure none of the rest us escaped. 'Like we could,' I thought bitterly. I could see soldiers strutting down the line, looking into everybody's eyes, or down their throats. Sometimes, they dragged someone out of the line, placing them to the side. Another ripple passed through crowd bringing the condemning news: they were looking for healthy people. My fear bubbled over as I frantically looked to see if my flu was still there, protecting me from death. I gratefully noticed that I had a sore throat, and my nose was running profusely. Instantly, anger filled me. 'What are you thinking?' I screamed inwardly. 'That cold is the reason you're in this hell!' Sorrow gripped me as I remembered the days before Auschwitz. A cold had overcome me, soon after we heard that German soldiers had entered our town, searching for the frail and sick, to send them to Auschwitz. Mom had rushed me from doctor to doctor, all of them turning her away; saying that they won't treat someone of the inferior species, like I was some kind of disease. It hurt to see the disgust on their faces, the nurses' horrified eyes as I wiped my feet on the doormat. I even heard a whispered, "Now we'll have to bum that," as my hand brushed a beautiful painting of a vast ocean, decorating a wall. My hands clenched in anger, as I remembered these indecencies, the pain bringing me back to the fear-filled present. I was next in line. A chill went down my spine, and I closed my eyes as I felt my mouth ripped open. My head was jerked side to side, to further convenience the man scouring my throat. He suddenly let go of my jaw, apparently satisfied that I was still sick. My mouth was left gaping open, and only when he was four more victims down the line did I dare close my mouth and breathe in quiet, ragged breaths. The line of healthy people was starting to expand, and I flinched as I saw children cowering among the chosen adults. The SS guards paced back to the middle of the clearing, apparently pleased with their search, or giddy about the up coming bloodshed, I couldn't tell. The officers bellowed at the selected persons, their raucous shouts filling the empty air. The Jews shuffled reluctantly into line, grief consuming their faces. Movement flickered at the edges of my vision, and I turned, pinpointing two of the healthy Jews who were pointing at me every now and then and whispering furiously to each other. It was a man and a woman, who had the familiarity of a married couple. 'What are they talking about?' I thought wildly. I was close enough to hear snatches of their conversation. "-she doing here?", "-shouldn't she be at-?" and "-my dear Fayga ... " I froze. How did this woman know my mothers pet name for me? Realization hit me like a brick. Memories flashed in front of my eyes of warm nights in front of the fire lounging comfortably with an older woman, her smiling at me, crooning softly "You already miss the day, don't you, my bird, my dear Fayga?" …...'No no, no, no, no, NO!' I screamed in my head, as I stared in horror at the woman. I wanted to look away, to pretend they weren't there, to pretend they were still at another camp, blissfully unaware of their daughters doom. My eyes blurred as cascading notes above me finally made me tear my eyes away and look up. There, on the roof of the building, was a bird I didn't recognize. It was singing gently, quieting the yard. I saw a guard raise his gun, and took a shot in the general direction of the bird. Startled, in a ruffle of feathers, the bird took off, flying recklessly towards the rising sun, clouds soon covering up the warm rays. 'How nice it would be,' I thought wistfully, 'to be able to flyaway from any carnage you laid your eyes on.' With an evil smile on his face, the man who shot at the bird turned to the healthy Jews and shot with wild abandon. Sharp cries echoed in the silent space, ringing in the yard, in my ears, in my mind, in my heart. I saw my mother, smiling sadly at me before the gunshot cracked through the air, and smacked her down. I saw my father, staring defiantly at the gunman, before collapsing next to his wife. I saw no more as my eyes blurred, hot tears trailing paths down my grimy face. My quiet sobs were joined by others as the echoing of shots reverberated in the metal encasement we were all trapped in. My mind slowly wrapped around the fact that my mom and dad were never going to hold me, comfort me, or even talk to me ever again. My knees buckled beneath me as I wept. I could taste blood in my mouth. The ground felt hard, solid. I saw, through my blurred tears, thick boots approached me. I saw one lash out and crash into my stomach, but I never felt a thing. I looked up at the sky now. Their kick must have rolled me over. Tiny drops of water hit my face, one by one, as ifthe heaven were crying for me. "Get up, Jew!" the person spat at me, but I stayed on the ground. I didn't want to move, or to lose the welcome feeling of indifference. I was watching the bird circling above me, my eyes tracing its path across my vision. My tears dissipated as I heard a bang, and felt hot warmth spread out below me. My sight swayed and darkened, a cold wave sweeping over me, numbing any thought I had left. It felt wonderful, to fly. |