29th August 2019


Chapter 1

When despair crawls out from all corners of the night, when the cold moves in only to meet the warmth of my blood, when my soul quivers at the thought of distant memories, I shudder and say one word with every heartbeat, every pulse, every piece of my soul- liberation.

The dawning sun spit’s yellow venom over the ghastly tenebrific land. My bare-feet sear with every step, every movement. They await us. Their bleak uniforms blend amongst the dark obscurity. Austerity and frigidness. Leaving me desperate for the slightest touch of warmth. His warmth. Those almond brown eyes, how the earthy tones were his soul, the kind of delicacy that enlarged a moment into my own personal eternity. 


That is all I have left of him, my only chance to feel warm.

Mist cautiously lurks, as we once did behind doors. Where the power of the gaudy yellow star couldn’t humiliate or define us. Through the snowflakes chaotically dancing around me, crumbling to the ground I see the ramp. As we slowly approached the officer that day he threaded his fingers through mine. His hands were manly however they were shaking gently with each step closer. In his movements were so much of the man he was and still is. I think this was the first time I realised how vulnerable he was and how much of a toll the journey here had taken on him. I realised I was no longer in the safety of him. The hands that had once assured me that my world was safe were now withering away. 

I am brought back by the cold as it attacks my gaunt, perishing organism. Clothes droop from me serving as no justice to these relentless conditions. I am nude in this hailstorm, where every chunk of ice that is a fostered dagger cut into my assiliable skin. I hold my coat tensley. Enduring every thread, every stitch. 

“133521” he shouts. 

I step forward. The commanders glacial blue eyes lock with mine. They blink with a razor-sharp gleam, like that of an eagle stalking his prey. A glare of both an astute commander and a ruthless murderer. A glare that has the power to destroy all of us. One by one, without any hesitation- nothing can be hidden from his eyes. He isn’t a human. He is a machine and his eyes prove this with every risk of him appearing amiable. 

I can’t outstare him.

My deepest fear is not that I am inadequate. My deepest fear is that I am powerful beyond measure. It is my light that I am afraid of, not my darkness. The boy’s first outcry was a somber laugh, as he tried to run, but where was he to run? Only into the arms of death, head-on. My luminous capability could only lead me to the chimney that stands above the emaciated figures of blue and white stripes. Only to go up in a cloud of sinister smoke that erupts from the belly of the crematorium engrossing us under a silent blue sky. Or disposed of amongst a pile of dilapidated corpses that exceed the sardine can of people. Piles that embezzle every last bit of dignity. 

I had to contain myself. And if I couldn’t wait out this storm for myself, I had to do it for him. 

To escape it is frankly impossible. Not only do the miles of electrified fences keep us in, but the flags also fly above all else holding us prisoned in their tyranny. Red from her blood, the gash he gave her because she gave way to the ground from fatigue. Black, the darkness of my first night. The night that turned my life into one long ambiguous night. How I once saw white as my canvas of dreams, the light in which he and I danced and laughed. However, it is the snow that burns, the ice that cuts and the wind that stings. It is the approaching thunder that feels near, I can hear it, it feels so close. Yet I look to the sky and somehow feel we will get out of this place. Before the thunder arrives. I will see him again. 

I am sent to work in the chambers, marching past everyone. I know this is my only chance to search for him. To know he is alive. The Stench of burnt bones and disintegrating bodies consumes me with a pungent redolence. I sort out the uniforms and shoes. They aren’t coming back. Children grasp to their mothers, the elderly, young girls and boys all stuck in what seems like an eternal drowse. They know they aren’t showers. However, they give in. With each wave the doors shut, six or seven minutes martyrdom, they had given up the ghost. 

Crowds keep making their way in, one by one handing me pairs of shoes and their clothes for the next wave of prisoners to arrive. My brain stutters for a moment. Looking out the window my eyes take in more light than I expected, it feels like every part of my body pauses while my thoughts try to catch up. 

Almond brown eyes.
Words leave me. 

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