Andrea

One sleepless night the bombs were falling, the sky was a deep red and I was sitting in my bedroom (the only bedroom in the house that I have to share with my parents) shacking with fear. This happened every night and sometimes during the day. I often turn to my parents and the question in their eyes is unanswerable. “Who will be gone in the morning?” their eyes would ask. I have already lost so many friends and family from this. My best friend Mary and her Family are just sitting there at their house, staring into space. Probably thinking about their family and friends they have lost. I am going to their house again tomorrow to help Mary and her family. Her family just sits there, frozen and whenever I knock on the door Mary has to peek out the front window to check if it’s the soldiers or not. All I have to do is last the night. Whenever I am awake at night from the bombing and I think it is the end of the world, or at least my family and I, I think about nature. It really is soothing. I lie in my bed and pretend the hot sun is sending rays of heat onto my skin. Sometimes I am so good at imagining this vision, I really do smell the grass, feel the heat from the sun on my skin and hear the waterfall. I like to imagine. I am a person who “lives in her head”. Sometimes, when times are tough, I think your imagination is much more fun than reality. 1

I awake to find the chestnut tree in the garden in full bloom, the sky a deep blue, and despite that fact that the world seems to have turned its back on Europe during this dark time, the birds are singing. “Lovely.” I say as I open my window to take a breath of fresh air. I throw on my clothes and brush my hair. I run down the stairs and out the house. I have this bad feeling and I don’t know what it is and why. I run and run and run all the way to Mary’s house. Once I get to the end of the street I stop. I get this sudden feeling of dread. I run to Mary’s front door and stop yet again. I have this weird feeling deep down, that Mary and her family are not there. I knock. No answer. I go in to find the inside of the house in a total mess. Books, chairs, tables, ornaments EVERYHTING in on the floor. I run into every room, calling for Mary. Looking for any signs of her or her family. Nothing. I know she is gone. I run home and throw myself onto my bed. I cry and cry and cry. So many things were running through my head. Why did Mary have to go? Why did Mary have to suffer this awful fait, when I was so far free to enjoy myself? What was the difference between us? Was I any better than Mary? Weren’t the two of us just the same? What crime had Mary ever committed? Oh this had to be the most terrible injustice. Suddenly I saw Mary’s frail figure before me, locked in a cell, dressed up in rags, with a sunken face. Her eyes had become huge, and she was looking at me with such sorrow and reproach. I could stand it no longer. I fell to my knees, and cried. Cried till my whole body shook with sobs. I was so sad that it felt like my heart was about to burst out of my chest. Mary’s eyes kept staring at me begging for help. Help I knew I couldn’t give her. “Forgive me Mary, come back…” I no longer knew what to say or think. There were no words to describe the suffering I could so clearly see before me. Doors kept slamming over and over in my ears, I could hear the crying of children, I could see a squad of crude armed men, and in their midst, helpless and alone, was Mary. Mary who was just the same as I was…..2

I awake the next morning, not from the sounds of the birds like yesterday, but from someone banging on the front door. Then I hear heavy footsteps and dogs barking and shouting and screaming from my mother and farther and my siblings. I jump up and that’s when I remember the dreadful day. Yesterday. I remember Mary and her family. I remember her home. I remember how hard I cried and most of all I remember the pain from the loss. I am tempted to just get back into bed and wait for death. But I decide better. So I run down stairs and find a man running up the stairs. I collide into him. He stands up and that’s when I see it. The armed band. Red with a white circle and a black Swastika (sva-stee-ka) . A Nazi. They have come for us. 3

So here I am. In Hell. Well, not really Hell it’s self. Auschwitz to be prosiest. But anyway, I stand here waiting for my death. Just waiting. I stand in a line of about 300 people with Nazi’s surrounding us from behind. They all have guns and they say that they are going to shoot every 10 people. But they could start anywhere, middle, 100 people down, me. I hope I am one of the 10. Liberation is Lord knows when, and I don’t know if I can hold on for any longer. I have nothing to live for. My parents are dead, my sister Helen, my brother Peter. All gone. When my mother (the most resent to die) I no longer felt sad or even angry at her murderers. At that point in time, losing my parents, my sister and brother, was enough to silence me for eternity. I lost the desire to live. So I am giving up. I am and always will be proud to be Jewish, but, even though I stand here proud of who I am, what I am, I can’t help but believe that us Jews must have done something wrong. Why else would the world have betrayed us like this? Then I hear screaming and shouting and gunshots. Those filthy liars! They are shooting EVERYONE. Not just every 10 people but EVERYONE!! I feel a shooting pain in my back and warm liquid running down my back and legs. I have been shot!!! I feel the life draining out of me. I collapse on the ground and I yell and scream until I am all but too weak to move. I am dying and I know it. I am getting my wish. Suddenly the world goes black and I am at peace…..4

I awake to see my family looking down at me. I see another person with them. Mary. Mary and my parents and my sister Helen and my brother Peter!!! “Come with us..” Helen said. I jumped up and followed them. They stopped and Mary pointed to a sign. I looked at it and saw it was a lovely silver with black writing. It read “Heaven”….5