Shadow of the Swastika

It was all a blur to me. From the time it started onwards, I have only vague memories in my head of everything that happened. The buildings and streets being burned to the ground, turning into ashes. The glass from the windows of anything in sight had been shattered to pieces and now rested on the concrete. Everyone had to avoid stepping on them so they didn’t cut their feet open and risk getting infections. We were forced out of our homes, forced to escape via the cracked roads, only to come up short. The majority of us were seized by the arms and dragged off to vehicles with storage units latched to the back, where around fifty people sat or stood in each. They took us away, driving for who knows how long until we reached an unknown place that smelt highly of rotten food and year-old garbage. Ugly, black smoke billowed from towers that seemed to reach the sky, turning it from a peaceful blue to a dreary grey. The pained, sorrowful cries of people in and outside of the barbed wire fences could be heard from possibly miles away. Bodies were scattered as far as the eye could see, most of them appeared to be walking skeletons. The others were still, not moving an inch as they laid on the ground.

Everyone was pushed to one side, sorted into groups of men and women. Then they were sorted into even smaller groups, by age and strength. Afterwards, they were pulled into shacks where they were given uniforms, short haircuts, and numbers tattooed onto their arms. Finally, they were shoved off to cabins with beds, where they would sleep.

And I was there. I saw it all. I witnessed it all. The pain, the anguish, the fear. The urge to either cry, throw up, or both at the sights of what was going on in front of me. The desire to simply break away from this unwanted treatment and just run. Run away. But I knew I couldn’t do it. They’d kill me if I tried. So now, and until further notice, I’m stuck here. Captured, confined, held prisoner in a German Concentration Camp. With no means of escape or freedom, except for death.

But I’d rather work all day and starve myself in this wretched environment and live than give up and die. I won’t die. Not now, not today.

Not when I still feel there’s hope out there. While it may seem impossible, even a little is enough for me.

As long as I get out of here alive, I’ll be okay.
…Will I be okay…?

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It’s been two weeks since my detainment here to this hellhole. All I can think about is why I had to be here, of all places, during that time. I could’ve been anywhere else except for there, and this would never have happened. I wouldn’t even be here right now…

My dark brown hair was cut so boy-short on the first day you couldn’t even tell I was a girl. Thankfully it was now starting to grow back, showing signs of choppy layers in the back and bangs in the front. My blue eyes had lost their sparkle long ago. My fingers unconsciously grazed the bar-code symbol with the number 5-27-11 underneath. My identification tattoo. My battle scar. To them I had no name. I was no one. I was just another system slave slowly being led to the grave.

Another thing- normally, you’d expect females in their early twenties to weigh at least 130 pounds. I barely weigh 100. Not exactly healthy, but not completely skeletal-like, either. Still, I blame them. I blame them all. Those men that took us. That took me.

My uniform blue sleeveless shirt and pants are covered with dirt and grime. I’m surprised there aren’t any holes in them yet. I’ve worked so hard, harder than anyone else here, and they look worse than me…

I’m taken out of my inner thoughts by the sound of voices. On instinct, I freeze in place before scurrying as fast as I can behind my bunk bed. I’m alone in my cabin now. Everyone save for me has been shipped to another camp. For better or worse, I am not aware.

From my position, I see three figures- two men like the ones that kidnapped me, and a boy around my age, give or take a couple years older than me. His messy, long blonde hair has surprisingly not been touched by a pair of scissors, instead put up in a low ponytail. His brown eyes are terrified. I know how he feels. He’s pushed into the cabin and ordered to find a bed.

I guess I have another body here with me now, thankfully. I was getting lonely.

It takes a few seconds for me to register what just happened completely before I sneak back out from behind the bunk, to which the boy nearly jumps about five feet back in fright. I run over to him and gently take him by the shoulders.

“No, no, it’s alright! I’m not going to hurt you!” I whisper-shout to him, pressing a finger to his mouth to quiet his voice and calm him down. It seems to work, as I feel his once tense body relax and slouch a little more. Once I remove my finger, we both let out a sigh of relief. He says nothing though, but climbs up to take the top bunk directly across from mine. I follow him, but go up to my bunk instead. For a while, nothing happens. Until he looks at me, and I meet his gaze. His eyes are a beautiful shade of brown, almost the color of my hair. Though they show mainly fear, I see a spark of familiarity and what I think is security. We just stare at each other, simply gazing into each other’s eyes until he speaks up.

“How long have you been here?”

His voice is low as a whisper, but naturally deep. My eyes flutter open and closed somewhat as I lock my fingers together.

“A little more than two weeks.” I respond, trying to avoid looking at the floor. “And I’m already feeling sick.”

He reaches up slowly, taking his ponytail out to run his fingers through his hair. It comes to a little longer than his upper chest, and is a lovely shade of golden blonde. I can also see some light brown tips at the ends and on his roots. He’s starting to shiver. Is he cold? Or scared?

“How old are you?” I question him. He turns to look at me again, now playing with the hem of his sleeveless blue top.

“26.” he whispers. “You?”

I manage a faint smile. “24.” It was good to know I’d have someone around my age rooming with me now. He then asked me another question.

“Where are you from?”

I averted my eyes away from him. “Norway. The only reason I’m here is because I was visiting family. They just so happened to be taken along with me. The same went for everyone in sight, Jewish or not.”

His gaze seemed to soften even more as I stared at him again. “I’m from Denmark.” Pausing, I saw a tear fall from his eye. “I’m here just because… those men… they…” He couldn’t finish, and broke down in tears.

I hesitated at first, but eventually crawled down from my bunk up to his and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “What did they do?”

Through tears and gritted teeth, I heard, “…they killed my parents.”

“What? Why?” I almost stammered, taken aback. No one was killed on the first day I was here. Why was it different for him?

“They were Jewish. That’s the only reason.” he muttered, now rubbing his forehead to ease a growing headache. “And I’m not Jewish, I’m Pagan. So I don’t know why I’m really here.”

I nodded in understanding. “I’m Pagan, too.”

His eyes then moved to the sky, where a faint sunset of purples and oranges was visible, though only barely. Still, it was reassuring.

I felt a calloused surface slip in my own, fingers weaving together. I looked up to see the boy holding my hand tightly. I almost blushed. Almost.

“What’s your name?”

His frown turned into a tiny smile. “Terji.”

I returned his smile once I saw it. “Kalle.”

I had finally made a friend. Hopefully we would get through this together.
Hopefully, we would escape together.

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