More sad than scary, I wrote this story a while ago and have wanted to share it even though it's not a scary story like the rest of these. It's more historical fiction I guess. Please treat this story with respect though as it is about a sensitive topic. Writing prompt= quote by Albert Einstein
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"I never think of the future. It comes soon enough."
This is the biggest lie I tell myself. I try not to think about the future not because I want to live in the now and take every day as it comes but because I am scared about what the future might hold for me. This fear makes me avoid the inevitable, makes me mourn for the past.
So many others have already gone, I know it's my time soon, even so my silly mind chooses to ignore the facts as if putting them to the side could fix everything, make everything go away.
Maybe I avoid thoughts of the future because the present is a living hell, you can only take it one day at a time, maybe it is because it breaks my heart to see those little emaciated children lying in the dirt and to wonder what will become of them.
Or perhaps it is because I know in the depths of my mind the heartbreaking facts and cannot bear to think of them.
I prefer to think of the past, before we were taken to these awful camps, how we were free and could lie around all day if we chose to do so, now we can only do that if we are dead, or near to it.
I miss my parents, I remember the day we were separated, I remember the anguished, broken looks on their faces, looks I will never forget. I wonder if they are okay now.
Although I have hopes that one day this will all be over, I know it is in vain, and if it did end I would be long gone.
I hear them call out that another group is to be taken away, they say it is nothing, just a shower, but we all know none of them will come back, they never do.
I hear the numbers called one by one, strangers, friends, children, there is no distinction between us, to them we are all the same, none of us matter. More numbers are called, weak bodies limp to the front ready to be taken.
The very last number is called, it is mine. I walk to the front heart pounding in my chest and tears welling in my eyes, knowing that I will never again see the sunlight filter through the trees, see the smiles of my family, feel the security of being with my parents. Grief overtakes me and I collapse to the ground. I choke back my tears as one of the guards screams at me to get up, and start shuffling along behind the others.
I never thought of the future, not that it would have helped, thinking can't change anything, but sometimes what seems to be far in the future comes sooner than you think.
