Inside the Camps | A World War Two Story

Inside the Camps - Part 3

// My goooodness, I'm so tired. I had my braces tightened, so I'm just sitting here.. Drinking coffee.. And re-writing all of this out.

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As the cattle car began to move, we were jostled around, becoming uncomfortably close to each other. The small boy clung to my arm, which I didn't mind at the moment. He seemed to had fallen asleep, which made me roll my eyes at the thought. Cade giggled quietly, shoving my other arm. "Don't be mean." I made a face at her, glowering. "I don't know what your problem is and how you can giggle when we're literally being arrested. We won't ever see our home again, and you're over here shoving my arm and giggling. How mature, Cade." She didn't angry at me, just a little shocked that I popped off so fast. I crossed my one arm, careful not to move the little boy too much and wake him, looking off to the side as a sign of annoyance. "I can't believe you had the perfect childhood and you're still complaining. Are you serious? You basically own a bakery, your dad is still alive and well, so are your siblings, I'm guessing, and you're still being bratty!" Her words shocked me, but I didn't hesitate to return the hurtful words, not even caring that the boy had woken to our yelling. "You clearly don't understand my whole story."   

¨I was seven, my life was great. Mother, my brother and Father were still alive and well. But one day, it suddenly all changed. My brother began to become weak and sore, mainly in his limbs and stomach. His gums would always bleed but soon turn a dark blue. His small lips became plump and swollen as they turned purple. After he died, it was hard on us. We didn't know he had scurvy, or we would have been able to treat him. We found a way to somehow work around his death. Not too long after, Mutter became ill. She eventually stopped talking. I would read the newspapers to her, enlightening her to the coming of the war, while stroking what remained of her hair, as her head lay gently in my lap. She would cough at times, but I would hush her as it seemed to calm her. I would sing her to sleep to make it easier on her, though my voice would crack and become muffled by my tears. Her limbs began to swell, causing pain to when she moved. One night, she went to sleep, but never woke. I hate that I let her go so easily. I hate that my father did nothing to save her. After a week, the sadness turned to rage. I started fights on the streets, begging to connect my fist with someone's jaw. My rage then turned to depression, causing me to isolate myself from society. When people asked what was wrong, I would glower at them, causing them to become weirded out and walk away. My father left only two weeks after my mother died. I still hate him to this day.¨
    I turned towards Cade, an angered expression plastered to my face. "So no, my life was not perfect. I had many problems as a child. So maybe, next time, know what you're getting yourself into when you make assumptions about my past."