Chasing Colours

27. A Cry For Freedom

(Edith)

One could feel the tension rise in the air. The officers were shifting more and more people. Whoever couldn't comply were shot. There was no torture anymore. It was move or kill.

Winter was cold and the blasts were sharp. Buildings went up in the air leaving rubble behind. Confusion spread as screaming increased. Before I knew it, I was being pushed out of barracks along with the entire population.

I turned to Harriet, "What's going on?"

She looked straight ahead as she replied, "They are moving the camp again."

My eyes went wide, "What? Why? Has something happened in the war?"

She shrugged her shoulders as she continued staring ahead. She had as many questions running through her mind as I did. Her face scrunched up in concentration as she tried to grasp the situation around. Before she could reply, she was pushed ahead in the crowd.

The panic had started to rise. There were people walking over each other. The officers were shooting those who were too slow or too sick to move. Harriet was separated from me and I was left all alone in my bolt confusion. I tried to balance my steps as the crowd took me outside with it.

That was the last time I saw Harriet.

As soon as we were out of the barracks. There were prisoners running everywhere. They had erupted into a chaos of riots. Among the sea of the emaciated and dusty bodies, uniformed bodies were just another floating leaf.

The prisoners had had it. They were attacking their former attackers while others just tried to leave the treacherous grounds that had locked them. But there was nowhere to go and no place to hide. While a few officers fell to the riot of the crowd that took them down, most of them stayed strong. While we were sheer high in numbers, they had the iron hands. We couldn't perhaps win against the bullets, grenades and years of trained and healthy bodies. But, we were desperate.

People who had tried to run outside had dropped dead by the whirring wires they had tried to cross while others were shot down in cold blood. Some, unable to rationalise the moment, took their own lives. Officers weren't going to take their nuisance.

But then, there were people like me who wanted to just run, run for another hope. I frantically looked from side to side, my breath ringing in my ears. The scene that unfolded had turned hazy. I was running across the ground wherever my legs would take me.

There were trams standing at the entrance. I could see the faint figures of prisoners being pushed inside. Each tram carrying as many prisoners as possible. I did the first thing I heard my mind say in ages, "Don't go back. Run." I couldn't go back inside those trams. I didn't want to die. As waves of fear crashed upon me, I ran the opposite way deeper inside the camp towards the crematoriums.

I felt a sharp tug at my wrist pulling me back. I screamed as loud as I could to have it let me go. I turned to find a officer yelling at me to shut up while holding me at gunpoint. He didn't shoot or perhaps he did not estimate the struggle I would put on. As the dread of being taken back into the horrid place crossed my mind, my screams and his yells got louder. I kicked, yelled and swatted my hands. I bent down and bit into his palms as hard as I could.

He jerked me forward, cussing at me loudly. I didn't wait for him to get a hold of himself. The shock hadn't been enough for him to drop his gun. I turned to run.

Then, I heard the gun go off.

My breath hitched as a sharp pain seeped in and out of my body. A grunt and then nothing.

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I stopped in my tracks with my chest heaving up and down wildly. My left palm reached up to my right shoulder from where the bullet had grazed past leaving a string of cut skin from where blood oozed out. Tears trickled down my face as the pain increased.