Paper Planes

Prisoner

For as long as I could remember, I have been a prisoner.

I was born in Munich, Germany and lived there with my mother and father. My mother was murdered when I was at a very young age. I can't even remember the sound of her voice. When I was a mere child my father and I were taken to a ghetto in Poland, which wasn't as bad as a camp, but still horrible. There was very little food, and what we had was spoiled or rotten. We were taken off of the streets to do jobs for the soldiers such as cleaning toilets and mopping floors. If we were out of the house past 8 o'clock, we were shot on sight. When I was eleven, my father and I were "relocated" to a labor camp called Dachau. There, people were worked to death. My father wasn't in very good physical condition and he collapsed in the middle of working. I noticed and tried to help him up, but his body was limp.I cried and begged for him to keep going, but he couldn't move. A few soldiers noticed and knocked me out of the way while they beat my father to death with their clubs. All I could do was watch.

I had to stay at Dachau for about another year but then me and hundreds of other prisoners were loaded onto a train and taken to a new camp. It was called Auschwitz-birkenau. A death camp. We were stripped of our clothes and given new ones. All I could find was a ragged, dark shirt and pants that were too small. We were lined up and given tattoos on our forearms. It stung, but I knew not to cry. It would only end in more pain. My tattoo read "b-420." Now I was prisoner b-420 until my dying day.

The days to come were horrible. We did pointless, backbreaking work such as moving large, heavy rocks, only to move them back to where they were. Those who rested for even a moment we're beaten, whipped, or even shot. I had seen so many people die, too many people. But thats just life for me now.

After a long day of labor, we were given a free hour each evening before supper. I liked to spend this time playing with my friend or simply relax after the day of work. But today my friend was shot by a soldier. And I had watched it happen, in tears. I didn't feel like doing anything. But then, I saw her.

Over the fence, in the field of flowers, was a girl. She wore a white dress, with a pink sash and a white hat which had a ribbon of that same color
She played with a small red ball. She threw it up and down, kicked it, chased it. I sat in the dirt and dust, watching her play. After a while, the wind caught her ball and made it roll towards the camp. She ran after it, holding onto her hat. The ball rolled under the barbed wire fence which divided them and landed at my bare feet. I grabbed it, stood up, and looked at the girl.

She stood but a few feet away from the fence. Her blue eyes glimmered in the sunlight, but on her face was an expression of worry. I frowned. Did I...scare her? I was pretty dirty, I hadn't showered in weeks, I was dressed in rags and covered in dirt. I definitely scared her.

"I-"

She didn't let me finish and started running away. I was going to return her ball, but she left before I could say or do anything.I sighed and sat back down in the dirt, tossing the ball up and down as the girl did.

I saw her the next day, but this time much farther from the fence. She ran, picked flowers, and sat in the long grass.  It always seemed sunnier on the other side of the fence. Here, at this camp, it is dark and dusty. Gloomy. Lonely. Not an ounce of hope.  I still wanted to give the girl her ball back, but I hesitated. If the guards caught me, I would be dead. No questions asked. One day, when there were no guards in sight, I called out to her.

"Hey!" I yelled, jumping and waving my arms. But no matter how much I yelled, she didn't turn or even acknowledge me. I stopped and sighed. That girl...I want to know her better. Talk to her. Be with her. But this fence, this camp, this hellhole holds me back. I wish that maybe, someday, I could escape from here. All of the soldiers here say "Arbeit Mach Frei" (work will set you free) but that is a clear lie.