The last Day

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Historical Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
A survivor, describes her last day at a Concentration Camp

Submitted: January 20, 2017

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Submitted: January 20, 2017

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The Last Day

The sun rose that cold, cold morning and with it my hunger. Like an ugly snake, a piece of ground splitting open inside me pulling apart slowly and taking my insides with.

I woke with dread knowing that today would be the day it had to be. The others around us had all disappeared. We’d been told they had been moved to other camps, but we knew better. We were not naïve, we knew in our own heart of hearts they were gone. Every day they marched all around us, bunker by bunker, leaving behind only the spirits of who they were, trailing and whistling in the wind.

Soon we became an island. Slowly, daily, being swallowed up by this despair, the sea of death, lapping ever closer to our own shores. Still more disappeared, even more quickly now, since the bombing started, this sound of freedom coming ever closer. Announcing the end of the torture, this living hell, A rescue caravan I realized today, would never see.

Still others would and that kept me strong, made me brave in this last day here. We ate what little we were given by a captors. Suddenly, as unexpected to them as well as to me, I spit it out at their feet, disgusted at what I knew they were about to do, a last piece of defiance on this last day.

Thus I was first on this last day, the enemy made sure of that.  However I did not quiver, I would not give them the satisfaction.  I stayed strong, hopeful that my soul will depart peacefully and I would at last be away from the horrors of this place, these mad men of hate.  As we marched, I tried to remember the good days, the days of Poppa and Mama, of warm bread and pleasant conversations, picking out flowers in their shop and riding my bike throughout the city to deliver them.

Then came these men, first stars, only to identify us, but I knew, I think we all knew this was not the end, not the last day. We knew this identification, was the first day, a day leading to this darkness,  to this last day, to this march.

As we went by train, eventually stayed here day by day, we heard the stories of rescue, glimmers of hope mixed in with the many tales of darkness.

A stray daisy waved to me as I headed to the chambers giving a last salute to my bravery. Yet I was not brave, I was scared, my whole being screaming out for one last day, for five more minutes, in this world which I quickly allowed to pass by me before. Every view, every sound and smell, it’s now even here in this pit, precious.

I screamed silently while all around me, wails went up,  louder and louder, then movement and sounds of vehicles barreling through fences, boots as  Allied troops marching in, and Nazi guards scrambled away from us, running like the rats that they were. They were here. They had arrived.

This indeed was the last day.

As we stood before the dark yawning door of death, life had opened up once again.

I am Golda.

I survived

and I’m here to say, never again!


© Copyright 2017 Carla Charter. All rights reserved.

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