1 June 2012
I felt the sun on my feet, the sticky sweat dripping down my body. It reminded me of a pudding, one mother would make when we lived in Berlin.
This memory didn't help my hunger. My stomach, or what was left of it, was squeezing so hard I felt like retching.
The planks were hard, my head was aching. I felt my head and in surprise I felt something I hadn't felt for a while. My hair. The day the soldiers shaved it off I cried, I was beaten and told that crying was for babies. I haven't cried since.
When I opened my eyes, I knew I hadn't been dreaming, I was still here, in this camp without my mother and nobody to talk to.
I opened my eyes to see the ray of sunshine had not moved, there were tiny specks of dust, they looked like miniature jewels. I smiled.
That was something I was good at, spacing out, getting lost in my thoughts.
They came at night, mother and I were just getting ready for bed, they came in an smashed everything from mothers china plates to our windows, there was one thing they kept though, mothers ring, they made her remove it and snatched it from her hands then marched us outside.
That was the last time I saw my mother.
I heard the other men mumbling and the soldiers were also just outside.
I did up my striped pyjamas, took a deep breath and sat up.
A Day In Auschwitz • Opuss № I