Auschwitz UNNAMED

The warm air in the middle of January made everyone aware of what was happening. The chambers were groaning and the screams were stopping. Tears dripped down my cheeks as I pushed my fingers deeper within my ears to stop the noise. Everyone else was either crying, coughing or sleeping. I hated it when the chambers had new Jews in it. Today I had seen a family seperated and the children put in the chambers. It had made me think of myself. I was only twelve years old and my parents were somewhere in Bergen-Belsen. I didn't know where I would get my next meal, much less, a hug.

My only happiness came from the work I did. It was my job to feed the Nazi's dogs. The big fierce German Shepherds. They were the same size as me, but they were very nice to me and did not jump and try to bite me. They wagged their tails at me when I put their slop into their bowls. It always made me angry that the dogs ate better than I did, but I loved those dogs.

My favorite was Mitternacht, a big black shepherd with a heart that seemed to be wrapped with steel, yet as soft as cotton floating in the breeze underneath the steel. He reminded me of my father, a gruff man whose heart went out to those who were weaker.

Mitternacht was not only my favorite, but my friend. After I had finished feeding the others, he would crawl up into my lap and sleep, in the winter I loved this because I could put my icy fingers deep into his thick black coat and I would be warm. He licked my tears and listened to my dreams, he was a good friend.
Auschwitz was one of the worst camps during World War two, it was cold, and there was little food. I know it was the worst because I was in no way special, I was kept alive only because I was the only one who was brave enough to take care of the dogs. The routine at Auschwitz was simple, yet made you shake in terror.
Twice a week in the middle of the night, the Nazis would storm into the barracks and bellow at us, "Schnell! Schnell!" They would line us up outside, shoulder to shoulder. I can remember being forced to stand still for three hours in the snow, with nothing but my striped coveralls on, I had awful frostbite and needed help getting back to my bunk.

The terror seemed to ripple through the crowd. The guards would walk up and down the lines and yell at us to stand up straighter, or to mock us. They told us we were worthless cattle and that his potty was worth more then all of us combined. This hurt some of the men, but it is the women that shocked me, nothing that these villains said bothered them. I followed their example, I wanted to be strong and strangely enough, but the men were not the ones who were going to teach me.
Everyday when we wokeup, we were lined up, counted and then went into another line to recieve our breakfasts, a piece of stale bread, maybe. Sometimes you were bunched together in groups and given one piece of bread to split for five or more people. I was always hungry.

There were different schedules, but after a meagre breakfast, most people went to work, I was forced to sort the clothing that the Nazis said were found, but all the adults whispered that the people who had been gassed used to own these clothes. I remember finding family heirlooms, I put them in my pocket, thinking that I could return them to the owners, or family members.

After that, it was usually time for supper, I would take my tin bowl that I had found in the mud one day, and I had it filled with soup. I hated the soup, it was warm or cold water with a lump of moldy potato and maybe a piece of black bread. I once became very sick when what I thought was a moldy potato turned out to be just one lump of green, fuzzy mold. I threw up for a long while that day.

Everyday I watched people being tossed into pits and burned. Everyday I watched people with typhus being carried to the hospital barracks, few came back, and if they did, they died shortly after.

I was one of the lucky ones though, I was strong enough to survive three long, heart wrenching years in that hell. The only thing that kept me going were those dogs. I don't know why or how, but I loved Mitternacht more then I could remember loving any person. When we were liberated, I discovered that no one in my family had survived Auschwitz or Bergen-Belsen, except for my uncle.

The day I was to leave Auschwitz, I saw the army taking the dogs away. I ran after them as fast as my weak body could and I saw what they were doing. They were killing them. I remember yelling at them to stop and I wrapped my arms around Mitternacht. There was a journalist with them, he took my picture and asked me my story in exchange that I could keep Mitternacht and take him back with me to Frankfurt where I would live with my uncle. I readily agreed. And this is my story.