Hell

19th April 1942, Polland

The day dawned cold and dreary. I found it suitable to the tragic events that took place. I know not how it happened. Maybe a footfall or a slight cough was heard by the monsters that lurked outside, slinking through street after street, searching for prey. Those unlucky or foolish who venture from their intoxicated crypts of walking dead. Or maybe it was fear, fear that drove one who knew of us to betray us. It matters not, we were still caught. I remember the screams of my mother and sisters as they were dragged away, taken from me. I remember the cold, taloned  hands that gripped and tore at me. The dark of the train carriage and the mad wailings and moanings of the many who were with me in that small confined space.

23rd April 1942, Germany

The rumours were true. For the long, miserable days I spent on the train without food or water, rumour festered in our wounded minds. Rumour of the Death Camp. I tried to shrug it off as a lie, yet here I stand amongst the thousands of others before the gates of Hell. The monstrous demons leer at us, taunt us, shove the cold barrels of their guns in our faces. With icy, calculating eyes they searched us for those worthy. Worthy enough to go slave in their workshops, forced to toil beneath their brutal hands.

24t April 1942, Death Camp

I am alone now. The monsters, they took my family, my friends. Now I am surrounded by strange and unfriendly faces. Hunger gnaws at my belly like a dog at a bone. The food is sickening, mouldy bread that could have been made from sawdust, soup thinner than water. Yet, I look forward to the next meal on the morrow. I have naught else to look forward to. I share my bunk with four others, one of whom continually moans and will not stop. I try to dream of my mother and sisters, but I fear that I will never hear their voices again. The other prisoners and I, have not seen or heard any word of them, our loved ones, since they were taken from us. I must worry about myself now, I grow weaker by the day and I think that the monsters' claws will rip into me next.

By Ivan Webb