Whew, hello my people, whom I trust are doing well, I have constructed a new story for you all, that I hope is very moving. I'd first like to thank my friend, Dubz'n'Chloe, for inspiring me to write this story, YOUR MY BOY BLUE!
Requiem For A Dream
"Women to the left! Men to the right!" Words from the growling throats of the Nazis washed over the Russian prisoners.
A platinum haired girl was immediately stripped of her name, title, and age, all with a swift ugly tattoo gun. 16708.
No one knew what awful hardships awaited them. No one knew humanity was to be stripped from them, fed to the fires of the crematories, starved by cruel men, beaten by kapos, and betrayed by friends. Humanity was nothing and it could get you nowhere here. Not in this place. In here, you have already left Earth. You where in Hell.
Auschwitz.
The bow she had treasured was gone. So many other important things were gone. Name, identity, person, life. Gone. She was a number. 16708.
Thin uniforms, roll call, fake food, evil men, work, sleep, roll call again. Miscount, they must do it over, it starts to rain, but no one complains. Anyone who complains is shot.
A month. Can't remember how to talk, speak, 16708. 'Prisoner 16708, we are moving you to the 206 cell block in Birkenau, the woman's division.' 'Prisoner 16708, here we sort, your hands are nimble, get to work!'
Where is God?
Platinum hair, gone, identity, gone, she could barely remember her name, replaced with the infernal number. 16708.
"Number?" A German man barked at the Romanian in front of her.
"12089." He said simply.
"Go over there." The albino wrote some gibberish onto the godforsaken clipboard.
The Hungarian behind her began to cry.
Where is God?
Who is he to deny us? Why has he kept the crematory burning? Why has he let the gas chambers consume the few friends she had made? Why did he take her from her brother and sister? Why has he let these people, these, these bastards to continue to wrought their disgusting evil, to destroy the lives of fell humans? To strip them of everything, their belongings and family, hair, name, and ultimately their humanity? Why? Why?
Where is God?
"Hey! You! Filthy rat, bitch, quit holding up the line! Number!" The albino S.S. Barked.
"16708." She said solemnly. Her voice was scratchy and quiet from disuse. The Russian accent was still there. At least she had that.
She walked quietly away from the line, to the courtyard to wait. Then, panic.
"What did you say to me?" The albino S.S. Yelled at the Hungarian girl that had stood behind her.
"I-I said, that my name is Elizabe-" a whistle, a scream, blood on the concrete.
"I didn't ask for your name, I asked for your number!" He shouted at her.
"Your inhuman! Because everyone has a name!" The Hungarian screamed, pointing at her, "she has a name!" She pointed to the Romanian that had been in front of them, "he has a name! We all have-!" Another whistle, more blood, high in the air, the brightest color in this hell. Fitting it would be that awful substance.
Rat-ra-Ta-Tat-tat-tat!
Gunfire, blood, more blood. White bone, brown, curly hair, gray substance.
The Hungarian was gone.
Gone like everything else, just, gone.
Where is God?
But she did have a name. What was it? Na-Naomi? Natilda? What was her name? Why could she no longer remember a simple word she had been called her whole life? The number. 16708.
Another month, another hell, surprise selection! Naked people run for doctors and S.S. To examine. The Albino is there, laughing with his blonde friend and his brunette friend. The Hungarian girl's death had meant nothing. Not to him.
Stories, stories, stories, rumors, rumors, rumors.
The people who get selected go free. The sick at the hospital get extra rations. The Allies were closing in. This is the end. This is Revelation. This is our punishment. This is Hell.
"Prisoner 16708!" A German barked at her, "get over here!"
She walked solemnly over to the S.S. Officer.
"We are moving you to a new block, block 207. They sew flags there. Get moving!" German hands pushed her out to the new cell block.
Red, Black, White. The Swastika. The Iron Cross. Bars that cross. An Eagle. Over under, over under, every day. Over under, over under.
She had hair again. Found a scrap of cloth. Old, gray. It would work. Now she had a new bow.
The person below her died of cold. She feared she was next, new selection, more running. Must dodge those bullets, must survive another day. 16708.
Where is God?
She didn't know what day it was, or year, or even if she could be considered alive.
Cold. Numbing, awful cold. The evil albino nazi was still there. He looked at her with distant. Was it because of the Hungarian? Was it because of her origin? Or was it simply because it was believed that if you were sent here, you were subhuman?
It did matter anymore. All that mattered was the coffee and sawdust biscuits everyday. It was the only food she got, and she was thankful.
Shouts. Angry German. Men yelling, mostly Germans. Some whooping. Those were prisoners.
A tank stood at the gates of Auschwitz.
What should she be feeling. She couldn't remember. She had dwelled in a sea of apathy, drowning there, for as long as she had been there.
Bang!
The albino hair was red. Red, red, red. Body sprawled on the ground, people stare, gray substance on the ground, everywhere, spread out in a huge fan pattern like the blood that covered it.
People laughing, cheering. What was it about?
American soldiers, everywhere, using humor. One ran over to her, picked her up by her waist, and twirled her around in the air before setting her back down.
"Hey dudette! Why they hell are you not celebrating? Your free!" He said happily to her.
"F-free?" She muttered. She had her voice.
"Yeah, free! As in, you can leave! Come on, smile!" He said, looking into her eyes.
"I'm, free?" She asked yet again.
"Yeah dude, your free. This isn't where you belong. This is hell." The soldier said.
She looked idly at the patch on his uniform. It was the American flag.
"So, I'm free?" She asked, the corners of her mouth turning up, "really free?"
"Yup! So smile a little more, eh? Come on, someone like you shouldn't be so down in the dumps! Alfred F. Jones to the rescue!" He said, grabbing her hand and they proceed to run about the courtyard.
After several minutes of figuring out she was finally free, finally not just a number, finally not subhuman, she smiled. She laughed. She wept with joy.
"By the way dudette, you never told me your name." Alfred said, "I kinda wanna hang out with you once we get out of here."
What was her name again? It couldn't be 16708, that was a number, and she wasn't a number. It was...
"I'm Natalia. Natalia Arloskaya." She said to him, finally able to remember her own name.
"That's some name, Nat." He said, "you don't mind if I kiss you?"
"If you ask, then of course I have to say n-" he cut her off by touching her lips with his.
The nightmare was over, the war was won, and Natalia was free.