Immolation

Summary: Immolation: Sacrifice by fire. Poland was the center of the Holocaust, having the most ghettos and concentration/extermination camps. In the beginning, he had the most Jews in Europe but after the war, he had the least. When Poland's past begins to haunt him once more, Hungary was the only one who could help him. PolHun. Rated M for blood, violence, sexual scenes, and crimes against humanity.

This story came to me after discovering a Holocaust map while listening to Immolation from Schindler's List. I knew the invasion of Poland started the second World War and the names of most of the extermination camps in the country. That was when I realized Poland was the center of the Shoah. He's also known as the Rising Phoenix. I then looked up the definition of Immolation and this idea blossomed.

Before a phoenix is reborn, they are cremated by the flames before rising from the ashes.

The choir in Immolation of the Schindler's List soundtrack is in Hebrew, 'Im Khayeinu! Anu notnim Khayyim!"

Translation: With our lives, we give life!

I've seen many beautiful art about Poland as a resistance fighter but I haven't seen many about the Holocaust. I've only seen one on Deviantart, or two if you count a Hetalia version poster of the film Schindler's List. Most Holocaust fanfictions I've encountered were mostly about Germany or Prussia. While the Nazis did organize it, Poland was where most of these evil events took place. On a map I found online, I counted twenty cities with ghettos, eight main concentration camps, six extermination camps, and six locations where mass executions took place. But I highly doubt that this was all of them.

This story is dedicated to the millions of Jews, Poles, Gypsies, Jehovah's Witnesses, and others who lost their lives to Nazi evil.

Remember the Holocaust.

Prologue

I have been through countless wars, witnessed many evils, and experienced terrible pain. But from 1939 to 1945, I had seen the true evil of mankind. And for over seventy years, it has stayed with me.

On certain days, I would awaken and smell the stench of burning human flesh. I would feel my scars start to burn and occasionally reopen. I would hear the whispers of the dead, see the faces of ghosts, and nothing could divert my attention. I had no choice but to listen to over six million voices at once.

How many of them did not live? The number of my own citizens is only a small fraction of the actual amount. Even outside of the camps, many more great numbers of my citizens were slaughtered in a short period of time. We all lived inside a universe of death.

I have not spoken my second language in so long. I can barely speak it when I try. Not because I don't remember but because I would see herface whenever I thought about it. Yiddish nearly became extinct in my nation but I hear it in most of the voices and I understand them as clearly as my mother tongue.

She would appear in my mind. The way her dark hair cascaded down her shoulders, her childlike face, and sorrowful smile gave her the appearance of a sad angel. I never dared to say her name, for I would cry, and I wouldn't be able to stop. And her family. Her mother would weep bitterly and always said,

"Nebekh eyngl! Ir nebekh eyngl!" Poor boy! You poor boy!

Poor boy?

Surely she knew, yet she pities me? Does she not understand what I had done?

The first day I arrived at the most notorious of the camps, my soul had been consumed by the flames, immolated with the corpses of innocent men, women, and children.

Since that day, it all stayed with me. And they have never left. I had given up all hope of trying to let it go.

My scars remain hidden beneath my clothes and when the need arises I cover them with powder, paint, anything to conceal them and the mark that had stripped me of my identity.

A-2172

Nobody knew. For nearly eighty years, I've kept this buried.

Until one World Meeting, it all came flooding back and I had no one to turn to. Not until Elizabeta. The personification of Hungary.

Long before Lithuania, Hungary and I had a bond unlike any other. Since we were children and even today. She is more than a friend to me, she was the light in my darkness. My savior.

I was drowning in my past and Elizabeta pulled me to the surface. The voices were silenced but never forgotten. And they never will be.

Never.

I have many reasons for liking Poland and Hungary as a pairing. First, they've been friends for centuries, long before Lithuania and Austria. Second, during WWII Hungarians refused to participate in the attack on Poland and helped many Polish refugees who fled to their country. Third, Hungarians had aided the Poles during the uprising and during the Hungarian Revolution, Poles had donated blood to the Hungarians and also sent help.

According to Stanisław Worcell, "Poland and Hungary are two eternal oaks. Each of them shot up a separate and distinct trunk, but their roots widely scattered in the ground are intertwined and knitted invisibly. Hence the existence and vigor of one is the condition of the other's life and health."

March 23rd is Polish-Hungarian Friendship Day.

In my opinion, Poland and Hungary are one of the most deeply connected nations in Europe if not the world.