The sky above was filled with grey, dreary clouds. The sun occasionally peeked out from behind, to bless the prisoners with some warmth. Dora walked in a ragged line, crushed between the bodies of the other women from her dormitory. The words of Gigliola repeated in her head. "The elderly and the children don't work because the Germans are going to kill them all…they'll call them for a shower but the shower room is the gas chamber." Dora's throat tightened with pain.

As she looked to her left, she was met by several cement structures, of which she had never entered. To the right were rows and rows of those dreadful barracks that overflowed with other ill-fated prisoners. Men and women with starved, feeble bodies, who arrived months before, sat outside, resting against the walls. She need not guess what the dark stains were on their soiled, striped clothing. One man, whose skin stretched tight over his ghostly face, looked as if Death had already come and taken him. A woman held his arm close to her body and used him as a pillow. Dora envied her ability to sleep, as she had not been met by slumber in over three, long days. She wondered if soon, she too would look as though all flickers of hope had left her body and made her empty of all emotions.

As she questioned her decision to come to the camp, she was abruptly interrupted by a revolting smell, which hit her like a smack to the face. It was so pungent, it brought tears to her eyes. She held her hand to her nose, but the stench crept up through her closed nostrils, triggering her gag reflex. It reminded her of a time her hair had caught fire when lighting a candle on Giosue's birthday cake, but this was a thousand times worse.

As she trudged into the large, foreboding, concrete yard, where she spent most of her days so far, she saw a heaped mound of clothes and belongings that towered before her. She began to feel an all too familiar feeling of being alone, confined in a small space, unable to escape, even though she was just one of the many insignificant prisoners spending their last days here. Her chest tightened, knowing the task that lay before her. Day after day, she came here and sorted hundreds of items of clothing, without truly realising who they belonged to. Perhaps it was her sub-consciousness trying to protect her from the truth.

She took her place beside the pile and bent down to begin sorting. The pile, a mountain of dull greys, browns and blacks, provided little joy to her empty soul. The clothes felt rough and prickly against her delicate hands and the smell of burnt hair and flesh was soaked deep into the fibres.

She pulled a brown jacket from the pile and a watch fell from the pocket. It had a black leather band and small circular face. She recognised it immediately. She turned the watch over in her palm and wiped her thumb over the engraving on the back. It read, "Buon Compleanno Zio."

"Eliseo!" She thought. This was the watch that she and Guido gave to Eliseo 3 years ago for his birthday. The thought of her husband's uncle being among those murdered, jabbed her in the heart and filled the hole with despair. She wished she could keep the watch to give her small comfort but she dared not anger the guards. Giving the watch one last soulful squeeze in her hand, she placed it down on the top of the seventeen other watches. The small amount of faith that she held of Giosue being alive vanished with the sight of the watch. She swallowed down her fears, buried her sadness, and continued sorting.

As the minutes passed, the pile slowly grew smaller. The silence was heavy apart from the rustle of clothing. She found it almost peaceful, if not for the situation she was in.

Her thoughts travelled to her beloved Guido and Giosue. She refrained from imagining that she would find their clothes in the pile and tried to remain calm and believe that somehow they had managed to slip past the guards. But her fears were overpowering and tried to escape through her blank face.

She began to daydream about her life back in Arezzo. She reminisced of the time her and Guido sat on the top of a hill on a red and white checker blanket with Giosue playing with his toy tank. The sky was an array of pinks, oranges and yellows slowly disappearing beneath the horizon. The trees were swaying lazily and the wind whispered through as a lonesome bird sung out its lullaby across the land.

As she reminisced about the good times back in Arezzo, one of the women beside her began folding a little grey jumper with pictures of bright red cherries on the front. Her heart skipped as memories of her little boy flooded into her head. She remembered walking down the street, holding hands with Giosue, when he saw a mannequin wearing that jumper. He ran to the front window, pressing his finger against the glass and asked Dora to buy it for him. She remembered Giosue running through the house, tugging on the string of his little toy tank as it rolled behind him, when a nail caught his jumper, tearing a hole in it. Giosue would not part with it and Dora had to sew it up. She remembered Guido's birthday when one of his presents was missing. Dora looked all around the house for it when she found Giosue sitting on the floor with a square object poking out from underneath the little jumper. She remembered that was the jumper she had dressed him in on the day of their capture. She had slipped the jumper over his head and put a jacket over the top. She pinched his cheeks and gave him a kiss on the forehead before she left to go pick her mother up.

Dora returned to the present. She snatched the jumper from the woman and held it close to her face. A single tear pushed past her closed eyes and gently rolled down her cheek. Her stomach turned and she began to feel nauseous while her heart ached with crippling pain for her little boy.

Suddenly three loud echoing taps of the microphone frightened her and interrupted her silent grief. She assumed it was just one of the guards giving orders in German to the army personnel but as her mind came back into reality, she realised this man was speaking Italian.

"Buongiorno principessa."

Stunned by the voice of her beautiful husband, she stood up and began walking towards the entrance of the yard. All of a sudden, after some brief static, the voice changed. This voice was much softer and higher pitched.

"Mama!"

His voice was like music to her ears and filled her with relief. Her little boy was still alive.