All characters belong to me, and I've dedicated this to the lost souls of the Holocaust, even though I'm not Jewish, I'd like to dedicate this most to Amanda and Marissa for a happy Hanukkah! Luv ya lots!
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Summary: A Fictonal about a young orphaned girl, Marsha Palmeir, as she faces the reality of having no family.. Alone in the coldness of one of the harshest concentration camps. Sullen from reality, there is nothing to do, but wait among the thousands to be killed...
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The reality of having neither a father or mother, neither a sibling or close relative was frightening. My father died upon arrival in one of the several gas chambers in Auschwitz, and my mother died of her gried.. I remember the day she died. She was sweating, and gripping my hand, and finally at two o'clock on December twenty-fifth, she died with her Star of David engraved in her palm. Christians would have called that day Christmas, but I will forever remember that that was the day my mother passed away.
I walked toward the cold barbed wire fence staring at the mud and poorly dressed people on the other side. Seeing that very sight, with their ragged clothes, unsuitable for people during this time especially the weather conditions. My arm stung with the tattoo with all those numbers, I never made it through grade school. I'm only nine years old. I feel tingles go down my back, cold gusts of wind cause goosebumps to rise on my bare skin. It's unbearable, the coldness of Auschwitz.
There is a sudden commotion across the fenced off portion, a Nazi soldier is forcing another woman to kneel before him and praise him as if he were a god. Using the butt of his gun, he beats her when she refuses to. Tears slowly roll down my cheeks. I feel the pain of all of us, Jews. Starving deprived of nutrients and warmth, in this desert of Nazi fools. There is little laughter in this great place of sorrow, but seriousness and unforgiveness run through their veins, feuling them like the trains that brought us here.
A whistle sounds from the guard house, and we must get in line, preparing to die if we must. There is nothing in our power we can do, only sit and wait for our turn to die, as Hitler's commands for death to anyone who is not like them, blond hair,blue eyes, and Christian. Recalling the events before we were herded away, just like cattle, were terrible. Our neighbors, the Johnsons were Christian, and sought to help me hide, but only a few days before the Nazi's barged in and siezed me.
They pace around us, like wolfs read to devour their prey. Slowly the stern man walks up and down our rows, he walks closer and closer to me, while pointing people out of their lines to get into a new line to death. I can see him in the grey skies, thunder rumbles somewhere beyond the bouandaries of Auschwitz. His long, pointy finger points in my direction and a surge of panic floods my viens as I line up... Just like that to be killed.
The others who are with me are crying, I stand alone.. Forever forgotten by loved ones, about to be devoured by humanity and society. Never had I known it would come to this. Never would I have dreamed to die like this. The Nazi men march us away... Away to an uncertain place of dread and doom. There are several women along the far west fence, weeping to see us leave. It seems as if the whole of us cry out upon each other's death, like we were brothers and sisters in this death camp. We are one... We are the victims of hate and racism... We are the people.
Epilogue:
Marsha Palmier died at the age of nine years old. No one knows the exact date that she died, all historians have discovered is that it is around January 1943. She was killed in the gas chambers along with many of the other children. When the camp was liberated, her aunt and uncle journeyed from America to seek out what had happened to Marsha. They fell into dispair of the loss of possibly the only survivor from their family. This written story was found in one of the bunks by a tourist in late 1990, when the museum was established.
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