Dawn
by Monnie
I was surprised by how much enthusiasm I got from this first chapter. I'm really glad that you guys are interested in seeing where this is going. I also remembered one person who reviewed, who mentioned the exact thing I was hoping you guys would grasp from this: People need to be informed about the Holocaust. That was the biggest reason I started this fic, because I wanted to convey the message in a way that you all could connect with, and it makes me so glad to know that you all are catching on to that. Thank you. In answer to some of the other questions, the other characters will be arriving shortly. However, can you guys do me a teensy weensy favour? I was going to change a couple of the character's names, to fit in more with the time period, and their nationality, but, it is SO confusing, so... can we just pretend that their real names don't really matter? Great! I knew I could count on you guys!
MERRY CHRISTMAS, HAPPY HANUKKAH, and a SPIFFY-KEEN NEW YEAR! Oh, and Happy Thursday to the rest of you. xx
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Chapter One – The Procedure
Monica Geller, left alone, and marched towards the women's camp, shivered in the damp air of Auschwitz, her new home. If she could call it home.
She looked around her, as two Nazis, the 'SS', as her father had called them, pushed the rest of the group onto the rickety wagon. The weak engine started, and she and the rest of the girls shook as the truck took off into the fog. Monica coughed loudly, and someone hit her in the arm. She flinched, and glanced at the person next to her. A woman, not too much older than Monica herself, had her finger pressed to her lips; her eyes wide with fear. Monica nodded slightly, and tightened her cloak around her.
The rest of the trip was in silence.
When Monica finally realized she had been drifting off, she found her surroundings to be completely different. The truck had traveled towards a wide, dull gray building, with a huge wooden door on the front of it. A question masked her expression, and she quickly realized that she was not the only one who wore it. Monica shifted in her seat, and waited until the truck had completely stopped before she dared to exhale. An SS officer jumped off the front of it, and pulled open the flatbed, ordering the women off. He spoke in harsh German, but it was clear enough that he wanted everyone to enter the building. All the occupants of the truck were marched inside, then lined up, in no particular order. Another man, not an SS, but a doctor of some sort, came out of a small room in the back. He walked past every person, quickly looking over each, before standing in front of the group, and clearing his throat. No one dared to speak.
"Now then," he said, with a terrible Polish accent, "we must continue the procedure. Remove your clothes for further inspection."
Whispers echoed around the room, multiplied because of the emptiness of the building. The doctor's brow furrowed.
"SILENCE!" He commanded. The room became so. He continued, "Now then. You will comply with the proper procedures, or will be executed on the spot."
An SS officer stepped forward, and cocked his gun. There were gasps and opened mouths, and one woman shrieked and jumped back. Monica held herself still, and willed herself not to be afraid. There was nothing she could do wrong, as long as she kept quiet and rigid. The women began to remove their clothes; Monica did the same, keeping silent, as she said she would. On the outside, she was unfeeling, on the inside... she couldn't have been more humiliated. There she was, standing in front of dozens of other women, and several snickering men, revealing to them something she'd kept sacred between she and her husband.
'Michael...' she thought to herself, then willed herself not to think about him. Several women sobbed, clutching their clothes to themselves, and covering their faces.
"Good," the doctor said, holding back another snicker. He whistled sharply, and another man came out from the back room. "This is our barber. He will be taking care of the next step of the admittance process."
Many of the girls shivered as 'The Barber' walked past them. He was short, grim, and quite revolting, and he carried a small razor in his hand. He smiled menacingly, before approaching the first woman in line. He then proceeded to remove all of the hair on her head and body, leaving her completely and totally naked. An SS officer took her clothes and belongings from her, as the barber moved on to the next, and the woman sat on the cold stone floor to cry. Monica took a look around her. She was the last one in line. The one who kept her hair the longest. Did they think that thought was supposed to be comforting?
She looked at the woman to her left. She had long, golden brown hair. It would have been quite beautiful, if she'd been permitted to wash it on the trip over. It was such a shame to see those gorgeous locks going to waste. A moment before Monica was going to turn away, the woman glanced over, and caught Monica's eye. She smiled weakly, and Monica returned the gesture. Their gaze remained locked for a few moments, and Monica took in the look in her eyes. It was so frightened, so devastated, so humiliated, and yet, she still seemed to have hope. Somewhere, deep in her soul, she thought she was going to live. Out of no thought process whatsoever, Monica reached out, and took her hand. The woman squeezed it, just a little bit, but their eyes remained still. She had silently found a friend.
The barber moved further and further down the line. More women were finding themselves on the floor in tears; their homes, their families, and now their dignity lost on the tip of a blade. Monica closed her eyes, when she let go of the woman's hand, keeping her in her mind. Her pretty hair. Her friendly face.
Those hopeful eyes.
Snip, snip.
There went her pride.
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The women were all given tattoos on their lower arms, branded like cattle, with numbers. That's all they were now. Just a number. The were then disinfected with a cold, lotion-like liquid, then given identical clothes, each with a yellow triangle on the breast. Marched back out into the truck, the women dried their tears, and waited for their next instruction. None came. The engine started once again, and they were sent back to camp.
Silence.
Upon reentry into the camp, women were then sorted into block barracks, with wooden beds and straw to sleep on. Monica found an unoccupied space in the corner of the room, next to several weary looking women, and tried to lay in it. There was barely enough space to lay comfortably, so she took it to herself to use her space only for sleeping. She sat on the floor, silently, and watched as her inmates tried to settle themselves in. Nightfall was approaching, so many of the people already living in the same block were returning from work. They looked exhausted, and most of them were thin as bones. They habitually changed into their nightclothes in front of the group, much to the surprise of the new arrivals, and some climbed into bed, while others socialized quietly.
As Monica was deciding what she would do next, a small woman sat down on the floor next to her.
"Hi," she whispered.
"Hi," Monica whispered back. She took a good look at her; it was the golden-haired girl. Her face broke out into a smile, and she stuck her hand out. "I'm Monica."
"Rachel," she responded, shaking Monica's outstretched fingers lightly. They exchanged another look, before turning back to a comfortable silence, merely enjoying the other's company. "It's good to have someone, isn't it?" Rachel asked, after a while.
Monica nodded. "Mmhmm."
"So, are you Jewish?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Well, I'm not actually Jewish. Three of my grandparents were, and that's why they sent me here. I was just wondering if they did the same."
"No, I'm Jewish." She paused. "So, you don't actually practice the religion?"
"No, never did. No one in my family is, but the Germans don't seem to care."
"Oh, it's not the Germans," someone piped up from above the chatting girls. Rachel and Monica looked up into the dark eyes of another woman. She hopped down, and sat down in front of them, crossing her legs in front of her, "it's the Nazis."
"Yeah," Monica agreed, lost in thought.
"I'm Phoebe, by the way." The strange girl said, yawning, "I know who you are."
"You do?" Monica raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah, I've been listening."
"Oh."
"Well, not the whole time. You guys seem pretty nice, and it's bad luck not to have a friend around these parts."
"Why?" Rachel asked. This person was frightfully positive for someone so weathered-looking.
"Because, you gotta have something to live for, don't ya?"
"I suppose."
"C'mon. I'm sure you all lost someone in this whole mess. It's better to have someone who understands, to help you through it all."
"You're right." Monica said, nodding. She appreciated her kindness.
"Hey, I tell you what." Phoebe sat back on her hands, "I'll help you guys with the tricks of the trade round these parts, and in return, when I'm stuck in trouble, you'll come to my rescue. Sound good?"
Monica and Rachel exchanged looks.
"You've got yourself a deal."
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