Dawn

By Monnie

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I should get out more.

Dedicated to Elle. Happy Birthday, sweetie. I love you with everything I can offer. BFFE!

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Chapter Ten – The Game of Life

Phoebe slipped her shirt over her head. "Why aren't you two moving?" she asked, staring at the girls in front of her, who were frozen to the spot.

"Did he just tell us to –?"

"Yes, Rachel. He told us to undress. Now do it, before you get your head blown off."

They obeyed without another word. Monica slipped easily out of her clothes, and helped Rachel, gathering her things in front of her. She picked up Rachel's, as well, and received a grateful glance from her, before the three of them crowded together and joined the others.

Monica kept her mouth shut, but inside, she was shaking. Her heart pounded in her chest. Her breath caught in her throat, and she found that her instinct to protect her two friends was more powerful than her instinct to protect herself.

Rachel pulled Monica towards her, hugging her tightly, and burying her face in her neck. Monica's hands, though cold, clammy, and rough, were gentle and comforting, as if she were holding a child. Rachel hiccupped and choked back tears, listening to the women who were around her, all as hysterical and frightened as she.

"I'm scared," Rachel whispered, "I'm so scared."

"I know, baby."

"What're they going to do to us?"

"I'm not sure…" Monica glanced around her. There were Schutzstaffel in every direction, and they looked like they were planning something. Monica squinted at several of them. One glanced up; her eyes met his and she suddenly felt vulnerable – even more so than she already was. His eyes were cold, penetrating, and a shiver of fear trickled slowly down her spine. She tore her eyes from his, and pulled from Rachel's arms, gathering their things once more.

A whistle blew, and all grew silent.

= =

"I don't know if I can keep this up much longer!" Monica panted, willing her legs to move. The entire camp was being checked for their health and endurance, forced to run around in circles, as people were chosen at random to be inspected closer. Though the girls had a fighting chance, their luck was thinning, as Rachel was with child, Phoebe was losing weight as well as dexterity, and Monica's bullet wound was still healing very slowly.

"Oh please, Mon – you're the strongest out of all of us."

"Well, then – I can't imagine what it's like for you, but it's hell for me." In an instant, Monica's stomach clenched in exhaustion, and she tripped forward, her clothes flying in many directions. Dropping to her knees, Rachel and Phoebe could do nothing but watch as they passed her, both frightened for their own lives and the safety of their friend. An SS Officer grabbed her by the arm, pulling her to her feet, only to shove her back down again in front of a man at a table. The man glared down at her, and mumbled something in German, before the SS yanked her up again. Her head was lolling about from the force, and her cheeks and her whole face felt numb, and she didn't know why. All she wanted was some sleep. Monica wanted to sleep, in hopes that she would wake up from this nightmare.

"Hands up!" the officer commanded, and Monica obeyed, blushing furiously when the two men looked her over with disgusting leers of pleasure and amusement. This was their fun. Their game.

The Game of Life.

And from the looks of it, Monica was about to lose.

= =

Joey took a glance across the grounds and scowled. Still – nothing was improving. The wind was picking up, and the inmates were shivering as they kept running – round, and round, and round...

Suddenly, the people in the circle became the face of an old, old clock. The hour was nearly midnight, the rifles faced north, and for each time a second ticked by, a bullet pierced the air with the crack of a bull whip.

It was a metronome.

A metronome to a melody. A lonely, frightening melody.

A requiem.

One more second.

One more life.

As each woman, each man, each child reached their last second, their last breath, suddenly – they closed their eyes and gave in to their undeserved consequences. Soon, people marching round the outside of this desolate clock became a revolving trail of smoke and ash.

He shook his head violently, his reverie vanishing, but not completely. Were all these people giving into their rewritten fate? Did they all want to follow the crowd?

Were they able to be saved?

= =

"Yo, Bing!" Kip yelled across the grounds.

"Sir?" Chandler yelled back.

"Come over here!"

He strolled across the grounds. Kip was standing with four women. All of them were completely nude, their heads down in humiliation.

"These girls can work, right?" Kip asked.

"Sure, lieutenant."

"See?" Kip yelled in German at the guilty looking SS by one of the tables, "I told you! Perfectly healthy." He smacked one of the women on the butt with a smirk, and she trembled as he pushed them forward, gesturing for them to get back with the others. "Oh – ho, now," he said, grabbing the wrist of the smallest one, and pulling her to him harshly. "Not you. You're coming with me. We're going to the dentist." Kip smiled maliciously, and the woman looked up at him with fear. She gasped and recoiled.

Anger flooded through Chandler, and he stepped forward.

"No – let me take her, Kip."

"Huh?"

"Let me take her. She's – cute."

"So, you've changed your mind?"

"I guess."

"You can take her then." Kip led Chandler aside for a moment, and added, "Go to the truck behind block 14. It's empty, except for some towels and a couple chairs. I'll send Joey for you in two hours."

"Thank you, sir." And he turned to the woman, and met her eyes.

= =

The child pulled his hat down on his head, sitting down to take a rest.  He'd been running forever.  An SS officer had set him free without the camp's knowledge.  He wished he had found out the officer's name; that man saved his life. Looking up, the sky was darkening.  It felt like the middle of the day. But, then again, time didn't matter in that place.

The sky was much darker now – black, even. It had only been a few seconds. Were these really clouds? He stared harder. It was raining. No… it was snowing. He felt his arms. There were snowflakes on them – but it was not cold. What was this? It descended like snow, but felt like paper. He squinted. It was even darker over the camp.  Running his fingers across the top of his coat, he brushed some on his palm. It crumbled as he touched it, and he understood.

He was holding his mother in his hands.

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