bedlam_beauty
Super-Earth
- Joined
- May 14, 2009
They said it was coming soon, that the Americans would free them all and the world would be right again. But seeing all those bodies piled upon bodies, well, it didnât give anyone much hope. Sarah remembered the day she had arrived at Buchenwald, in January of 1940. The place smelled of rotting flesh, sulfur, and perhaps what could only be called dead hopes and dreams. The girls that came with her were already malnourished from poorly rationed food, but those who were already in the camp were like walking skeletons. The gypsy girl beside her vomited promptly. Two of the guards dragged her away. They said they would take her to the infirmary.
The infirmary here meaning the shooting range.
Sarah saw them shoot that girl the next afternoon. She didnât cry, but it scared her.
The barracks at Buchenwald were cramped and lonely despite the masses of girls living in just one. There was nothing to talk about, no plays they had just seen, no boys across the way that were cute. Just the cold, angry silence of the barracks or the loud, defeated clattering of the men working.
The guards sometimes let a few of the girls out at night to walk around. There wasnât much to see at night, just a darker version of the camp, but Sarah was always in the party that went out. The moon was still gorgeous as ever, even though its soft white light no longer danced on clean skin, or on bright copper hair. The only thing the same on Sarah were her wistful brown eyes, big as dinner plates, doe-y like a puppyâs. Those eyes got her out of a lot of trouble, but those same eyes brought hungry stares from the male guards, who were tired of the broad shouldered, husky voiced German female guards. What was more delectable than a young Jewish girl who had no more strength to protest and no one to protect her?
The infirmary here meaning the shooting range.
Sarah saw them shoot that girl the next afternoon. She didnât cry, but it scared her.
The barracks at Buchenwald were cramped and lonely despite the masses of girls living in just one. There was nothing to talk about, no plays they had just seen, no boys across the way that were cute. Just the cold, angry silence of the barracks or the loud, defeated clattering of the men working.
The guards sometimes let a few of the girls out at night to walk around. There wasnât much to see at night, just a darker version of the camp, but Sarah was always in the party that went out. The moon was still gorgeous as ever, even though its soft white light no longer danced on clean skin, or on bright copper hair. The only thing the same on Sarah were her wistful brown eyes, big as dinner plates, doe-y like a puppyâs. Those eyes got her out of a lot of trouble, but those same eyes brought hungry stares from the male guards, who were tired of the broad shouldered, husky voiced German female guards. What was more delectable than a young Jewish girl who had no more strength to protest and no one to protect her?