A whirlwind of emotions ventilated her striped outfit, as her weak eyesight drank in the picture of daisies smiling in the countryside. She hung from the doorless opening of the carriage chugging off at a snail’s pace.
She didn’t want to obscure the few beams of joy lighting up her miserable world by gazing at the sickly faces wearing morose expressions in the train compartment. So she allowed the gloomy wind to caress her matted hair and strained her ears to hear birdsong.
Only jarring sounds of machines and unceasing wailing welcomed her into Hamburg.
Hurtful wires and snide comments formed her first unflattering impression of the camp. Stony visages forced her into a large hall where shaved heads and hopeless eyes drowned the canvas in black nothingness.
The guards cringed at the sight of her long hair- a source of perpetual lice and disease. As the razor touched her curls, she remembered how her mother expertly braided her chestnut locks, interspersing them with roses, violets and her favourite- daisies.
The image of her mamma’s bloodied body being hacked to pieces by the merciless Gestapo as her shrieks resonated in the street, fluidly entered her consciousness. This made her freeze in the queue, with another girl behind her nudging her forward.
Her Papa had been exempted from this tormenting scene as he had been picked up a day before. Her optimism compelled her to believe that he was alive and well. She soon realized that she would prefer to not see her gentlemanly father as an invalid living in nauseating conditions.
A new number was then branded onto her arm. The pain it caused was a minor prick in comparison to the emotional longing she felt for her guardian angel. A laxity in discipline allowed the women to cling to the thorny fence.
In the pandemonium that ensued, her hoarse cries were met by a weak shout,”Liesel, my baby!” She reached out to hold his hands. “Everything is alright, darling. Don’t panic. Papa’s here,” he said as clubs wrecked his frail frame. With gunshots echoing in the bloody atmosphere, a stray bullet hit her.
Liesel and Papa died on the spot, hand in hand, across the fence.
Tript adores reading and cooking, desserts being her speciality. She likes to keep herself updated about political issues and has a predilection for regional literature. She also has a penchant for weird, wacky facts.