sjsprWriting

I stil remember how it felt, how I felt that summer of 1939. Life in the camp was excruciating. Our lives were encompassed by an impending terror that came as a consequence to mistreatment and suffering. I lived with fear, fear towards the unknown reality of that which was the rest of my life. The fear soon turned to anger and hatred as the days passed. But other times I felt lucky; I had made it so far alive. 

Everyday I’d see the smoke the chimney would release. The crematorium. I thought about all those people who met their terrible fate there. Yet, I couldn’t help but think that maybe in a way they were better off. They had ended their agony; they were no longer in pain. It was over for them. After I’d think, what about me, what was next for me?