Creative Writing: The Holocaust

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I remember being forced to leave my friends, my home, my life. There was no choice, nowhere to go, nowhere to run. And all just because I was a Jew. I remember getting on the train, and the never ending ride to Auschwitz. Stepping out, and seeing it for the first time: the Nazi death camp. But then I had to make a choice. How would I protect my daughter Bina? They divided us into two lines: one with all the small children and one with the adults. As we approached the two lines, I hid Bina in my coat, so that we might stay together, but she was young and couldn’t stay quiet. I prayed that they wouldn’t notice. We made it through and that was all that mattered. We were shuffled into cold, overcrowded buildings. Then we all got a number tattooed …show more content…

My job was awful, cleaning the toilets. Four other girls and I would be marched to the restroom. But these were not ordinary restrooms. They were like hundreds of outhouses: pushed next to each other. As soon as we entered, the stench became unbearable. But after four or so minutes our noses became dull and we no longer could smell the filth. We would then proceed to scrub down the seats of each toilet and unclog them, which most of them were. The seats had no barriers in between them, making them easier to scrub. I woke up one morning, got my ration, got my coffee, gave most to Bina. Just like every other morning. However, this morning when cleaning the toilets I had an epiphany brought on by the urge to relieve myself. I realize that because of my job, I could use the restroom whenever I liked and not only on the rare occasions the SS guards let us. After that day, my job became …show more content…

Finally one of them reached me. He looked me up and down thoroughly and noticed the bulge in my blanket. He asked me to take it off and it revealed Bina. He yelled something, but I don't hear him. I fall to my knees as I hear him pull out his revolver. Click. He pulled the hammer back. He pointed the gun toward my daughter's head. I did nothing. I watched her fall to the ground. Suddenly I was no longer in Auschwitz. Instead I was in my backyard, not more than a year ago. Bina had just tripped over a stick. She stood up crying, and I asked her why. She said,“It hurt. It hurt when I fell, but I'll stop crying. I don't want to bring you down.” “Don’t worry, Bina, crying doesn't make me sad. And besides, maybe now you won't run in the yard.” The hammer clicked again. I looked into the guard's eyes as he pointed his gun at me. He stared at me with hatred. This was the end. If only I had more food. But their was no other way to keep Bina alive. “Jewish scum,” he said, and with that, he pulled the

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