Narrative Essay On Night By Elie Wiesel

911 Words2 Pages

I have made a mistake. And this mistake took away thirty years of my life away from you. I won’t be able to pack your lunch on your first day of school, and I won’t be able to see you walk across the podium to receive your diploma. Because of my mistake, your life will be more difficult, and I only hope to make it up with this story. You may hate me or miss me, but no matter what you are feeling, I hope that you will have this story to accompany and guide you when I am gone.
She committed suicide. I wasn’t surprised because she never had anyone visit her throughout the eighteen years that she was here. Excruciatingly, loneliness can close in on anyone – especial people in here. But what I find strange is that she died after seeing the one …show more content…

I overheard from the guards saying how she incriminated herself during the trial when she answered every question honestly. She admitted to not releasing the prisoners, and allowing the flames to devour the church and the innocent people in it. She also admitted to writing a report that proved that she and her fellow guards didn’t release the prisoners. I couldn’t have imagined that such diligent woman was a cruel Schutzstaffel guard, and yet, I see these books on her shelf like nails condemning her to death. Through these books, I saw that she was trying to atone for crimes. But for someone who is already in prison, to read and acknowledge such horrific accounts of her own doings is just …show more content…

It was a sunny day with a sweet aroma of blooming tulips. The sunlight glittered on their faces as the breeze rattled the chestnut tree above. There was an occasional giggle as they talked, but there was also a hint of discomfort and awkwardness between them as they peeked at each other’s face and recoiled when the other looked up. When the bell rang twice, I saw them say goodbye and walk away from each other. In the darkness of the crowd, a glimmer flashed into my eyes from Hannah’s cheeks.
That same night, I walked by Hannah’s cell and I saw her staring down at a newspaper clip out of a young teenager shaking hands with another man. I recognized that the boy was the man who visited today. Could he be Hannah’s son? If he is, then why hadn’t he visit her all this time? Hannah brushed her fingers across the books on her shelf, and took out a sheet of paper and started writing in it. This time, her eyes turned grey and they were empty, but free.
After a week, she committed suicide. I couldn’t help but feel that she did it out of guilt. The way she looked apologetically at the photo and the books, it made her appear demoralized. Seeing the picture of the young boy reminds me of you. Just like Hannah who felt that she never redeemed herself or could never be forgiven even by the one person who she loves; I feel hopeless

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