Sarah's+WWII+Narrative+Essay


 * The Optical** **By: Sarah Rooney**

Introduction Day after day I sit alone thinking to myself if I’ve made the right decisions. That if I could go back to that one day I could’ve changed everything. My experience at the Janowska concentration camp as led me to the realization that life is too short and it can easily be taken away. I dream about my time there almost every day of my life. It scares me to say I can still imagine myself there every time I step into a shower. Every time I turn that shower handle my heart stops and I freeze. Even though I know I’m not there anymore and the only thing that will come out of that faucet is water; its lead me to believe this nightmare, this experience, has now become my reality. This place has mentally damaged, physically abused, and emotionally shattered me.

It was November, the brisk air hit me and the adrenalin rushed through my veins. I stepped into the showers asking myself, “Will I die?" I have no clue. Especially considering my mother went before me and she made it out okay, but the gentlemen before her never came out. I was petrified. I stepped onto the cold tile floor with sixteen other men. All seventeen of us looked at each other with the same thought in our heads. Silence filled the room and thoughts filled our minds. Suddenly, my father came from behind me and grabbed my hand. His hand felt warm and comforting. It gave me the feeling as if everything will be alright. He looked at me, “No matter what happens," he stopped for a second; his eyes got red and his voice got low, “we’ll be together." I looked at him and closed my eyes. Fear wept throughout my body and a single tear dropped down the side of my face. I thought to myself, “why?” The lights kept flickering, just like the ones you'd see in horror movies. You could see handprints down the wall of the shower, left there torturing my mind with thoughts of agonizing sorrow. They were black and brown, smudged and clear little handprints. Children’s handprints, mothers, and fathers just left on the side of the wall, until the water decides to fade them away. He or she suffered, was tortured, they were gassed. I kept looking at these other men. There were all these faces with no emotions. Not one with a single facial expression. My father just stood there praying underneath his breath. I however, was lost in thought when all of a sudden water sprayed out. I glanced at my father. Our faces lit up like fireworks. Well at least we knew for sure we would have one more day together. Tomorrow would remain a mystery.

Now let’s go back to the beginning. My name is Salem Fischer, I was twelve in 1933, the start of the holocaust. Hitler’s army invaded our small city in Ukraine and made us run through the pouring rain and the mud filled fields to catch a train. I remember that day like the back of my hand. It was a cold, gloomy afternoon. I was sitting on a park bench with my longtime crush, Delilah Renegade. She was beautiful, inside and out. She had golden blonde hair, embellishing blue eyes, and the voice of an angel. She was perfect personality wise, she was radiant, kind-hearted, and could speak as if she was a poet. She took my breath away. I remember we were talking, laughing actually, right as my parents interrupted our conversation. The same conversation which I had just finally worked up enough nerve to actually do. They were ordering us to come home immediately. They told us we would be preparing for a trip we’d be taking in the morning, but when I got home my father took me into my room and explained what was really going on. He then told me this camp was for labor, extermination, and transit. The word extermination made me think to myself, how could these people, these Nazi’s, murder their own kind. It was inhumane. I remember the look on his face when he told me that I needed to be strong, but how could I be strong knowing I could be the next one to die. I could be that one in the shower. Not able to defend myself or the ones I love most. Knowing that, it kills me inside.

That morning my family and I were then taken to Janowska in a boxcar. There was no room to lie, saying that there was no room to breathe either. There were small openings and cracks for air and light to come in, but that was about it. You wouldn’t believe the feeling I got when I stepped out of that wooden box and felt the sun on my skin and the wind on my face. To look up at the sky and see the clouds roaming the earth, it was magical. I thought the worst part of this trip was finally over. Then once I think about it, comparing those conditions to the ones after that, the boxcar seemed like nothing.

The first night I spent in that boxcar I found Delilah sitting alone in a corner. She sat there with her beautiful blonde hair tied back with a silver bow. It complimented her, like her personality compliments her beauty. I sat down next her, for hours we discussed nothing but the things we want to become. She and I talked throughout the whole night about our future. We sat crammed in that dark corner, looking out the cracks and gazing at the stars. Even though we were stuck in that corner for hours, i couldn't help but smile. That sort of thing tends to happen when you're around the people you love. Delilah on the other hand, looked as if she had seen a ghost. Her face had been flushed of emotio and she had seemed as if something was troubling her. That's when she spoke.

“Sal,” whispered Delilah.

“Yeah,”

“Where are we going?”

I looked at her. How could she not know, I mean she was 15, three years older than me and I knew. I just looked at her too scared to admit the truth, "We’re being sent to die. Aren’t we?” asked Delilah.

I looked at her and spoke softly, “Delilah,”

She interrupted me before I could say anymore, “We’re going to die, aren’t we Salem?”

I couldn’t lie to her, not over something like this, “I don’t know for sure, but I,”

She interrupted me once more, “You don’t have to lie to me Salem, are we or are we not?”

I looked at her with teary eyes, my throat got tight as I tried to make out the words, “We,” I paused as a tear dropped down the side of my face,“ we are.”

“I knew it!” she wailed, her face soon covered in tears and her voice continued to tremble, “That’s why my father hung himself before we left! He couldn’t stand dying that way, he’d rather die hung on a fan in our living room, than see him and his loved ones parish!” She paused as the room filled with silence, her voice exceeding with emotion, “Before that morning I was a like any other girl, happy, but not anymore. Now I’m left to believe my only escape of this dreadful world is dying. Living is no longer an option, only a gift to those few. My father knew that and now I do too. Death is my fate and soon, like many others, my fate will be fulfilled.”

I looked her amazed, I just kept thinking, she’s right. That’s when I finally realized, this isn't a gamea anymore. They could really hurt Delilah or even worse, kill her. Kill her or my family. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy. Delilah couldn’t contain it any more, she broke into tears and fell into my arms. I held her close to me as the room went silent. Everyone seemed to be asleep, even through her moaning. I looked at Delilah, there she was curling up in my arms, holding me as tight as she could. My eyes got as red as roses and my heart sank like the Titanic. I started to cry, I couldn’t show Delilah how I really felt, because I knew I needed to be strong for her. So I put my hand to my eyes trying to hide my emotions. “How could this be happening?” Delilah looked at me noticing I was in despair. She gently grabbed my hand and held it there as she spoke.

“Whatever’s going to happen,” she paused as tears started pouring from her eyes, “we’ll,”

I couldn’t let her finish that sentence. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I brought my head closer and closer when finally, our lips met. I could feel the heat penetrating from her body. The warmth sending chills up the back of my spine. She pressed my head closer until I slowly pulled away. I looked at her and spoke swiftly.

“Nothing’s going to happen, nothing. I promise you that Delilah,”

She looked at me briefly with a smirk on her face, tears still falling from her eyes as she wiped them, “I believe you,”

She curled up into my arms once again and closed her eyes. I looked at her one last time before kissing her gently on the forehead. I glanced around the room as I lowered my eyes. Tears started dripping off my chin. I took a deep breath and looked at her once more.

“I wish I could too.” That's when i fell asleep.

The first morning we arrived we were divided by gender and by age. All I remember was the tears in my mother’s eyes and the screams throughout the night. My sisters Sonia and Sarah were only babies at the time. I wish I never saw the things I had that day.

I remember we were standing in the lines we were put it in. I remember my mother holding my sisters tightly, scared of what might happen. Suddenly Sonia started to cry, my mother tried shutting her up but she just wouldn’t. The solider shouted at my mother to quiet her child. Sonia wouldn’t compromise and kept crying. The solider kept yelling at her to do so, when finally he grabbed Sonia and Sarah out of my mother’s arms and brought them to a door nearby. My mother shouted to them, “Where are you taking my babies?” The officer did not respond as one of the men opened the doors and a furnace appeared before our eyes. My mothers eyes widened, “No!” she shouted, “Please, no!” She started balling, trying to restrain her self; the solider looked at her for a moment and threw them into the furnace without a care. “No!” she shouted, “No!” She started running to the furnace as a solider came from beside her and hit her down with his gun. She lied there on the cold ground crying. It was as if my whole world had stopped and all I could hear were the cries of my mother beckoning within my mind. There Sonia and Sarah were burning alive and I couldn’t do anything about it. I wanted to die right then and there so I could be with them in heaven and not rotting here in hell. The solider then demanded my mother to get up and quiet herself. She stood up slowly. Blood and dirt covering the side of her face as tears swept down it. I looked up at my father with teary eyes. His face said it all. I could tell this wasn’t just a glimpse of what was soon to be the end, it was just the beginning.

Closer and closer as it got to night I found myself working harder and harder. I sat at a table for hours, breaking batteries open with hammers for the soldiers own amusement. There pleasure was my pain. I went to bed that night with tears in my eyes and cuts on my hands. I lied in my bed covered in my own blood, with a new haircut, deprived of my clothes, and was now know as an “Oven-Dweller”. I was forced into a cold wooden bunk, stained with blood from the others who had died before we came. Lying there to remind me what was soon to be my fate. Delilah’s words still boggling inside my mind.

These bunks were each filled with numerous numbers of people with no blankets, no pillows, and no warmth. My father and I were fortunate; we were put together in one bunk with a boy about my age. His name was Peter. We all fell asleep pretty quickly, but around midnight I woke up to the tears of the stranger lying next to me. I tried to ignore it, but I couldn’t let him cry. I was about to turn around, when I heard the voice of a guard.

He shouted at Peter, “Still, dass man dumm Jude oder ich mache dir es selbst zu tun!” Which meant quiet you stupid Jew or I'll make you do it myself.

Peter started crying ferociously, I could tell he was trying not to, but he just couldn‘t help it, “That’s it, get up!” The German officer shouted in his heavy accent.

Peter then got up and hopped onto the ground, “Follow me!” shouted the officer.

Peter walked with him out of the doors into the labor field. I turned around to look. I just sat there and stared out the window. I saw them walk pass. I wondered, “Where he was taking him?” I kept looking when I heard a scream rising in the distance.

“No!” echoed what I was assuming was Peter.

My eyes jolted open. A loud bang filled the room. A small bullet shell hit the ground. I looked out the window breathing heavily. I just sat there replaying it in my mind as the room went into dead silence. The last thing i heard was Peter’s motionless body hit the cobblestone. He was dead and I had just witnessed his murder. It was too late. I heard the noises of the German officer as he dragged Peter into a ditch filled with dozens of other innocent Jews. It felt like a nightmare that would never end. My eyes were watering furiously, my throat was tight, and my mind was demented. Demented with thoughts of death, thoughts of Delilah, and thoughts of how my life was no longer something to treasure. I just wanted it to be over with, I just wanted to die. My hands tightened into fists and I closed my eyes. All I could feel was anger and disgust, but before I knew it, I was asleep.

I woke up that morning to darkness. I could hear the sounds of feet stomping on the ground. I stood up and found a door at the end of the room. I walked up to it, opening it slowly. I saw the words DPD Stabilization Facility on sign above a check-in desk. DPD stood for Depersonalization disorder. “Why am I here?” I asked myself. I’m just a 12 year old boy. I wandered my eyes. I saw a mirror hanging on the wall with a 90 year old man standing in it. I looked down amazed, “Why am I stuck in a 90 year olds body?” Then I remembered, Depersonalization disorder is when someone repeatedly has a sense that the things around them aren't real. It’s when you have the feeling that you're observing yourself from outside your body or an out-of-body experience. It was such a disturbing disorder, that seems as if you're losing your grip on reality or as if your living in a dream or even worse, a nightmare. I thought to myself, “ and it’s usually caused by traumatic events.”

That’s when it hit me, it was all a dream. A mirage played out in my mind formed from my past experiences. I’m not there anymore, “it’s okay, it’s over.” I kept telling myself before I started having a panic attack, which was a known symptom for DPD patients. I was finally put back to my room before I was given a diary, my diary, to express my out-of-body experiences and feelings in. I now know that this is who I am and whom I’ve become. This is how the holocaust had affected me. I was emotionally shattered and physically abused there and I ended up losing the lives of loved ones. Gaining a disorder, one that makes me feel as if I’ve lost myself. Where do you ask? Lost in my past, stuck in a loop that forces me to repeat these experiences. It seems as if I’m watching the same movie again and again and it’s slowly driving me into insanity. I can’t help but think, that even though I have figured out what is wrong with me, I still feel disconnected. I still feel as if I am that 12 year old boy lost in the ruins of hell waiting to die with the rest of my family. So I could die with the ones I love, so I could die with dignity, so I could die with Delilah.

The End

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**Bibliography**
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 * "Janowksa Http://www.HolocaustResearchProject.org."// Holocaust Education & Archive Research Team//. Web. 04 Mar. 2012
 * "List of Nazi Concentration Camps." //Wikipedia//. Wikimedia Foundation, 03 Apr. 2012. Web. 04 Mar. 2012. .


 * "Definition." //Mayo Clinic//. Mayo Foundation for Medical Education and Research, 07 July 2011. Web. 19 Mar. 2012. .