The last two stories I wrote are stories documenting events that happened in history on 27 and 28 January. I did not write about a particular person but rather I wanted my readers to view an event through the eyes of a nameless observer of the event. I hope I captured the emotion involved in both stories. Okay I am off to sleep now and hope I wake up not feeling like complete and utter shit.
27 January
2014
The Day I
Saw Liberation
We
stood at the fence and saw our triumph. With all the joy we felt in
our hearts about leaving Auschwitz, our grief and trauma were just
too strong to allow us to enjoy being freed. We were still too afraid
and too weak to even feel the weight lift off us. We knew the Red
Army was coming because the Germans who kept us here had taken every
able person away.
“Those who
are able are marching from here! Anyone who can walk needs to come
forward!” yelled the officers to the camp. They had already begun
killing small children and some of the weak but the Russians were
coming and they had to leave with their captures. I should have gone.
They had stopped using the crematorium because it was broken. The
bodies piled up as they tried to destroy us all from memory. My
sister knew I was “healthy” and able but she wanted me to be
saved because no one knew what they were marching into. Mama was lost
to the gas chambers when we first arrived. She was pregnant and
pregnant women were useless to the camp. Father was taken away. We
saw him sometimes but it had been a while since I saw his ghostly
figure.
As
they called everyone to the front, my sister hid me amongst the
bodies. She told me to stay there until they were gone. I was not to
leave or move or cry until all the Germans had left. I stayed there
all day. I was too afraid to cry, too scared to be concerned about
laying with bodies. The camp grew nearly silent and I waited. I
waited until I saw another child walk from a hiding place. All the
children left behind walked to the fence and that is when we saw the
flag. The large red soviet flag coming over the hill. So the rumors
were correct, the Russians were coming. Many children lined the fence
now. We all had extra layers of pants and striped shirts draped over
us. We had clothes given to us by those who were leaving. Clothes
left behind from the dead and sick. The striped outfits were large on
us because we were so young and frail.
With
our heads covered, we watched as the Russians tore through our fences
in our jail. No one said a word. It was too bittersweet to think of
all we lost in this time of freedom. No one knew what would happen
next but we knew the Nazis were on their last breath. What would
happen to our lives Could we grow up normal? Probably not but we
survived Auschwitz and on this day of the 27th
of January 1945 we were given our lives back. We were able no longer
starved beaten and terrified. We no longer had to fear being shot or
gassed for no reason. We held hands that day and walked out of our
death camp together. None of us looked back, we only looked forward.
28 January
2014
The Death
of Henry VIII on This Day in History
Henry
lay on the floor. His breaths were getting fewer and far between. The
great and large king wanted to die on the floor with his arms
stretched out to resemble Jesus dying on the cross. He was always
known as a man of excess and this was no exception. When he was born
he was never meant to be king but he would become the greatest if not
most notorious king England would see.
As
we watched our great ruler fade into abyss, we had to look back on
his reign. In my youth I did not know much about Henry VIII except
for what was told of me. He was a tall handsome man all his life. He
had anyone woman he wanted and he never let anyone get away with
speaking ill of him, even if that meant killing his own wives and
friends. An athletic man, Henry VIII injured his leg jousting as he
was known to be great at. The injury became a festering ulcer that
never healed and caused the room we stood in to smell of rotting
skin.
His
reign was marred by religious discord and health problems. Now he lay
on the floor with only a few of us to watch. He a putrid smell
emitted from his body. He was too large and too sick to bathe.
Weighing well over 137 kg, the once robust and fit king is now an
obese and wretched soul. Everyone has paused. A gasp of breath from
the king!
“Monks!
Monks! Monks!” yelled the king. His dying words and one last breath
as the priest closes Henry's eyes and gives prayer. The king is dead.
His dying words a possible declaration of his transgressions against
the former clergy and monks of the catholic church that he drove out
of our country.
We
will not inform the public of his death, we need to secure his
succession. The great monarch of England is dead and all we have left
is a body too fat to move, a sickly son and two daughters whose
legitimacy is questionable. We cannot even give him a proper coffin
he is too large. A man of power, rage and determination left on his
floor to rot. May God rest his soul and may the people remember their
once loving king.
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