Entry III – February 19th 1949: -
I apologise: yesterday’s entry was cut a little short. The boys wanted to get moving, and so we slung our cloth bags over our shoulders, and, greedily wolfing a small portion of bread, we set off. Unfortunately, the weather took a turn for the worst. A biting gale began sweeping the landscape, ravaging it. The trees were wrenched this way and that, their naked branches flung about, littering the barren land. The wind pierced through our clothes, froze our bones.
The kindly couple assured us that we were welcome to spend a few more days in the warmth of their home, but we knew that it was imperative we kept moving. The NKVD is on our trail, most likely only a few miles behind.
Our faces burned with cold and stung with numbness. It was midday when Nikola began cough. She had constantly been clearing her throat throughout the morning. Then, a stronger, chestier cough had begun to develop. She spluttered up a thick mixture of mucus and blood. We suspected Haemoptysis, a symptom of Pneumonia. Nikola becoming so ill was a blow. Our time was precious, and stopping for Nikola meant we were hours behind schedule.
We set up camp just outside a small village in the North of Germany. We didn't dare seek hospitality from wary townspeople: a community of needy, cynical villagers were more likely to gang against five nomad fugitives. We decided to discreetly gather supplies and pass through when Nikola’s heath improved.
I am penning today’s entry in the afternoon, which makes a nice change: I have more freedom to write. The others have left to gather wood for a fire, whilst I have remained with Nikola back in our shelter. She is sleeping now, though she stirs constantly and coughs violently. I can do nothing else other than put cool water to her lips and offer the swill-bucket when blood comes.
I can’t stop itching. Lice are our sixth creature of company. They crawl our bodies, infect our sores, live upon our scalp and underneath our arms. My body is in a truly appalling state. I also have dysentery, which has spread the others. The tent reeks with its disgusting stench.
While I have some extra time, let me tell you of the morning after we arrived at the camp.
The dawn came shortly after Petrus left.
I was sat crossed-legged, waiting for the sun to bloom upon the horizon. Out of the morning silence, the thick clang of hobnail boots upon concrete rippled the ground. The sound was familiar, disturbing. I hurried inside our shack as if it were a haven, a refuge. Hannah stared up at me. Her eyes widened when she saw my horrified expression. ‘They’re coming,’ I said softly, emptily.
Less than two minutes later, an iron fist pounded upon our door. We were ready. Gently prising the stiff door open, we submissively responded to a raspy screech of instruction. My heart was pounding, thick and heavy within my chest. We kept our heads bowed until we were shoved in amongst a throng of fellow prisoners, most of which I recognized from the truck. The atmosphere was cold and awkward. Nobody made a single sound.
Males and females were separated into two clusters. The former were either pre-teens or adolescents: the grown men and fathers had been arrested and taken to another Camp, so we’d heard. It wasn’t wise to take to heart any fragments of information new prisoners had brought with them. In the truck, rumours and murmurings spread throughout the masses.
We were lead separate ways. Distraught mothers cried out for their small sons. They were slapped back into order.
The guards thrust us forward into a basic bath complex. One particularly haughty-looking soldier barked a command. This time, it was in German. We were told to undress.
For a brief moment, we hesitated, shooting bewildered gazes at one-another. A brave woman with a large bosom and cropped curly hair took the plunge and began stripping off her clothes. We followed suit.
The guards’ eyes roved lustily about our bodies. One by one the women immersed themselves in a cauldron-like basin of boiling hot bleach. We were required to put our heads right under.
My turn came. I kept my hands by my side, resisting the urge to use them as shields. I would not show myself weak and spineless and timid. I arched my back upright and walked with pride and determination. I stepped into the basin. Discoloured liquid lapped against my thighs.
I stared down at my reflection, ripples disfiguring my face. In that moment, my whole body seized up, paralysing fear racking my bones. As a child, I had been afraid of the water. I believed my phobia to be long-gone. It had seemingly returned at the worst possible time imaginable.
Before my brain had the time to register my immobile state, a meaty hand was slapped upon my head and fingernails dug purposefully into my scalp. I was wrenched upward by my hair. Agonising pain shot through my skull.
Eagar to inflict torture, the Guard dangled me by my locks. I writhed, my limbs flailing. Startled, petrified gasps mixed with full-bodied laughter sprung into the air. He let go. I plummeted, felt wetness engulf my being, fill my mouth and nostrils, sting my eyes. The wretched NKVD officer thrust his hand into the bleach and held me under. I felt by whole entity numbing, wasting. I was so sure it was the end. Then I felt another tug and air rushed into my lungs. I was slung to the dirt, spluttering and heaving.
A huge weight was shoved to my rear. I head the clink of metal and the rustle of fabric. Just to add insult to injury, the disgusting filth of an officer was going to rape me. I clenched my eyes shut and sealed my lips tight.
Suddenly, angry words broke into the air. They were low but audible, had emanated from the mouth of a commanding officer. I felt the guard get off of me. He kicked me in the stomach, spat at me, and then walked away. I stood, shaking, as white as a sheet; humiliation swathed upon my body, and joined the throng of other women who’d taken their turns inside the basin.
The bleach had seared my skin; the disgrace had seared my bones.
this is so sad yet intriguing!
I loved it, as always. 
Gender:
Points: 7522
Reviews: 229