A Tale Of Two Cities

I heave a heavy breath as I stare at the walls in front of me, contemplating all of my life's decisions.

It was night, the air was chilly as the full moon shone over Auschwitz. Many of the other prisoners were unconscious, sleeping, passed out from exhaustion, or dead.

My calloused hands ran over the bricks, as I observed the sounds on the other side. Many guards were there, speaking German in their harsh tones.

"Ich wette, Herr Hitler würde uns zu Weihnachten keine Pause gönnen. Dieser hässliche Bastard," said one, and another replied, in a squeaky voice like a rat's, "Meine Frau und meine Kinder warten zu Hause auf mich, aber ich kann sie nicht besuchen, sonst werde ich getötet. Ich wünschte, ich wäre nie zu Adolf gegangen."

I shivered. They were talking about how much they hated Adolf Hitler, but they still worked with him. These poor, dull-witted are these Germans.

I smoothly slid off my shoes, careful not to make a single sound. I tried to hold back my fears as I heard a rifle cock in the distance. I held the pair of shoes I was wearing up to my chest.

I walked cautiously along the perimeter, barefoot and swearing silently to myself that I'll escape this hell-hole, no matter what. The clouds moved to cover the moon, leaving everything in its wake in darkness.

Another cold breeze touched me, as if encouraging me to go on. And go on, I did. The roughly-sewn t-shirt made of canvas-like material itched my chest and I was overwhelmed with the want of scratching my bosom.

I held it in, however, and trudged on in the darkness, a hand holding my shoes in its grasp while my left fingers were outstretched in the darkness, so as to make contact with anything that might appear in my way to escape.

I have planned this absconding for weeks, discreet in my thoughts. I have observed every inch of camp and every brick in the walls that surrounded it.

One joyous day, I found a crack in the wall, just enough for me to slip through. I have also observed with excruciating detail the guards' patterns of behaviour.

Planning an escape from a Nazi Concentration Camp is easier said than done. Fuelled with the desire of home and the longing for family, I worked undeviatingly, devoting my blood, sweat and tears for my beautiful wife and lovely, plump children.

The only fears I had in mine were two:

• My wife getting abducted and killed for simply existing in this world as a woman.
• Getting caught preparing to escape camp.

But, as I thought over these things in my mind endlessly as I worked continuously each day, it just ignited my passion for escaping this inferno ever more.

Scared as I was and dark as the world seemed at the time, I kept going, wiping the tears from eyes, the sweat from my brows and tending to the wounds I have accumulated in my time at camp.

Bringing you back to the current state of condition, the air got thicker as I approached my secret crack. Groping around for hand-holds, I pushed my shoes out, one at a time, making sure that there was another side.

Once that was confirmed, I slowly crawled through, scraping my hands on the rough texture of the bricks. My mouth had a metallic taste to it, a sign of fear.

I had crouched down low, so low, so as to not hit my head on the crack's ceiling. Holding my breath, I exited camp through that faithful hole.

Patiently staying silent, I gathered my shoes, slipped them on, and ran as quietly as I could through the tall grass, which I had noted, too.

I was free.

All these years I have been forbidden to even talk to any other human being, now I am free. Free from endless torture and suffering. Free from those horrid rules Hitler had made.

Free to live my life in a way that I might just be grateful for.

But, even as I exalted over my escapade, a nagging thought stuck in the back of my mind.

This part of my worldly scheme might be over, but the path to living will still ever twirl.

I had to search for my wife, make sure she was safe, figure out a way to take her out from her dark life, and maybe build a hut in the woods.

As I ran through the fields, keeping my head down for fear of getting shot, in which case all my tiresome efforts and endeavours will turn out useless.

My head was dizzy with frightening thoughts. In the distance, far away behind me, I heard a gunshot reverberate in the air, making my bones shake under my pale skin.

My legs ached as I ran, a look of absolute fear plastered on my face. It might've looked pathetic if recorded, and would've been the joke of the century, but now, as I tirelessly rushed forward.

I felt a sudden pain, as if one of my muscles had snapped apart, and it left an unseen wound inside my veins. God, I felt like I wanted to break down and cry that moment, but no, my wife and plump and rosy children are in possible danger and I must stay strong, and fight for them.

Thoughts of Harper and Hazel filled my mind, and as I imagined the faces of my beautiful children pushed me to tears, as my eyes were robbed of the glistening light in the distance.

The morning rose, and again, my imagination imagined a world where the roses grew, in bustling groups, fighting to get a drop of the sun.

The dandelions and oak leaves would sway with the early morning breeze, and the birds would chirp a tuneful, melodious tune of their own making.

I would wake up to the sound of my wife singing, just as prettily as the little birdies do. Then, as I rub my eyes to rid them of sleep, my adorable girls would jump on the bed, as if a tiger pouncing on prey.

They would hug and kiss my cheek good morning, as I embraced them tightly in my arms, never wanting to let them go. I would then stroll towards the kitchen, my koalas holding on to my legs as I walk.

Lily, my wife, would laugh at the sight and she'd rush over to the stove, forgetting she was frying eggs. Her thin, slim fingers would interlace with mine as I approach her for a kiss on the forehead.

She would smile sweetly as she cupped my face, and now, memories that I've spent with my little, charming family came flooding back, as the tears flood out too, joining in the fun.

As I ran, the birds did chirp, but, a sorrow, despairing tune, a melody of pleading, a sad song played over and over as the chirps fell from their beaks.

The sun shone, so bright, that it let me spot the tumultuous chaos spread around the fields. Dead, innocent people, lying on their backs with their limbs missing and their mouths agape as their eyes were widened in their last moments which were full of fear.

The dandelions floated out of sight, like my dreams and hopes for the future. In the far distance, the waves crashed onto the shore, the tide receding in and out.

Why did there have to be two separate worlds in this universe? One is called imagination, and the other is called reality. Life had been sweet and fruitful back then, but when the Nazi came, doomsday seemed to be quickened at its coming.