The sun’s rays danced daintily off of dew droplets, forming a multitude of radiant patterns that glowed like beaming stars in the cool night sky. The wind whispered through the trees, causing flower petals to waltz harmoniously towards the grass that formed a bed over the otherwise arid and glacial ground. A young girl with hair as dark as the depths of the ocean sat dejectedly on a decrepit bench, gazing despondently into a forest, far outside the narrow fenced area she was trapped in. She wished that the sun would vanish from the sky to be replaced with boisterous thunder and icy sheets of rain, to mirror her own anger and frustration. To her, the wind was whispering an eerie aria of peril to all Jews, that their days were numbered, and reminding all that once one entered Belzec concentration camp, their only escape was through the gas chambers. As she observed the smoke floating out of the chimney, she could almost see it take the shape of a dove, eager to fly away into a land where Jews were no longer synonymous with scum and vermin, where the yellow star of David was much more than a stain of woe.

Although fear washed over her like a rugged wave whenever she contemplated the possibility of taking her last breath in one of Die Führer’s showers, she often felt envy towards those whose souls were able to escape out of the world of bloodshed, into heaven, which she knew was now the colour of Jews. Yet those whom truly left a knife of envy penetrating into her heart were those on the other side of the fence with icy sapphire eyes and hair the colour of freshly ripe lemons. Those who were able to manipulate words to their advantage and to spin a hateful web of lies to trap anyone who may oppose them, like a spider maliciously luring its prey.

On the other side of the fence, she could see the glee in the eyes of children laughing as they played in the dirt, innocently waiting for their fathers to incinerate those known to most as “filth” but to those children are just ordinary people.  And then there were the children barely a few feet away from her, with their ribs protruding from their chest and mud seeping through their disheveled clothes, hiding stains of blood from excess beatings.  She could see in their mothers’ eyes the acknowledgement of the fact that they can do nothing to stop the suffering of their children, and must watch in anguish as their innocence and hope are violently torn away from them so quickly, as if in the blink of an eye. How can mere words result in some children coming home to a family with an ambrosial meal prepared on the table, while others are only considered worthy enough to work in concentration camps and await a tragic undeniable fate?

As she gazed across to outside the confines of the concentration camp, she could see the lips of the nazi soldiers moving, but the words they uttered were only a blur to her fatigued eyes. “Twoje s?owa s? jak bro?,” she whispered fiercely, as she began to stand up, her aching legs almost unable to support her. “Your words are like weapons.” With this phrase echoing through her mind like ringing brass bells, she staggered behind a shrub that was beginning to decay and glanced in all directions around her before beginning to dig with a sharp rock into the frigid ground. As she shovelled deeper and deeper into the icy soil, her heartbeats began to quicken and droplets of sweat began to form on her forehead, not from the physical exertion of her task, but from the sole reason that as she was digging into the soil, she was not only uncovering layers of dirt, but unearthing memories that existed at the bottom of her mind. She was aware of the consequences which would befall her if she was caught, she was aware of them in her memories, and aware of them in the present.

Yet, this fact didn’t stop her, in fact, it fuelled the fire that existed with her to drive her rock deeper into the soil. As she attempted to scrape off the remaining dirt from an amber colored book with tattered corners, she accidentally scraped the skin of her palm with the rock. Blood began to drip from her fingers dribbling along the side of the book, and forming a moist pool on the ground. She observed the way in which her blood immediately froze, its previously viscous surface immediately rid of all movement, almost mirroring herself - trapped in a small concentration camp for what feels like a millennium.  She ran her fingers along the spine of the book and began to open the ripped pages. With her uninjured hand, she drew a pencil from her pocket and began to write a phrase. Yet, before she managed to curl edge of her last s she felt a firm hand on her shoulder. As dread hit her like a bullet, she turned around and gazed into unfamiliar eyes, which glinted, almost wickedly.  Before she had the chance to utter a mere word, she was overwhelmed by a flood of insults, none of which she truly heard except for one word which currently rested as her sole defining feature. “?yd”, Jew.