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Holocaust Short Story
Two days have passed, as well as thousands of Jews. "What an easy job," I had thought. After all, how hard could it really be to tell people where to go? Well, it is really hard. I split communities, friends, and families apart. I lied. It's not just really hard; it's the most heartbreaking thing anyone could do. I hold a gun, and every prisoner fears me. Why do they all listen? One after another, they follow along, without asking questions, without fighting back for themselves.
Boom! Another one down. How easily other guards do it; shoot them down in front of everyone. "And for what?" you might ask. They tripped. Thousands of people, a few trip, and that's it for them.
I haven't shot anyone. I don't intend on it either. Despite all of that, I am lucky. I am a selection officer, not an executioner, crematory officer, or an officer on a death march. I am lost in the enormous crowd. I have no need to hurt anyone or shoot my gun. I rarely even speak. I simply stand in my assigned position while the other officers do their "job". I sometimes wonder if they feel as lost as I.
"Daddy, wanna' play catch?" My ten-year old son asks me.
"Not now, I'm busy. Ask your brother," I respond, coldly.
"Okay," he says with a sad face.
I wake up from my dream. The look on my son's face in my memory breaks my heart. Why did I leave them? I am as mindless as these prisoners. I would love to turn back time, return to my family, and do everything that I never got to do with them because I was so consumed with my insignificant job. I was an assistant in a business office. I made descent money and had absolutely no need to spend my days with my, what I once thought, irritating family; I was so wrong. The goal of the Red Army, save the prisoners. My goal, save myself.
I know that they all hate me, but what can I do? Like I said, I am as mindless as the prisoners, but I am lucky. At least, I am as lucky as I can get. All day I think of my family. I think of how much I love and miss them, but I wonder if they love and miss me. I mean, I split other families. I can just picture it all in my mind: my family and I the prisoners, some other officers would separate us; then, I would never see them again. The thought of it all breaks my heart. I can just imagine what my wife would say. How could I have a cold enough heart to...There is no time for this now. A new train just arrived.
Tears, a heartbreaking cry, and a gunshot. That's it. Everyone is afraid at first, but they quickly realize that fear,no, feelings seemed to cause the whole incident. With this realization, they all continue walking, like it never happened. I would love to cry.
Two weeks, two months, two years at the most and I'll be free again. Until then, I yell out some commands. I might just make it through. After all, I'm not the one with the guns pointed in my face.
Being a selection officer only lasted a short while longer. I now am on watch tower. I shoot people daily, sometimes even hourly. The weirdest part of it all is I no longer seem to care about shooting my gun. In fact, I simply think of it as shooting my gun. I don't take into account who or why I am shooting someone. It is simply point, pull, done.
My heart grew cold. Hitler controls me. He completely controls me. Despite the coldness of my heart, I, I miss my family. I miss my love, my compassion, and my free spirit. I begin to cry. I put the gun to my head.
Boom! Another one down. How easily the officers do it, look away, without an ounce of compassion. Suicide is considered the act of killing oneself, but Hitler hd killed my emotions, personal beliefs, and any ounce of self worth or self respect. I was already dead; and when no one even flinched when the gun went off, I knew that.