5. My Worst Fears
Hans is in the truck waiting to take us to the new life that awaits us. The drive is long, quiet, dread filling the air. We finally get there, close to 1:30 am and the place is surrounded by a tall wire fence. The gate house officials stand and give the signal to let us through. We are taken to a small house where we will stay for the next while. It is bare of any happiness unlike my house. Tiny windows that barely let in any light, with bland walls, void of any color except white. I take my suitcase into my room and change into the uniform that haunts my days and nights. Hans meets me in the living room where the general is waiting to brief us. He leads us around the camp, showing us the horror that we will be walking every day. The people are dirty and miserable and I feel horrible. But the look that is on my face, a look that makes me the monster I have to be, is stuck there, not changing, due to months of practice. A nasty smoke fills the air and stings my eyes. Hans looks and coheres with the disgust the fills me. I glance around d and I can’t wait til I can leave this hell hole.
The general finishes his tour but not before showing the crematories, horrible living conditions and the other horrendous ways of the camp, and leaves me and Hans in our house but not without raising his arm in honor to the government.
Hans and I take leave to our house and the moon is still high in the sky. Hans and I go inside the shack and I am in my room and fast asleep before Hans can complain about he misses his wife and daughter.
I wake as the sun begins to peek through the window above my bed. I check my watch and it reads 7:03am. I am running on the humanity that flows through my body. I take the cold shower that is so graciously provided. It wakes me up instantly as I step into the frozen spray, hitting my skin like bullets; painful and stinging with every slight movement. I finish and change into the uniform and walk into the minuscule kitchen, where Hans has made a gourmet breakfast of stale toast. Luckily we have the black tar they call coffee so I might be able to pull off my whole appearance as the Nazi I should be.
I take my overly worried self out to the officers post, where I am given my daily schedule and a heaping dose of ‘They don’t deserve any mercy, for they are the source of all our problems. Take a gun and do not pity them. We are superior. Hail Hitler.’ My body tenses as I receive the gun, which makes my skin crawl with the humanity that still burns in my heart. I will not use this gun on anyone I tell myself. But as my fellow officers begin to leave, the general stops me and begins.