The Night’s Cry

                                 

January 6th, 1941

I was sitting on my bed, waiting for the clock to reach midnight. The Nazis would take me soon, I could sense it. They would take me to the ghettos and then to the concentration camps to work you to your death. No one came back from the camps. At least that’s what I heard. I was all alone in the darkness of my cold, empty, house. My eyes were drooping, but I kept them open. It felt like strings were pulling at my eyelids, and my body felt like a dead corpse. Cold, lifeless, no energy. 11:59 PM. My dry eyes bulged out at the broken clock and watched as it ticked. 12:00 AM. I had slept in my clothes, in preparation to escape. You would be dragged to the ghettos, then to the camps. There was no hope. My brows knotted together as I squinted at the night sky. It didn’t have the starry night sky like Vincent Van Gogh had imagined and painted across a canvas. There was no lights of dying stars. But that gleam of the moon, that one little light of hope in the darkness, that gave me hope. It was time.

 

             January 7th, 1941

I put on my hat backwards, and pulled on some ratty shoes. I felt fear bubble inside me. My heart seemed like it was too big for my chest. I heard the front door burst open. They were here. I looked out my window. Three kids were out on the street, held captive by the army. One boy had his head hung low, a girl was screaming, and the other was crying so hard, he ended up vomiting. I opened the window, grabbed my backpack, and ran out on the roof.

 

I had escaped. I fell to the ground. My ribs seemed to crunch as gravity seemed to pull me down, down, down the rabbit hole. I gritted my teeth and shakily attempted to stand up. I was clutching my ribs, and hunched over. The army had walked inside my house. I could hear their yelling and swearing. World War II was a frightening time to be Jewish, which was the situation I was in. I limped over to a bus stop, and waited in a prickly bush. The bus screeched to a stop, gas fumes exhaling out of it. I stepped on, about to take my seat, when the driver had stopped me.

 

“Miss, you’re gonna need some money if you wanna ride,” he said. I pulled a rusty pocket knife out from my pocket. “I need this bus ride,” I growled.

“Fine, take your seat. Don’t make me change my mind.”

“Thanks,” I said. I sat in the back, next to a boy who looked my age.

“Are you escaping?” I whispered.

“I escaped when I was 13.”

“That’s impossible.” I said.

“We should get you help.”

I shook my head. “They’ll catch us. They’ll turn us over to the Nazis and all hell will break loose. And it’s not that bad,” I said.

“Caught or not, if your ribs are broken, you can’t exactly walk.” He said. I gave in.

“Fine.” He called out and the bus halted to a stop. We exited carefully, trying not to be seen. As soon as we the hospital, I could feel my heart racing and beating abnormally.

“Maybe we shouldn’t.” I said. The boy rolled his eyes.

“Do you have a name?” He said. I shrugged.

“Do you have a name?” I asked him. He pulled up his sleeve and pointed at a number. “One.” I whispered. “

“That’s your name?” I said. One nodded.

“I don’t know my name.” I said. One grasped my hand and pulled me into the hospital. “I’ll call you Zero.” I laughed, ignoring the stabbing pain in my chest. When we entered, hell broke loose. Alarms went off. They knew we were here. I looked at One.

“Great job.” I said.

“Oh shut up, I’m stealing some painkillers and some tools.”

My mouth dropped. “No, you’re not, they’re too quick; you’ll get yourself ki--”

“Not if I’m quicker.” He shot me a smile and ran off. I just stood there holding a pocket knife, trying to figure out what I was supposed to do. People ran through the door with guns. I ducked behind a desk, trying to breathe quietly. My life was flashing before my eyes. I saw One, slowly walking with a bag. His dark brown hair was wet, and his face was dripping with sweat. He jumped next to me, causing the desk to rattle. “What were you thinking?” I whispered through my teeth.

“Shh!” One said. The Army walked past, exiting into a darkened corridor. I grabbed One’s hand, and ran out of the building.

“That was...stupid and too risky.” I shrieked.

We had found an abandoned junkyard, and we were sitting on an abandoned rusty car. There, One was attempting to fix my ribs, and had succeeded.

“You need rest.” He said.

We both climbed in a van silently. The blasting sirens from the hospital were still ringing in my ears. The memories were all in flashes, yelling, sirens, swearing and running.  I leaned my head back on the cold window, and looked outside, as the stars seemed to dance through the night sky. I fell into a dreamless slumber, as the world seemed to calm.

The next morning I awoke to a sudden jolt and the soft sound of a roaring engine, and an enthusiastic One.

One was too excited to talk or move. He sat there smiling at the window, dark circles under his eyes, and his hair all frazzled in a mess. “Zero.” My head perked up.

“Are you Jewish?” One asked.

I nodded.

“You’re not in a great position,”

I nodded again. “I’m aware.”

“Are you?” I asked.

One nodded.

One squeezed my hand. “The Nazis aren’t taking you away to those ghettos and camps.    I won’t allow it.”

The next few days were spent hiding in the junkyard.

“We should get moving if we actually want to escape the Nazis.” I said.

One said nothing.

I repeated myself.

Nothing again.

And it was like that for the past month.

 

February 9th, 1941

One was pacing around in an old bus we had attempted to make home out of.

“You seem tense.” I murmured.

“Shush, I’m focusing.”

I sighed and punched the already broken window.

“When are you going to start talking to me again?” I growled.

One groaned and collapsed into a seat.

“I’m trying to find you a way out of Germany.”

“Oh.” I hesitated,

 

March 11th, 1941

I had awoken to One shaking me. Blood was dripping down his chin, his cheerful smile was spread across his cheeks, his chestnut eyes seemed to glow with excitement, and his eyes looked like they were sagging down to his dirty cheeks. He probably didn’t get enough sleep.

“Zero, great news, I found you a way out of Germany.” He exhaled.

I paused. I shook my head. “No.”

“What?” One said, his smile fading.

“No.” One squinted at me.

“I’m not leaving unless you’re going with me.”

One sighed. “Okay.”

 

June 12th, 1941

We had somehow snuck past Auschwitz and had made it into a forest. The stars glowed through the trees, the wind brushed through my hair, and the world seemed to stop for a moment. All of my worries, my doubts, my loneliness, seemed to go away. One gazed up at the sky. He seemed lost in its magical wonders. And as a shooting star darted across the sky, I wished that everything would be okay. That we would be safe. That World War II would end.         

                     But only one of those wishes came true     

April 30th, 1941

And it happened. It actually happened. The Nazis flooded into the forest. I hit One’s arm and before he even had time to ask what was going on, I had grabbed his hand and yanked him into a bush. My eyes were glued to the Nazis. One’s eyes were full of fear, and he sat there, paralyzed. The Nazis scavenged about. They looked like hungry wolves, looking for their...prey. That’s what we were to Hitler. Prey. Worthless. Weak. One grabbed my hand and pulled me into the middle. “Run.” He whispered. And we ran until we collapsed.

April 30th, 1941, 3 AM  We thought we had outrun them. Until I felt my hair yanked and a scream echoed out from One. He swore at the Nazis, tried fight against them. “DON’T YOU TOUCH HER” He shrieked. Blood dripped from his jaw and his temple. I was being dragged away. There was nothing I could do. I was a corpse. Lifeless. Worthless. Weak. Prey. One was being dragged south. I was confused. I didn’t know where I was going. I’ll see you again in a later life. I mouthed to One. He managed to crack a smile and mouthed Goodbye before being bashed over the head with a cane and knocked unconscious. I let one tear slip out from my eyes.

                                     And that was the last time I ever saw One.

                                    

January 8th, 1942

I traced over the number on my wrist. I remember when I had got it, the excruciating pain had shot through my arms, feeling like someone was pulling my veins out and knives were poking out of my skin. I knew One would show up one day. I kept believing it. To this day I still don’t understand why the Nazi’s were in that forest. All I know is that they were looking for us.

01826. My number. A tear spilled out on the number one. I was skinny as a stick. My ribs were seemed to bulge from underneath my skin and my face was hollow. My skin was blue from the coldness. There was no hope here. Just weeping children, deaths, and screams. They put us here to die.

Every night, there was crying. Weeping. I was one of them. The moon slowly reached the sky as it seemed to grasp ahold of the dying stars. The cries were muffled against ragged and scratchy sheets. The night’s cry had begun. I looked at my wrist. The numbers were etched on my wrist and would stay there till my death. I leaned my forehead against the cold wall. A tear escaped and as I stared at the numbers, I began to drift into a dreamless dream, and hopeless night, and a night’s cry. And every night, my wish would be, that my only friend, would be okay.       

                                             01826

                                                        10715

                                                        It’ll end.    

                                                    We’ll be okay.

 

 

November 23rd, 1944

Three years. It had been three traumatic years since I last saw One. I was surprised and confused that I was still alive. I was dragging these boulders across a field. A little girl was bawling because she had spotted her dead mother. Her small, weak, skinny body and her hollow dirty face matched her expression. Despair.

I wished that it would be over. And then it hit me. I could just run.

 

And I did. I ran. I heard yells. Gunshots. I ran like the devil was chasing me. And it was. I didn’t know where I was going. I clutched my 6 star necklace that my mother had given to me before she died. I looked up at the sky. Death is upon me. But it does not matter. Not when I have hope. I have taken Death’s hand many times but Death has always given me another chance.

I ran south. I ran out of Auschwitz. I had gotten shot in my hand but I didn’t care. My mind was blurry and I skidded to a stop and swinged around a tree. The Nazis looked around the forest. The forest. It was the forest One and I had been to 3 years ago. His jacket was still there behind a tree. I stifled my breathing and planted my feet into the damp earth. They headed north.

 

And I headed south.

I slipped through the woods until I heard a crunch of sticks.

I froze.

The sound stopped.

“Zero?” a croaky voice said.

“One?”

A skinny figure stepped out. One’s shaggy brown hair was tangled but his dark eyes glowed like the night sky. His face was hollow, making his eyes appear larger. His smile curved up to his dirty cheeks.

 

Waves of relief had washed over like the ocean washes over your body, as the anxiety drains from your mind and the world is aligned with the moon and everything stops spinning, as your mind calms as the sun goes down and the moon rises, and everything seems better, while your heart begins to beat again and life doesn’t seem unrealistic, that is when you can finally breathe.