Teresa's Memoir Historical Investigation

The Leaking Truth Right after the gunshot, I sprung up. The events that followed were cut by my consciousness.

Like curtains drawn, it forbade me from seeing what was on the other side, seeing what happened next.

But I already knew what happened. My dad died. Thankfully, my mind knew I've been through too much to go remind me of my past. That's why I woke up. After the same disturbing nightmare, I woke up. I didn't need to know my dad died. He's already dead and back then, I was all I had.

Like always, I was the second one awake. Binjamin was first. I looked around. The women and children lay on their beds, peace in their minds. Sleep was a way to escape reality. It was a chance to get away from the war that went on outside us, and inside our minds. The lofty grey walls that surrounded us were supposed to make us feel safe, but honestly, their lifeless color was just a constant reminder of our numbered days in the death camp. But you’re still alive, my mind replied. Binjamin waved, snapping me out of my thoughts. Remembering our plan, I mouthed, “Today.” Binjamin nodded.

Suddenly, the doors to the barracks burst open. Immediately, everyone jumped from their beds and formed a line down the hall. A wicked pair of blue eyes scanned the room. Arms at his side, the sturdy guard marched down the line inspecting us for attendance. Trying to avoid eye contact, I bowed my head. Behind him, two prisoners collected bodies from the pile placed near the door. One at a time, they heaved a body on a wheelbarrow. The “Pile of Death” grew taller every day. Even worse, the stench spread throughout the room and stuck to everyone. A leech that clung on, refusing to leave. In our group, Ella held the record for dying the youngest. She was just three weeks old. Although she’s gone, during her lifetime, she represented hope. Our hope to live in contrast to all the people dying, due to the tremendous amount of hate a person could contain. After Ella died, Mrs. Kathrin tossed her on top of the pile. She was garbage. No funeral. We didn’t have time for that.

After I found out we could go outside, I squealed with delight jumping up and down. Binjamin joined in. Then I remembered I was ten, the start of maturity, and I was still being held in a death camp.

I snatched my worn-out coat and together with Binjamin and Jankl, we headed out. The chilly air greeted us with a slap. We shivered. Although they weren’t my brothers, the three of us had backed each other up since our stay here. Jankl was the eldest and our protector. Binjamin was the youngest and the one who cheered us up. Finally, I was the “brain” otherwise known as common sense. But at that age common sense meant something different. : “I have to admit I’m scared,” I told them shaking.

“Oh, come on Agnes,” Binjamin pleaded, his hands together, eyes wide. “If we cheer him up, he won’t kick us anymore.” He rolled up his pants and pointed to the bruise. “He might even take us home.”

“But what if it doesn’t work out?” I said both hands on my head, pulling my hair. “What if he’s still mean? It’s not like he’s going to change just because of — “Enough,” Jankl sighed rolling his eyes. He was eleven. Much wiser. “We’ve already discussed this. It will work. Trust me, it will.”

I always trusted Jankl and that was one of my biggest mistakes.

The plan began.

“Come on!” Binjamin urged.

Slowly, Binjamin approached the guard and skipped around him while singing a Polish tune.

Binjamin laughed. Suddenly, I remembered the times when everything was perfect. Like my tenth