Survivng Winter

 

They say the winters here are harsh. They say a man could freeze to death under a blanket of snow. I had not believed them, but I believe it now. The first day of winter was not bad. There was no snow, no wind. I had been optimistic that we would all live through it.

It wasn’t until the third week that winter took its first victim. I had met the woman before. She was not old and frail, but young and beautiful.

They carried her body out that morning; she was as frozen as the ground. They left her in the woods for the wolves.

The next death followed in quick succession. This time it was an old man. After that there barely went a night when someone did not die.

The wolves circled our camp, they were hungry. We had heard about death marches and acid showers but they did not strike as much fear into our hearts as winter did.

When the snow came there was a mass panic, the blankets of the dead were fought over and it was not uncommon to find four in a bed. It was then I begun to question whether I was going to live to see the morning.

Every night I prayed and with each new day I felt closer to god. But still I questioned it all, why me? Why not the women, children and infants that I had seen being taken out each morning?

The days became shorter and they melded together. Many people slept most of the day. I barely slept at all, the night stole their lives and I would not let it steal mine. Those that died were not chosen by those who ran the camp. Their lives were taken by fate. It was an act of defiance, giving in to fate; they could do nothing to prevent it.

It was weeks before the end of winter when they lined us up outside. They began screaming at us, we were all too delirious to under stand. A young man dragged a long hose out into the yard. We all stood silent and unmoving. We watched the wolves, as they watched us, their white teeth glinted in the white sunlight. The soldier drenched us from head to toe. The icy water hit us like a brick wall and many fell over in the mud. The months of starvation, the thread bare clothing and now they were drenching us in water. I knew it then, I was going to die.

It was three days later when I fell into a fevered sleep, I was fearful. I had watched many men, women and children do the same and watched their corpses get dragged off into the woods.

I slept for days, maybe even weeks. But when I woke winter was gone. The cold white killer was gone. And the survivors eagerly awaited the summer, although the summer bought another killer entirely.  

Reviews

[Inda Lauryn]

Wow! Even with the first couple of paragraphs, I still was not prepared for the grim reality you describe here. This is truly a poignant piece. I'm still trying to figure out what type of detention these people are in and why. It's very Kafkaesque, the not knowing. There are a few run ons and typos, but this is still a great story.

[Daiku Maryu]

Very creepy and oppressive. It reminds me about the stories od Soviet gulags.

You've got really good pacing and you can convey a lot of information through not many words.

[O. Ragnarok]

It took me a moment to realise what was going on... Concentration camp, right?
Regardless, this was quite well-written; but not without error. There were a few lines that were blutly put, poorly written. For example: "It wasn't until the third week that winter took its winter." Erm... what? I think I know what you were trying to say, but still....
That's really the only example I feel like going into, though; I'd hate to bore you with nitpicking on a good piece of work.

[Matt Penrose]

That was really good, Breeza! :-p

The first person form of narrative works wonderfully, and the descriptions are quite vivid, given the word limit. We feel the coldness in our bones.

Good work.