Never Forget

I'm writing a short story for my L.A. class and it has to be about a historic event from a new perspective. I chose the Holocaust from the POV of a tree. Here's what I have so far:

 It was daytime, but the sky was a deathly-gray and sat without a word. The only sound was the whirl of snow, rushing and landing all across my branches. I shivered softly as snowflakes landed on me and sent bursts of chills up my trunk. I watched the snowflakes and followed their path as they flitted and darted; swirled in and around each other. Almost as if they were mocking the prisoners they fell on.

The prisoners were a herd unified by stripes; hunched over and digging. Shivering more than myself, they shrugged off the flakes and continued their work. Shoulders and arms moved in quasi-synchronization, with pale foreheads sculpted with wrinkles, eyes that were dim, and lips that let sneezes slip from them.  It seemed amazing that they could even move; could even lift a finger. Their gaunt limbs were nothing but bone, almost the width of my branches. Some were young and others old, short and awkwardly tall, strong and weakening.

 I shifted my roots and noticed what they were digging. A huge pit.  The prisoners stood on one side of it, with a line of guns on the other. Guns clenched between the hands of men who were contrasting against the white, wearing uniforms of black.

Soon, the prisoners stopped from a command. The voice they obeyed was dripping with a German accent. Some prisoners still held their tools and some let them slip from their grasp. From there they stood still. And they waited for what to do next. One of the prisoners, old and wise-eyed, almost seemed to know what he and the others were preparing themselves for. I watched him mouth something; a prayer maybe.

That’s when the guns came alive. They took on lives of their own and fired. Bangs and booms shot through the air and knocked the life from every body across from them. Instantly the prisoners fell to their knees, on their faces, clutching their chests, crying, screaming out in pain. Some even bawled out the names of loved ones and asked where God was. Blood erupted from their skeletal bodies, leaving them to fall in the pit they made or to be knocked down wherever they stood. The sky was left even more speechless than before.

An hour passed by. A white quilt had formed over my trunk and over the mass grave, which was filled to the brim with bodies now. They were all stripped of their clothing and were now just a pile of mangled arms, legs and rib cages. I knew I would never forget the sight of the corpses, as snowflakes continued to twirl and spin over them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It had just rained and the air was veiled with mist. Little droplets of water hovered in the air and some made their way down on my wrapped-up leaves. I was watching a pair of birds soar through the haziness. Like they were performing an intricate dance, they dashed and swooped everywhere, knocking the droplets around. Suddenly, a sound tore through the air. Its harshness chased the pair away. The rhythmic, whistling noise caught me off guard too and I arched over in my bark to follow it.

A train materialized through the fog and clanked down a path of railroad. It slid through a gate that sat between a long, brick building with a tower perched on top. The machine then rolled into a stop at a platform, letting out a monstrous whistle. Soon, a few camp prisoners took the cue and jumped aboard the train. It looked like they were carrying flashlights and sticks

Moments later, the cargo of the train came out from all the compartments. They used their hands to shield their faces from the sticks. They were Jewish people. It looked like they didn’t have anything with them, except the clothes on their backs. Some held each other’s hands, ran fingers through hair, and looked scared by their uncertain future. Some even had eyes intense with rebellion. It seemed for them, they’d already been through enough. But, they soon found they were too vulnerable to protect themselves from the guns, held by SS officers. So, they inched forward off the train platform defeatedly. As soon as they came off, they were separated.

From my distance, I was able to pick up a phrase: “Men to the left. Women to the right.” The officer who said it used his hands for emphasis and soon the bedlam began. Mothers screamed and ran to their sons, fathers grasped their daughters. Couples were pulled apart and children whimpered with confused tears. Others fell in prayer position and some pressed fingers on each other’s cheeks and said they’d see one another again. Shots were then fired and were aimed at those who didn’t follow the order quickly enough.

Control returned and the groups formed lines of five on command. Then the selection started. A man surrounded by officers and dressed in a white coat came out. He carried a baton in hand. He walked up and down the rows, asking each prisoner questions and then poked and probed their bodies with his instrument. He then pointed for them to either go to the left or right. I saw the trend and knew one way was for the fit and another for the unfit. The ones who were fit were sent to a set of barracks; while the unfit were sent to another building that looked like it was on fire. Flashes of the mass murder I saw during the winter went through me and I knew the unfit would face the same fate. But in a different way.  I would never forget the sadness I felt for them, as they were sent toward the “burning” building.

Night swept over the evening and the next morning I stretched my branches. I was happy to see some dew-covered leaves had unraveled during the night. The air was less clouded with moisture, so I leaned over towards the camp. I saw the new arrivals from yesterday were now just another addition of stripes. Then I was struck by their skin and hair. Their skin was tattooed with a number, on their forearm, and their hair was cut short. So short, it felt like the new prisoners had an androgynous look and I couldn’t tell the women from men. Then I remembered the victims who were sent to the “burning” building. I straightened my trunk back up and looked away.

 

 

 

 

 

The sun, with the clouds behind it, seemed like an egg-yolk sizzling against the blue sky. My fresh leaves tried their best to withstand the heat, but I ignored it. I was too busy taking in the summery beauty of the day.  Mosquitoes floated in lazy groups and the grass was greener than ever. Everything felt crisp and vibrant. But some things never changed. Down at the camp, the SS officers were on patrol again. Walking about and making sure things were going their way.

They fascinated me sometimes. They way they could march so in step, how they carried so much power and control. But then it fascinated me how someone could live with instigating hell on earth. It seemed easy for some. Easy for the ones who carried high shoulders and lusted for authority. Who’d do whatever it took to get it. The ones who pleasured in insulting the prisoners, with hints of smiles in their voices

But there were those who did it for pride. For their Führer.  The ones with stiff, serious walks and puffed chests. To them, the prisoners weren’t the enemy. But their blood was. To spill it would honor their country.

But I could never forget the SS officers who did it for protection. The ones who were lacking in confidence when they marched and whose eyes drooped with remorse. They held a charade so no one else would know. Know that they didn’t want to be a part of this. The thoughts of staying true and becoming something else became intertwined in their minds.

I was still watching the camp. I spotted an officer walking back and forth in front of a row of prisoners. Little puffs of dust rose whenever he took a step. I could only pick up this of what he said: “Which one of you filthy pigs stole from the kitchen?” The SS officer held a gun, with the butt tapping against his right palm. The accused prisoners just stood with their heads towards the ground, hands behind their backs. One of them was a small boy. He had a light, ethereal face. He started to sway nervously and shifted his eyes constantly. The officer noticed from the corner of his eye. He stopped his pacing and landed in front of the boy. He curled his lip and asked “Did you?” . The boy looked up and nodded. The officer took his gun and shot him.

It was amazing what the Jewish people went through here. And not even just them. There were Gypsies and homosexuals, socialists and communists, the disabled and the Jehovah’s Witnesses. All unheard victims here.

The boy’s dead body laid still and the sun’s heat intensified.  

Author's Note

Please tell me what you think so far and leave any suggestions! Please and thank you!