Those Days of Being a Jew: "The Old, the Young, and the Weak"
There is a sting on the right side of my abdomen, and it hurts a lot more than it did two nights ago. This is what all I could think of as I reach for my pair of dirty striped trouser. I need to work, I told myself grasping for a rusty handle to keep myself up. There is so much to do. You see, I was working in a grocer, so having a lot of things to do is not new to me. This awful sting, however, this is new. I checked for wounds, there is none, but I feel like wanting to throw my guts out for a while so I can just work. There is so much to do. I cannot have nothing to do. I need to do something. Anything. But then, I just can’t remain standing.
So these fellow men wearing the same trouser as mine helped me up, and walked me to the shower room.
. . .
My mum… I cannot find her in here. They took me from her, and all she was screaming was “no”, over and over. I do not know what is happening, I do not know why I have to be in here. I am with a lot of men with silver hair. I squeezed through them hoping to see grampa. You see, grampa has silver hair too, and the friends of the big men who took me from mum earlier were also the ones who said grampa needs to stay elsewhere, I think. I did not ask mum, but I am sure it is because his hair is silver. I need to find him so I can tell him that there has been a mistake.
My hair is not silver, it is black. I am sure it is black, that is why I am not supposed to be here.
. . .
I cannot believe my eyes. There is not just one little boy in here, there are children. I know what this is, but my knees are too tired to tell the others. I just want to sit down and wait for it happen. But, there are kids. Why these kids?
Maybe this is just a shower after all. I could really use a nice warm shower, this cold is killing me.