Monologue of an SS Officer

The bricks beneath my boots are covered in a thin layer of frost as steam hisses loudly, covering the entire station in a white mist. Despite the thick fabric of my trench coat, I feel a chill as the wind blows on my face, burning my ears and nearly knocking my cap off. My attention is drawn at the sound of shuffling feet and loud shouts, so I look over to see a large group of people in dregs wearing yellow stars, led by my comrades in black. The people all huddle together against the cold, their suitcases pressing against each other. When they reach the platform it is my turn to shout out commands.

I yell to them to mark their luggage with chalk, assuring them that they will see it again when they step off the train. This makes it easier for them to get on, kind of like how they will get a bar of soap to convince them to go further later on when they arrive. They all scrawl their names all over their belongings to make sure that there would be no mix-up. They leave their suitcases on the platform as they cram into every boxcar along the track, their breaths as white as the snow falling around them. When the doors close I see faces poking out from behind the barbed wire windows. They believe they are headed off to another ghetto. I know where they’re going.

The train pulls out of the station with a screech. Those people will travel for a day or so until they reach the next stop. It will be cold, and they most likely won’t be offered food or water, and none of them will be able to sleep. Of course I don’t tell them where they’re actually going, that would cause problems. Nobody tells them, but we all know. It’s also like how instead of being sent with them, their suitcases will be emptied here. All of the clothes, jewelry, and other valuables found inside them will be used to fund the war effort. They won’t need them anyway.

Not where they’re going.


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