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Dbq 11 Auschwitz Narrative Essay

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It seems so surreal. So unfamiliar. So inhuman. I try and raise my head, but I am forced down by the unbearable weight, I can feel my boney knees buckle, grinding against my striped pajamas. The screaming crowds roar, “You pathetic Jew,” “Scum,” “Hail Hitler.” They decided to parade us. Every hour another one slipping into the welcoming arms of death. All around I can see exhausted feet, sliding through the dirt. Creating footprints that would be wiped away by another exhausted foot. I overhear another two of the guards speak of Auschwitz Detention camp. “All the women and children from Warsaw have been directed to Auschwitz, there previous camp was raided. The Americans are close and the end of the war is near.” I wonder if my family …show more content…

But where there is a winner there is always a loser, and Nazis never lose. “The consequence is your punishment. Ten of you will be chosen to be executed, as an example for any other bastard who dares attempted an escape”. Immenses of terror and trepidation fall upon me. The creaking sound of our bones squirming and whispers filled the camp. “Hold your dirty tongues” the general vociferated Sillence saturated the air. I am not afraid of the darkness, or night. I’m afraid of the silence, where there is no shelter from my thoughts. They begin to call number. 13744, 19263, 16421, 18521, 14732, 14241, 15332, 18262, 17212, and 16794. I am 16794. A numbing sensation overtook my body, nasuatity and ghostly. It was set in stone, my fate hurdling towards the inevitable. With the last of my strength I wail, “please, NO! I have a wife and children, what will become of them” …show more content…

I slumped my head awaiting a beating, but Instead I was welcomed by Maximilian Kolbe a well known priest. “I am a catholic priest, take me instead” Dumbfounded the astonished general asked, 'What does this Polish pig want?' “I am a catholic priest. I will take his place” he repeated. The intensity masked the reality. Completely stunned I was condemned, a dead man walking. Our eyes locked, this how I thanked him. Him and the others were dragged into a bunker that was locked until her death. For two weeks we listened, our repetitive routine broken. Listening to the beacon of hope that shone from the bunker. Their hymns reached the heavens igniting our spirits. The power of self sacrifice for a stranger echoed through the camp, bringing faith and warth. “Dad, Dad, DAD” I run up the stair tripping over the basnet and stare at my daughter and GRandson. The sniveling baby whimpers codding entangled in a coon of bankest, cooked by his mother. “Shhs” I whisper “I loved your Grandmother. I love your mother. And I will always love

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