the bitter wind

Auschwitz – October 1943

The wind had turned colder. The sharp bite of autumn now settled over Auschwitz, and the air seemed to carry the scent of death itself. The trees were bare, stripped of their leaves, much like the prisoners who wandered the camp—once full of life, now thin and lifeless.

Hannah's body was giving up on her. She could feel it with every step she took. Her skin was pale and bruised from the hard labor, and the hunger gnawed at her insides like a constant, insufferable ache. Yet she continued to push forward. There was no choice. No alternative.

The SS guards didn't care about the prisoners' health or suffering. They pushed them harder, faster, like cattle to the slaughterhouse. The Kapos were no better—some had even become more brutal than the Nazis themselves, perhaps as a twisted form of self-preservation.

That morning, Hannah had been assigned to the work detail near the barbed wire fences. Her task was to clear the area around the wire of debris—broken wood, trash, and anything that might interfere with the guard's view. It was a pointless task, one that had no real purpose except to keep them busy. The real work, the work that tore at their souls, was the daily labor in the fields, digging trenches, carrying rocks. But at least it was work. It was something to hold onto.

She had been working for hours, her hands stiff with cold, when she noticed a figure standing near the fence—an older woman, one of the newer prisoners from the transports. She was thin, with wild gray hair and a weathered face. The woman's eyes were vacant, as if she had already given up on everything.

Hannah's heart ached for her. She had seen too many prisoners like this—people who had been broken, not by the physical labor or the cruelty of the guards, but by the slow, suffocating weight of hopelessness. The woman stood motionless, staring at the barbed wire as though it held the answer to everything.

The wind howled through the camp, sending a chill up Hannah's spine. She tried to focus on the task at hand, but her mind kept drifting back to the woman at the fence. There was something about her, something hauntingly familiar.

As she turned to return to her task, she heard a sharp voice behind her.

"Rosenberg! Move faster!"

Hannah didn't need to turn around to know it was one of the SS officers. She had learned to recognize their voices over the months—cold, cruel, dripping with contempt.

She moved quickly, her hands shaking from the cold and fear. The officer watched her for a moment, then turned his attention to the others. She breathed a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived. The tension in the camp had reached a breaking point, and it felt like everyone was on edge. The guards were more unpredictable than ever, their brutality escalating with each passing day.

That evening, after the long hours of forced labor, Hannah returned to the barracks, her body barely able to move. She collapsed onto the straw mat where she slept, feeling the weight of exhaustion press down on her. The other women were already lying in their own places, but the room was filled with an unnatural quiet, a stillness that felt heavier than the darkness.

Esther lay beside her, her face grim, her eyes hollow with the knowledge of what had come to pass.

"Hannah," she whispered, her voice barely audible in the oppressive silence. "Do you ever think we'll make it out of here?"

Hannah's heart clenched at the question. She didn't know how to answer. Sometimes, in the quiet of the night, she allowed herself to imagine a world beyond Auschwitz. A world where the screams of the dying were nothing but distant echoes. A world where there was laughter, warmth, and safety.

But those moments of dreaming had grown more distant, like the fading light of a sunset that seemed too far to reach.

"I don't know," she whispered back. "I don't know anymore."

The thought of survival, of escaping this nightmare, felt almost laughable now. They had survived so much—so many horrors, so many losses—but the truth was, no one was truly safe.

The sounds of the camp outside seemed to swell as if to fill the void left by her thoughts—the rumble of boots marching in the distance, the far-off cries of prisoners being punished for some perceived infraction. It all blended together into one monstrous sound, a constant reminder of the evil that surrounded them.

Esther sat up slowly, her face a mask of exhaustion and resolve. "We'll keep going," she said, her voice firmer now. "Even if it kills us."

Hannah didn't reply. She couldn't. There was nothing left to say. Her thoughts were consumed by the haunting image of the woman at the fence.

The older woman had reminded her of her mother—of the way her mother had looked in the final months before she was taken. In the beginning, her mother had been strong, protective, a beacon of hope and love. But as the days dragged on, her mother's spirit had begun to fade, just like the spirits of all those around them. She had begun to shrink, physically and mentally, as if the horrors of Auschwitz had drained the very life from her.

And now, Hannah felt the same way. Her strength was slipping. She had always prided herself on her ability to survive, but survival was becoming a cruel game. Every day was another test of endurance, and the pain of losing everyone she loved was starting to feel like too much to bear.

The next morning, the camp was plunged into chaos. A commotion had started near the barracks, followed by the sound of shouting and gunfire. Hannah felt a sickening twist in her stomach. It wasn't unusual for prisoners to be punished or executed for the smallest transgressions, but today felt different. The tension was palpable, like something had broken.

Esther grabbed her by the arm. "Get up! Get out of here, now!"

Hannah didn't need to be told twice. She scrambled to her feet, ignoring the throbbing pain in her limbs, and followed Esther as they pushed through the crowd of prisoners in the narrow corridor.

They reached the door to the outside just as the first of the SS guards appeared. His face was twisted in a snarl, and he had a rifle raised, scanning the area.

"Move, move!" Esther shouted, pulling Hannah along with her.

They ducked behind a small shed as the guards started to sweep the area. Hannah's heart pounded in her chest. She didn't know what was happening, but it didn't matter. It was always the same. One moment, they were going about their daily lives, and the next, they were fighting for their survival.

Hannah's mind raced with the possibilities of what might come next. Would they all be shot? Taken to the gas chambers? Would anyone make it out alive?

All she knew was that the bitter wind, the one that had been blowing through the camp all day, was now the least of her worries.