Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 3 2018 | Page 39

One day, a Nazi man lead us to a cold, silver metal door, and unlocked it. The sight screamed back at us. It
was the room where all the suffering and anguish took place. It was ghastly; even today, when I remember
the sight, all the terror floods back as if I were young Fritz again. There wasn’t a single little spot where you
couldn’t see bodies, but the scariest things in that room were the torture devices. Just thinking about it is
enough to make me vomit my insides out until I am limp and lifeless. So you’ll have to do without the
description.
My first day at camp was the worst. Breakfast was served. The colourless, watery mixture of what tasted like
melted rice with runny, expired eggs and condensed milk filled my mouth which I spat promptly onto my
brother’s shirt.
“Ewww Fritz, please! I know the food is disgusting, but don’t spit on me!” he whined.
I laughed, despite myself, and for a brief moment we forgot where we were... until a shadow loomed over
me. I turned and saw the cook, his face as red as a tomato.
“My food is disgusting, is it?” he asked my brother. “Well then, I’ll bring you to Erwin’s office. You can
complain to him.” A murmur spread round the room like a wave.
“Please Cook, who is Erwin?” my brother asked, the smile on his face quickly replaced with terror.
“He’s the head of this whole bloody camp, you insignificant worm!”
“No, p…p…please Cook, I didn’t mean it,” my brother stuttered.
“Come on, let’s go,” he dragged my poor brother across the floor while he was struggling, straining to get
free.
“Help me Fritz!” my brother yelled.
I should have grabbed him before the cook did and run out of the door. But like the coward that I was, I
pretended not to hear him, for fear of them taking me to the torture room. His screams echoed across the
halls. They still do. I couldn’t stop the tears. Slowly at first, then fast, until they were pouring down like
torrential rain. A tall boy who I had seen playing football with my brother walked over to me.
“It’s a shame what happened to your brother. My name’s Dirk. I’ve heard a lot about you from your
brother. Would you like to be my friend?”
“Why?” I asked timidly, “I’m not athletic, or brave like you.”
“I like you for who you are - kind and caring," Dirk quietly.
I brightened a little, but it seemed the universe would not allow me even that brief moment of joy. The
cook came sauntering back. He clapped his hands for attention.
“The brat is in the torture chamber.” I fainted.
From then, every night I thought of escaping. I schemed and plotted in my notebook that I had found on
the floor. I explored our cabin and found a dusty old map of the camp, a torch and a warm coat. For 20
years straight, I didn’t get one second of sleep.
One day, I did some sneaking around and discovered a weapons room, the headquarters belonging to Erwin
and his men. I heard someone coming, so I hid under some old bags. The guard passed and I was about to
get up when under my foot, I saw a bolt. It was a trapdoor! I opened it cautiously and peered in. I climbed
in and looked about.