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Creative Writing: My Scar

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The scar is red and ugly, the scabs huge and several blood clots litter my face: some are colored black, others blue, green, or purple. I cried silent tears until a Guard beat the tears out of me. Julia looks at me with scorn and Mark does what he can to comfort me, but nothing works. What would I do when school starts? I will be humiliated and teased constantly. Grandpa still looks tortured from last night—he still won’t look me in the eye, but he pats my head or squeezes my shoulder. Silent apologies, even though I am still upset and angry at him. While I wallow in grief, Julia slyly nibbles on bread Adam gave her before getting into the car. “Stop Claude. We aren’t getting off this train through your ingenious ideas,” she remarks …show more content…

Julia’s eyes widen and her mouth drops open, before she regains her senses and kicks the floor. Everyone is taken aback, onlookers’ eyes jump between Claude and Julia. “How about both of you keep quiet,” Grandpa spits at them before returning his attention to the wall beside Grandma. *** The icy wind at Auschwitz cuts through our thin clothing as we stand along the tracks. The snow is raining down on our heads—the tiny flakes sparkle in the artificial lamp light. The sky glows that light violet color that only happens when the moon and stars are invisible. Mom, Grandma, and Grandpa with some of the older people have been taken to receive a shower. They haven’t returned. I wish they were still here; Grandpa squeezing our shoulders and Grandma hugging us close. I feel awful for being angry with Grandpa for the scars even though I still am. Mark and I cling to each other while leaning against Claude’s legs. Julia and him stopped arguing long enough to lean into each other to get warm. Both have their arms crossed and their teeth chatter. Claude’s eyebrow is twitching with irritation. “Julia Schatzberg,” yells an officer with a brooked nose. “Hier,” she hollers

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