Zofia Alternate Ending

The first time I walked through the streets of Warsaw, the most populated ghetto, housing over four hundred thousand Jews was June 1, 1937. From over the ghetto’s fence, the smell of retched death seeped over. Every man with me pinched their faces in disgust. An officer walked over to greet us at our station wagon. The excitement in his eyes of meeting greeting me was admiring. He reached his hand out and nervously stated, “I can’t believe I am meeting the one and only Adolf Hitler. How do you do, Sir? Sargent? General?” I shot my hand out confidently, and shook his hand, “Good Day, officer. I have finally gotten the time to visit Warsaw, my apologies for waiting so long. You know what they say,

Names are taken from the Jews and replaced with numbers when they enter the camp. This act is an attempt to steal the Jews’ identities; however, they fight against this act of dehumanization. The Nazi’s hoped to kill them mentally by doing this. My arm burns. I look up into the blue eyes of a Nazi guard as he burns the number into my skin. I smell burning flesh and want to barf. All around me irons are being heated up. “You

The level of agony they put the Jews through shows how intolerant the Germans are to the Jewish faith. The author explains how inhumane the camps and Nazis are by descriptively telling about the events he undergoes. To give an idea of how gruesome it is, Elie Wiesel gives a brief description of a child struggling to breathe after being hung, “The two men were no longer alive. Their tongues were hanging out, swollen and bluish. But the third rope was still moving: the child, too light, was still breathing” (64). The Nazis forced the Jews to watch such events to spread fear around the

“Sort through the clothing; valuables in one pile, rags in another. Keep anything for yourselves and I’ll kill you myself” the Nazi barked. Although I wouldn’t call my job enjoyable, I was able to avoid the wrath of the Nazi’s, for I couldn’t mess too much up, if I got cold, I could dig my arms into the piles of clothes, but my favorite part was working with Josef, my work companion. One day, Josef found a piece of bread in a coat pocket, and he quickly ate it, but not quick enough, for a Nazi soldier shoved his foot on the small of his back, pushing him to the ground. “Did you not know how to listen?” the Nazi shouted “I said I’d kill you myself, and that’s exactly what I’ll do” A shot rattled through the air, but his words rattled me. “I said I’ll kill you. I said I’ll kill you. I said I’ll kill

In the midst of a normal day in Nazi Germany, an innocent shop owner was forced to his knees - with his hands behind his back. A massive, looming crowd of passersby encircled the scene; time yielded as no one looked away nor ran in to help. Wrists shackled and face bruised, the shop owner pleaded the officers for mercy, but his actions were in vain. However, they showed one spectator a new path that he must choose - the path of justice. Stepping forward, he defended the convicted man, not with violence, but with words. “STOP!” he shouted. “He is a good man. We all...” He was cut short as a brutal uppercut from one of the officers sent the late middle-aged man flying.

In only six years, two-thirds of an entire race, plus millions more, were shot, gassed, or starved to death. Anyone who was deemed “racially inferior or politically dangerous” was sent to one of many in the camps system. Among these groups were the physically or mentally handicapped, Jehovah’s Witnesses, homosexuals, Jews, Gypsies, Poles and Soviet prisoners of war, and Communists (Berenbaum par. 1-2). Millions of innocent people were sent to camps where they were killed or forced to work for the German cause until they died.

She leaned back on the sofa and waited. A gust of wind sped over her head. A second later, a red hole appeared on Rizwan’s forehead. His eyes widened, and he reached forward as he fell back onto his guard behind him. The pair landed on the floor. The only sound she heard was her own breathing as she waited for them to move. Blood trickled from them creating a puddle on the ground.

“Ok. Just let me know if you need anything.” His mom said in a cheerful voice. Right after she said this a humongous, gruesome, creature with a hockey mask and a long machete busted down the door and stormed in.

The Gestapo agent leaned forward, peering through the windshield, “It looks like a body in the road… yes, a German soldier.”

“It started again.” Berlin’s voice was small and weak. For a second the only sound that could be heard was the creaking of the fire. Berlin looked up at her. He could feel his eyes start to water. Berlin’s cheeks burned. He knew he it was pointless to cry at ten years old. This was the time when he was supposed to be brave, not scared. But he couldn’t help

This quote was pulled from a segment of the short story, “This Way for the Gas, Ladies and Gentlemen.” Alone, it is merely just a few disturbing words that may give the warm hearted reader some shivers. But behind these words is a detailed narrative of one day within the gruesome, horrific, violent, Nazi concentration camps; that would give even a cold hearted reader shivers. Tadeusz Borowski, the author of this fictional short story, uses his experiences from being held in a Nazi ran concentration camp, to deliver a detailed first person narrative of what transpired in Nazi Germany.

There was a sickening crack of rotten wood followed by a yelp from behind him. Enzalie quickly rubbed the tears from his eyes and repocketed the knife before turning around. Zain had one leg up to his ankle in a new hole, he had managed to stop himself from falling further by gripping the doorframe. The half-shapeshifter had managed a death-grip on the wooden frame by transforming his finger into hard, sharp points.

Kent curls in on himself as the bright autumn leaves drift to the ground. Dried tears stain his youthful face. Why, Zinnia? Why now?

“You used adrenaline,” stated the mother, her hoarse voice crackled. She glided her hand across her eldest daughter causing her eyes water, “Then I guess it's time.”

Vengeance rushed through my blood upon hearing the daily chants of “Heil Hitler!” the name that had put me into miserable suffering. The repeated rhythmic phrase has been the source of my remembrance of the agonizing nine-month in prison I endured. I recall the day the Communist Party of Germany (KPD) members, including myself, were arrested by the Stormtroopers due to the injustice accusation of who caused the Reichstag building fire. The quick arrest led by Ernst Rohm destabilized the KPD severely, and they had placed us in what they call “educational camps” (Moeller, 70). In Dachau, one of these so-called temporary camps where I was placed, disciplinary and continuous jarring acts to force everyone to convert to Nazism is instilled into