It is the year 1995, and 50 years have passed since the end of World War II.
The War had ended 50 years ago, but for me and many others, we’re still fighting our own war. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, they call it.
Lying on my bed, I feel the soft texture of my pure white linen sheets through the coarse wrinkles of my fingertips and the sickening smell of the medication throughout the hospital. My eyes fixated onto the ceiling, staring at the white polystyrene squares with a lifeless look, expressionless, absorbing every single detail. Doctors and nurses with their trolleys burst through the door with meals and medications marking the near to an end of another day. I try to block out the sounds of the busy shuffling of feet, clattering of meal trays, groans from patients and visitors reassuring their loved ones. In this busy ward, I am alone.
From my bed, I look out the window to see that the sky that was painted with orange, pink and purples had changed to be a canvas engulfed in jet black. Through the small television screen in my ward, a documentary about the Holocaust commemorating the 50th anniversary since the end of the World War II is playing. Watching that, a tear starts to appear in my eyes fading my vision, eventually dropping down my face, even with my emotions numbing from the medication. As time passes the steam that once rose from the hot soup laid in front of me slowly disappears, becoming cold, as I concentrate on the screen. Black and white pictures of a line of skinny tired looking men all in ragged clothes are displayed. with their eyes drooping down with a dark shadow, almost like the sentimental look of an old soldier lost in their own thought of guilt, worry and grief. The Holocaust, those nine letters contain more grief and pain than anyone could imagine. But the sick thing is that human beings did it to its same species. It’s even more sickening to think that I was one of the culprits. The black and white screen depicts exactly what those people would have felt at that time. I’ve lived all my life after the war drowning in guilt and grief but this past week, I have felt almost numb to my emotions, all those emotions so drained that I have become nothing but an empty shell.
—————————————————————————–
In a moment’s flash, I stand amidst vast darkness, dense vegetation of the forest beneath my. An eerie fog swims around, drowning the blood splattered trees. A tormented whisper I can’t quite make out echoes throughout the forest sucking the soul out of every living thing. I run, desperately wanting to get out of this torturous place, but wherever I go darkness surrounds me. A chilling sense dawns on me as I try to take in my surroundings. The ghastly silence makes my body flinch as a monstrous shadow starts to emerge through the crack of a passage I had come from. My body shakes in fear as I prepare myself for death approaching. The scent of the rotting bodies whirls around with the wind, getting stronger the longer I am here. I feel unwell, my head spinning as if I’m about to faint. With my hazy vision, my eyes are drawn to an agonizing sight. A lady, as if her body washed cold, has skin so sickly white like the freshly dead, that is given a stark contrast by the worn out black dress she is wearing. She brings her fingers up across her face, crevassed by a lifetime of worry, to her eye sockets, but nothing is there. Her eyes are black holes. Lifeless. I stand there with trembling knees as terror creeps into my veins. She begs, “help me, please, help me.” Fear pushes up through my chest to my throat, I grab a cold hard rock off the ground and strike her with it, doing the exact opposite of what she had asked. I run as fast as I possibly can, behind me I hear her shriek, one that chills me to my core. I hide under an ancient tree that has deep, coarse lines like wrinkles of an old man, I position myself like a baby in it’s womb and to hold my breath. Crumpling of leaves is followed by a desperate cry of, “help me, please, help me.” I panic. She is coming in my direction. The shuffling of her feet abruptly stops right in front of the tree I’m hiding under. I think to myself, ‘This is the end.’ But she lims towards the opposite direction, as if she’s seen someone else that could rid her worries. After I feel her presence fade away, I let out a loud, deep breath that I’ve been holding in, when I am sure she is nowhere near. “HELP ME!” A sickening voice screeches right near me. I turn my head to the direction the voice had come from, and on my left, her and five others, men and children, reach for me with their emaciated hands.
I wake up gasping for air. Cheeks wet and body bathed in cold sweat, the sheets are twisted around my limbs. Trembling furiously, heart pounding against my chest. I must’ve fallen asleep for a little while. The ward is almost entirely filled with darkness. The only source of light coming from the sliver of moonlight through the crack of the curtains. Remnants of the nightmare still cling to my presence, haunting me. Every single night, my sleep constantly gets interrupted by this same nightmare.
How could I have been a part of history that was so inhumane, so sickening.
How could I have committed those unspeakable actions to those innocent people.
Even at a young age, how thoughtless, how irresponsible does one have to be, to obey any kind of order. When did ‘because it was an order’ become an excuse to kill people.
Today, something felt different, it felt like the time had come. Almost like I was being controlled, like everything had been planned out so perfectly, I grabbed the knife I’ve been hiding for so long under my mattress and clenched it in my hands.
——————————————————————-
I see my reflection on the clear spotless window. My mouth is stretched wide open as a silent scream of agony exits. Crimson red streaks of blood flowing downs from my chest where the knife remains and my eyes are bloodshot radiating pain.
It’s funny, it took me this long to finally end it, yet it took just one command for me to take someone else’s life.
I’m glad it’s over.