Good luck homing pigeon

Chapter eleven: In for a penny, in for a pound.

I had only three hours of sleep before the block leader threw her fist against our headboards to wake us all up. I hoped that just three hours would do. After all, the block leader only had three hours of sleep last night as well, as she was already functioning fully. My awakening should've been my first clue, to be honest. For when I slid on those clogs of mine and fell from the bunk we all shared, my knee's buckled under the sudden weight, and I would've fallen on my front if I hadn't grabbed the bunk post for support. I tried not to think much of it. On our first morning in Birkenau, we were all tired and we all  had trouble staying awake on our first shift. Maybe it was just something else to get used to. Either way, I brushed it off and pretended it was just a falter. Even when Briana and Sandrine asked-well, demanded what was wrong with me, I told them it was nothing more than a slip-up. It wouldn't happen again.

Roll call in the morning and night I thought would be the hardest part of all in staying alert. Excruciating hours of just standing, absolutely still, while the soldiers took their sweet, merry time in adding up the prisoners present. If a soldier passed you, you didn't move, make a sound, you could hardly even breath, lest it was too loud for their standards. You had to be less than just some object; you had to be nothing. Plain, ineffective air. It was far easier said than done. A woman, about a few feet away from us had collapsed, coughing. As a result, she was taken aside and beaten. Whether she'd come back to work today, alive, I'd never know. But it taught us once more, just how easy it was to get yourself hurt here. You suffered to their inconvenience, and they would make sure you'd suffer even more. I considered it an absolute marvel at how I could've gone, unseen all that time! At last, the worst of today was over. Perhaps a little less sleep was something I could live with.

Oh, I'd hoped too soon. It was a fickle thing; hope. Hope could help you, hope could save your life, and if given to others by you, it could save theirs too. But then, prolonging hope in an atmosphere where it was so dire and rare could be dangerous. Especially where hateful soldiers were watching your every move.

The first shift was difficult; far more difficult than I thought it would be. Through fazed, unfocused eyes, I could hardly concentrate on popping lenses without getting more and more cuts on dirty, thinner hands. Alina and Antonia asked me more than once, if I was alright. Sandrine looked at me with concern. And Briana scowled, as usual, at my so-called 'rebellion'. God! I wasn't staging some sort of rebellion, couldn't she see that? I was just tired. So, god-damned tired because block leader had me up most of the night for a meeting that couldn't take place at any other time. And if she was jealous of my friendship with Sandrine, she wasn't making our relationship any easier in that. She get's angry that I don't get to talk to her as much anymore, but when the time comes she never talks to me! God, it was jut so...so frustrating. Briana was growing evermore distant-from mama as well as me, and she wouldn't tell us why.

I thanked god it was time for our lunch break. By the time we were led out of the work shed, I was barely stumbling. I couldn't even lift my hands to shield my eyes from the hot, blinding sun, I was that exhausted. I thought I'd be safe, once we were off-duty for a few minutes. I thought that once I'd gotten my food and had somewhere to sit, I could at least rest enough to trudge through the rest of today. I was wrong. For once the soldiers had us all outside, one of them had stayed back inside the shed for a few moments. When he came back out again, he held in his hand, a blood-soiled rag.

"Who owns this?!" He barked, "if you want something to cry about here in Birkenau, you don't do it, making a mess on your own work! Now speak  up! Either you own up right now, or nobody here eats for the rest of the day."

Everybody was silent. I was too tired to notice anybody holding a bloodied rag like that, or-maybe they weren't holding  it at all. I knew most of the women in our barrack still had their menstrual cycles: it could've very well fallen out of somebodies dress whilst they were working. So I looked around; Sandrine looked at me, confused at first what the rag meant, but then blushed crimson when the thought had occurred to her. Antonia and Alina's expressions were fairly vacant, which relieved me greatly. And then there was Briana. Briana did nothing but stare down at her feet, her face as red as blood, and her hands clenched so tight, her knuckles turned the colour of bones. Oh god...even I should know by now, Briana's cycle was one week behind mine. It was hers. And if she didn't own up to it now, we would all go hungry.