Good luck homing pigeon

Chapter sixteen: One bird flown, another soaring. (6th March, 1943)

Hey everyone! Sorry for the wait, to those who are reading. I've been reading through my old chapters when I realized I had the same song posted for two of them! Thought I'd fix that by putting another song, Nobody's perfect by Jessie J. I hope you're enjoying the story so far-well, finding it intriguing at least.

The weeks slowly receded since Briana's departure from the barrack. Nobody knew how she got out, where she went, or if she was even still in the camp. Though it was sad to say, nobody was very sorry that she was gone. Those few along with us, who managed to avoid the selections only ever looked at Briana with resentment. To them, she was that healthy, spoilt, whore of a girl who spread her legs for some German scum. Nothing like the Khristoff girl, who took a whipping for the entire barrack. She wasn't respected or like here, because she did nothing to earn anybody's respect. It was her motto after all; trust nobody here. Well, it didn't exactly work in her favour, did it? She liked and trusted nobody, and she was betrayed quite rightfully. She was smart; just not smart enough.

My first delivery mission succeeded with flying colours! On what I'd learned to be a Saturday evening. A night once spent with Angelo and my friends, after concert rehearsals, sipping on soda drinks at everybody's favourite café Artois, was now a night, filled with black smoke and danger. I think the block leader asked me, nearly a dozen times if I was absolutely certain I wanted to go through with it-and I'd be lying if I said that I didn't have any doubts. For goodness sake, I was going to be smuggling food! Something nearly worth its' weight in gold here. If I got caught, it could mean instant death or worse-interrogation. They could torture me, mutilate me if I didn't tell them what The Flock was. If I didn't tell them about the owl, the Robin, and everybody else. It was a life-or-death risk, but was I big enough to take it?

When I was sent out into the frosty, drizzling cold with a sack, slung across my back, I straightened myself out, and placed on the most expressionless face I possessed. Right now, the guards had to think that I was just like every, other broken sparrow here. Nothing left inside my broken, hollow shell. Nothing for them to pick at for their enjoyment. It was...what those film Noirs called a 'cover'. An identity: a person you were supposed to become. They had their own past, their own quirks and personalities. The only thing that didn't make them fully human was the fact that they weren't real. Just like Jacques and Annamarie.

Under my cover, of course the guards didn't notice me. They didn't even see  me.  I was in plain sight-yet, invisible. The best kind of illusive. And so I remained that way as I stalked through the dark, desolate lanes in Birkenau. Through the dirt paths, through the naked smell of death, just as I'd done every, other time I'd made my way to the tin-shed to meet Angelo. And...it occurred to me then. Walking through, and around death-something normally reserved for the Lord Jesus himself, seemed almost like both a gift and a curse. It wasn't something made for the faint-hearted. Briana couldn't handle that ability, so she ran from it. Some weren't strong enough, so they became it. And those who could still stand, and think; they were the ones who could not only live alongside death, but cheat it.

After making it to that wider dirt road, and the surly, brick walls, I went from a ghost to an alley cat-quick, silent, light on their feet. I had to move fast; Angelo and I only had a little time together, and half of that had to be spent, transferring fresh potatoes and other farm goods from his sack into mine. This food of course, had to be stolen the night before deliveries to the Birkenau kitchens; where the crops were so big in numbers that the soldiers wouldn't even notice a few potatoes and carrots missing. After all, the food was not only for the prisoners, but for the soldiers working within the camp, and the legendary Commandant himself. There was plenty to go around, so surely the soldiers wouldn't mind. Would they?

I shook the thought off as I checked the big, black gates of death. And once I was sure the patrolling guard was looking elsewhere, I slipped around the corner of that dirty, brick building, and into the tin shed as per usual. Angelo was waiting, as he normally was in the shadows. This time, holding a potato sack identical to mine. My guess was that he was one of the lucky men, assigned to the farm deliveries by Emil. Yet another cover for him to use as his freedom.