Good luck homing pigeon

Chapter twenty six-when the fog recedes

Hey guys, song above is 'Bring me to life' by Evanescence; the band I worshiped as a fourteen year-old girl. I just really felt like the song fitted. Thank you to those few who've read 'Good luck homing pigeon', it really means a lot to me. And if anyone likes this story, please, for the love of god, give me a read or a vote. That's it for now, happy reading...

I didn't know how long it had been-three, four days? Maybe more. All I knew was that I might've made it out of no mans land. Might've. Though it was still hard to tell. My hearing had gotten better, well enough to make out full sentences, and though I could barely see beneath swollen eyes, at least I could open them, just a little. I didn't talk yet for I'd been too anxious to try. What if it meant I really was in no mans land? You couldn't communicate with hallucinations. Not without realizing you'd truly gone mad.

During these foggy times, I'd thought of Angelo. They hadn't killed him, or beaten him along side me. Not as far as I knew. That was why I never saw him in no mans land with me. Save the stranger, I hadn't been completely alone here. Every so often there were people; just wandering listlessly around, playing the part of a ghost remarkably well. I tried approaching when I thought I could. I tried calling out to them, asking who they were. They couldn't hear me. I didn't even think they could see me. And if they could, they didn't seem to care. They only waited here to die. Death was a busy omen indeed-so busy, it couldn't just take you straight to deaths gate, unless it thought you had no other option. I suppose in sense, no mans land was where you could go to think. Make up your mind about whether or not you really wanted to die. There was no question to it for me-I didn't want to die, or go to no mans land. I wondered if death knew that already.

During moments I could vaguely recognise as the day times, I got to know the stranger a little better. A faint blur of gold-her hair, I presumed. At least she still had her hair. More blurs of ivory-her skin. The rest was blanch white. So she wasn't a prisoner-unless of course, it was a prisoner in disguise. Somehow, I doubted that. The way she talked, and her touch especially told me her dainty hands hadn't seen one minute of hard labour. I would've presumed she was a nurse; but nurses weren't kind in Birkenau. I was lucky enough, not to have even set foot in an infirmary. Other women told us horror stories about what went on in such a corrupt hospital; tales of people losing limbs, just because of a tiny infection or cut. People, wasting away from outbreaks of diseases we'd never heard of: typhus, Cholera, Scarlet fever. Patients came to the infirmary to get better-most only got worse. Only few women had made it out unscathed.

"Remember when you or I were sick? We used to play that game, lady nurse. Mama even made us a nurses hat for the occasion. When I had a fever once, you would just sit beside me and dab at my face with a cold cloth. When I was hungry, you'd spoon me some potato soup. And when I was cold, you'd give me your extra blankets so I could sleep warm for the night. You were never selfish-not like me. And now look at us-I'm the nurse, you're the patient."

The stranger would say things like this, now and again. I didn't understand what she meant by selfish! She was caring for me, keeping me alive. She was the least selfish person I'd ever met.

"I wish you could talk-you don't have to say much, or anything at all if you want. All you have to do is listen. I've been thinking about what I'd say to you for a long time now. How to explain that it's not your fault-it never has been your fault. It was me. I wanted a handsome prince to come and rescue me from this hellhole-I didn't think about what I was giving up. Who I was giving up. I wish you could understand; yell at me, scream at me, tear my hair out! Tell me how much I hurt you, how I betrayed you. God knows I deserve it."

I thought for a second, that I recognised the voice. But it couldn't have been. Wherever I was, it wasn't in the surface of Birkenau. We hadn't been found yet, and it seemed likely they would never find us unless the stranger wanted them to. That didn't seem to be on the strangers agenda. I didn't know who she was, or where she came from, but it seemed that being found was the last thing on her mind. Not that I could blame her. Being here, and back in Paris, we'd heard fairy tale-like stories of children, families going into hiding. Some took refuge with Christian friends, some paid anybody with a room and a little food to spare. We'd even heard of two families, residing above a Spice factory for two years. I didn't however, know of anyone being able to hide somewhere in Birkenau itself. It was just impossible.