Schatzi

29

An: so I'm struggling to write Peter's parts in this story now because I can find out very little information about Dachau. I'm taking a lot of reference from the book tattooist of auschwitz but obviously different camps so things were different. I also made mistakes with the whole polish prisoners thing because Poland wasn't occupied by Germany in 1938 when they were taken but I'm just going to leave that. Probably shouldn't have mentioned it because I don't think anyone noticed. Another mistake is that Peter should be dead. Like, almost definitely would be dead since he doesn't have any support like Jens does and he keeps getting into trouble.

Wolf marched him back to his block, dragging Peter to his feet whenever he stumbled during the long walk.

"I'd take you there right now, but it's late and I'm tired. Besides, there's another prisoner in your barrack going to block 8 tomorrow anyway, so you'll be collected together in the morning," Wolf muttered as they neared his barrack. Other than that, he'd been strangely silent the whole way there.

"Who?" Peter mumbled, looking back over his shoulder but stopping when Wolf poked him in the back with his rifle threateningly. Peter kept walking, facing straight ahead, receiving no answer until they reached the door. Wolf opened it and kicked Peter inside, laughing when he almost tripped. "Max, I think his name was?"

The door slammed shut as quickly as it was opened, leaving Peter in the pitch black.

"Max?" He called out in a hushed voice, finding the post of a bed so he could steer himself down the isle and hopefully find Max. "Where are you? Max!"

"Shut up, Peter," someone groaned from his left and Peter could tell by the annoyance in the man's voice that it was Max. "Let me at least get a last good nights sleep."

"What do you mean 'last'?" Peter asked, kneeling on the hard floor so he was next to max who was on the bottom bunk. "What's happening to us?"

"They're killing me tomorrow. Or at least taking me away. I don't know how long they'll drag it out but I'm not coming back here," Max shot, turning over and blocking Peter out. "Now leave me alone."

"They're taking me too," Peter said, not moving from the side of his bed. "'Block 8' he said. What is that?"

"Seriously, Peter, leave me alone," Max said, reaching back and pushing him away. "If you're coming too, you're dying too. Just accept that and go to bed."

Peter opened his mouth to keep trying to get a better answer from Max but then stopped, realising it was futile trying to get him to talk.

He stood up and walked back over to his bunk, climbing up into it. It was cold and empty. Jens had told him he'd be back with the kapo that night but Peter really wished he could still be with him. He needed answers. Proper answers. And if it was to be his last night, he wanted to at least spend it with his only friend there.

It was late. Later than usual. He'd usually be asleep by then but he'd been late returning to the barracks obviously. The room was eerily silent and the darkness felt encompassing and suffocating, like sandbags surrounding him and on top of him, weighing him down and making it difficult to breathe. He closed his eyes to try block out the deep unease he felt but all that brought about was the visions from the grave, and then the imaginary weight he felt became bodies, and he was back there, unable to breathe, unable to move.

He didn't want to die.

Up until that point, he'd faced each day with a hope that it would finally be his last. He'd wished for death.

But on that day, after being faced with almost certain death already, he realised he didn't want to die.

There was an intense will to survive buried deep inside him that he didn't know he had. But it was there, and his mind was whirring, trying to think of ways to escape the fate max had described.