I sat there, rocking gently back and forth on an old mahogany rocking chair facing the window, but my eyes are trained onto my upper left forearm where lies a line of inked-in numbers. Many years had passed yet the ink still looked as fresh as it was the day I got it all those many decades ago, 156201. It identifies me as a Jew. As a member of the concentration camp. As a slave.

I closed my eyes recounting the horrors of the summer which had never left me and never will until I take my last breath. Not that I would want to forget. There I was tortured and enslaved and left hungry for days. But there was also where I found people who are like me, people whom I can trust. There was where I learned to be brave.

If I closed my eyes and thought hard enough I can imagine the scene as clearly as if it was yesterday. It was my fifteenth summer when it all happened, over 75 years ago. The summer which left me afraid and alone, the summer which turned my whole world upside down.

The freight car smelt badly of urine and something foul that I can't quite place a finger on. Dust covered the ground, walls, and ceiling of the small rectangular compartment occupying over twenty people inside, all wearing worn-down, dirt-encrusted clothing with a solemn expression on his or her faces. None of us had eaten since the train left over two days ago, our stomachs growled with the all too familiar sense of hunger which we've all experienced since the start of the war. I was lucky, my stomach was not quite as empty as the many who had boarded the train, not having eaten for days. The compartment shook with every twist and turn the train made, a deep rumble came from the engine as the little girl crouched down next to me began to cry.

I turned to her, trying to keep back my tears as well. In the past couple of months, I had lost almost all of my family. Papa died in the wars months ago, and poor Mama and Zephyr died of a recent illness that had swept through our neighbourhood. All who are left is me and my older brother Keith, who is being sent to a different concentration camp, hundreds of miles away from me.

"Hi sweetie, are you alright?" my voice came out raspier than I meant, not having spoken for days.

The little girl shook her head, "T-They-" she hiccuped, "They took mama away,"

"Oh you poor thing," I said, engulfing her with a one-armed hug. She reminded me so much of Zephyr that it made tears prickle in my eyes. Zephyr was only five when he died, too young was he taken, he had the most kindred spirit and bubbly personality that no matter how hard of a day you've had, he could make you smile.

"I-I'm sc-cared," she stammered, streaks of tears pouring from her eyes,

"Oh I am too," I said, "But don't worry, everything is going to be alright. What's your name?"

"Cecelia," she replied, "B-But you can call me Cece i-if you want, all my friends do,"

I smiled ruefully, "Well Cece, if you close your eyes and go to sleep when you wake up, things will get better, okay?"

She nodded, squeezing her eyes close, but I can still feel her trembling in my grasp.

"Want to hear a song? It might help you sleep," I asked, and almost regretted it instantly, remembering that the last time I had sung, it was to sing Zephyr to sleep, or more bluntly, to death.

Cece nodded vigorously, "Yes please,"

I sighed, knowing that there is no way I can get out of this now. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and began singing the song which Zephyr used to love.

"Sweet as the rising sun,

Bright as the evening moon.

In the land of dreams,

Sleep can't seem to come soon.

So if you just close your eyes,

And think happy thoughts.

As you slip away,"

"Into the land of dreams," my eyes popped open as another voice began singing, a male voice. "It's now the end of the day," I located the voice to a boy sitting across from me. There were smudges of dirt partially covering his face and a little bit of his dark blonde hair. Though his piercing blue eyes seem to stare into mine as I continue to sing, both of our voices entwine with each other in a light harmony.

"The moon is up and the sun went down,

The stars twinkle out to say goodnight to yoooou."

I chuckled lightly as both our voices failed to hit the notes and I saw that the boy had let slip a ghost of a smile on his lips.

"As you slip away,

Into the land of dreams."

We both finished off softly, I looked down at Cece to find that she was already fast asleep.

"It's a very short lullaby but it works like a charm," I looked up, surprised to find the boy walking over next to me.

"Well you sounded really good, do you sing a lot?"

He smiled sadly, "I used to sing it to my little sister all the time, it was her favourite," he said, sitting down, his legs crossed.

"It used to be Zephyr's favourite too," I mused, then quickly added, "My little brother, he's er, gone too."

"That's too bad." there was an awkward pause between us before he added, "I'm Anthony by the way," he held out a hand for me to shake,

I shook it, "Mariya." I said, "It's nice to meet you, or as nice as a meeting could be in this smelly old car,"

    He chuckled, "Likewise," there was another awkward pause, lasting more longer this time before he blurted out, "Uh, I like your hair."

We both laughed at the bluntness of the compliment and I fingered through my long, dark brown hair, "Really?"

"Yeah," he said, his face turning red. "It looks really nice, and your eyes too, the-they're mesmerizing,"

"They're just brown,"

He smiled, "No they're not just brown, it's also gray, and greenish-blue sometimes too, it depends on the light."

"Well then it's hazel," I said, blushing at his description. "It's nothing special,"

"It is beautiful," he insisted, "You're beautiful."

We began talking, about our home, about our family, about anything that can keep our minds away from the crowded freight car taking us to who knows where. I found out that he was seventeen, two years older than me, and lived in Kyiv with his dad and younger brother and sister, who all sadly passed away during an air raid when he was out in a friend's house in the earlier months of the war. He was then left to fend for himself for years, travelling across the country until he was captured by the Nazis and dragged into the train. Aside from the general information, I found out some interesting facts about him, like that he always goes to sleep with the window open even on the coldest of nights. That once, many years ago, his father took him on a camping trip in the woods and he had an unfriendly encounter with a bear which caused him his intense fear of them.

We talked for what seemed like hours, the only way to tell time was by the little barred window near the ceiling, showing that the sun has already set and it is late evening. We eventually fell asleep next to each other, my head against his shoulder, crouched together to keep ourselves warm.

We woke up early the next morning to the sound of the door to the freight car opening and three soldiers, all dressed in their appropriate uniforms carrying rifles, came bustling in.

"Wake up you scum!" one of them shouted in German, stepping forwards, "Time to get moving!"

Everyone lined up, some who were not able to stand holding on to other's arms for balance, following the soldier into a large gray building off to the side where we were forced into single file lines to barbers who were supposed to shave off all our hair.

"Why?" I asked the person in front of me,

He shrugged, "To get rid of headlice I suppose," he said in a thick Polish accent.

When it was my turn, I nearly burst into tears as strands of my hair fell one by one to the floor. The same hair of which my mother had so carefully trimmed and put into perfect braids. The hair, which Anthony said that he liked, not that it should matter to be, but it does. I forced my tears back, keeping my face neutral, making sure not to show any signs of weakness.

Once all our hair was cut, we were then led to a series of open showers.

We're going to shower here?" exclaimed an older girl who seems to be in her late teens or early adulthood, "But what about privacy!" the soldiers did not answer, but merely glared at her, his hand tapping at the rifle in his hand, reminding her of the power they have over us. The girl shrinks back towards the wall.

I didn't bother to argue, knowing that it was no use, I slipped out of my mud-caked clothes and strode over to showers along with most of the group and rinsed myself with the ice-cold water. The soap was gritty and smelt of something acidic, but I rubbed it in even as it began to sting, making sure that there was no smudge of dirt or grime left on my skin before coming out to the next room.

In the room, we were handed a stack of clothing which we then put on. I have gotten an itchy wool skirt that stopped just below my knees and a grayish-white shirt, both smelled strongly of bleach but were relatively clean. I was still buttoning the last couple of buttons when one of the soldiers grabbed me by the arm brought me to a pale man by a large desk, a stack of papers at hand.

"Okay girly so what's your name?" he asked, looking me over.

"W-What?" I stammered,

"Are you deaf or what? I asked what's your name!"

"M-Mariya," I said, "Mariya Koval,"

He nodded, pencilling down my name on the sheet of paper, "Birthdate?"

"March 12, 1929," I said as he jotted that down as well.

This transaction went on for a couple more minutes before they let me go. The soldiers led me and several others to the side where two men sat, one with an ink-filled needle and the other with a dirty looking napkin which smelt of alcohol. I watched as the first person in the line stepped forwards. A little boy who looked no bigger than 6.

"Will it hurt?" he whimpers,

"Oh definitely," the man holding the needle sneered.

The boy gulped before moving forwards towards them. I looked away, closing my eyes as I heard him take a quick intake of breath, and let out a small squeak. I stayed in this position until it was my turn.

The man rubbed the alcohol napkin against my left arm while the other got the needle ready. I wince a little as the needle pierced my skin, spelling out the numbers, 156201.

I waited by the sidelines until everyone finished before we were let out of the building. Shivering from the cold air hitting my still wet body, the group followed the soldiers, we went forth to a giant stone building, surrounded with a twenty feet tall barbed-wire fence.

There were 32 of us all standing together outside on the hard, gray pavement, looking nervous as one of the guards, possibly one of the higher-ranked officers looked us down. Two were limping badly, and four looked ill-stricken, tired, and ready to collapse on the floor from hunger.

The officer frowned, "Why are there so few?"

"There was supposed to be two other groups but they got delayed," the soldier said, the officer nodded.

He pointed to the six, "Take 'em to the chamber, they're no use anyway,"

"You sure Clarke? Only them?" another asked, pointing to the little boy who was the first to get the tattoo, "The little one looks weak, can barely lift a haystack I'm guessing,"

Clarke shook his head, "We'll set 'em to work and I'll make some more necessary cuts then, but for now just those six." two guards appeared as if out of nowhere, holding their rifles up, shoving them towards a small brick building in front of the infirmary labelled komora gazowa. Gas chamber. I felt a shiver run down my spine as the realization hits me. They're sending them to their deaths, pumping poisonous gas into the air in the chamber, their lungs, suffocating them to death.

I wanted to run, I wanted to yell at the top of my lung, telling them to stop, stop killing innocent people, stop enslaving children and adults, stop the awful war which will do nothing but bring on more deaths. I felt a hand grip my arm, at first I was afraid that it was one of the soldiers, ready to put a bullet through my head until I turned to see Anthony. He was shaking his head and mouthing no and his eyes seemed to speak the words that his mouth cannot. Don't argue, it won't do any use except get you killed, please don't do anything stupid.

Staring into his eyes, his bright blue eyes, which are as blue as the sparkling ocean next to my old house, I nodded, calming myself. I turned my attention back to the officer who was staring at each of us with intensity as if trying to find the weakest link while also making the rest of us know that if we mess up we'll be sent to the gas chamber as well.

As the days blended into weeks, we were each given work to do and a schedule. I was sent to a factory which specializes in making army uniforms, from jackets to pants to shoes, spending all day preparing the fabric and working the machines which left my hand red and raw. Waking up early in the morning, I, along with Imogen Mathews, a roommate and friend of mine, and many others who work in the factory was forced to walk on foot for two hours to get to work, working nonstop until near sundown, getting back just before dinner. Not that meals here are highly anticipated, breakfast usually includes either a small bowl of lumpy porridge or a few small slices of bread which tastes suspiciously like sawdust. And very rarely we sometimes get a small fruit like an apple or an orange. Dinner was not much better, watered-down cabbage soup and another slice of the sawdust bread.

In the end, the walk to and from work became my favourite part of the day, though we were heavily guarded, we were able to marvel at the soft green grass and warm summer breeze. Talking in quiet whispers recalling memories of home.

Anthony on the other hand was sent to the lumber industries which meant the only time I actually got to see him was during breakfast and dinner. And as the days passed, he seemed to get more and more worn down. Even though he never actually voiced any of those thoughts, I can tell from the way he walks and eats dinner how sore and tired he is.

"Are you alright?" I asked one night when he looked extremely pale,

"Yeah, yeah," he waved me off, "Just need a good night's sleep that's all,"

Reuven and I exchanged a look. Reuven is one of Anthony's many roommates and one of his closest friends at this camp. Reuven was sent to an explosive and ammunition factory, although far more dangerous than Anthony's and my jobs, it wasn't as tiring. Making explosives needed precision, not manpower.

"Are you sure mate?" he said in an odd accent, even though I've known him for over a month, I still can't get over his way of speaking even though he says we're the one who talks weird.

He nodded, his eyes still wide, and that's when I noticed something, his eyes were not looking tired but frightful. As if he's seen something he should not have seen.

"Did something happen?" I asked, there was a pause before he nodded. "What is it?"

Anthony shook his head, "Not here, not now," he said quietly, "Meet me at midnight, near the fence by the administration office which should be empty by then,"

"What? No!" Reuven said as quietly as he can manage, "What if we get caught? Can't you just tell us now?"

"No," Anthony said, "It's too important," he stared at both of us, "Do you trust me?"

"Of course," I said immediately because from the weeks I've known him, he's never given me a reason not to. It was as if we've known each other for our entire lives, not just a couple of weeks. I'd trust him with my life.

Both of us looked at Reuven who sighed, "Fine, midnight it is."

So once we went back to our barracks and supposedly went to sleep, I spent the hours staring at the clock that hung in the middle of the room, illuminated by a single small candle lit next to it. When it was ten minutes until midnight, I slipped out of bed, making sure to place my pillows just right so it looks like I'm still sleeping there and put on my sandals. I crept across the room, careful not to wake up any of the other 19 sleeping bodies. Once I was out, I let out a small sigh before continuing along the darkest paths towards the administration office.

Anthony and Reuven were already there when I arrived.

"Oh there you are," Reuven said in relief, "I thought you've run into trouble,"

"It's just a couple minutes past midnight," I said,

"But knowing you, you probably would've come here an hour early, you're not really the patient type," Anthony said.

"Hey!" I defended myself, "I'm not impatient,"

"And stubborn too," Anthony said as I glared at him, "I never said that it was a bad thing," he said defensively.

I rolled my eyes, "So what is it that was so secretive that we had to meet in secret in the middle of the night,"

"Well..." he began, but stopped

"Come on," I said, "You know you can tell us anything," he eyed me for a long moment and I felt panic strike me. Does he not trust me? After all this time I trusted him, I know I trust him, but did he ever trust me. Luckily, only moments later, he took a deep breath and started talking.

"You know how I work in a lumber factory and it's quite easy to get hurt there, right?" we nodded, anxious to hear more. "Well today, or er, yesterday, Jan, you know, the gypsy, the one who sits alone and never seems to talk to anyone in the cafeteria?"

I nodded at a vague memory of a brown-skinned boy around my age, sitting by himself at a table all the way on the other side of the cafeteria as us, always picking at his food.

"There was an, um, accident, with the machines and he ended up with a deep six-inch cut along the leg,"

I winced at that, injuries were not rare here or even all that uncommon, not that it made it any better.

"So Officer Barton told me and Hassan to take him to the infirmary. When we got there, Hassan told me to go, that he can take it from here. But as I turned to leave, I heard a scream, it wasn't loud, it sounded muffled somehow, so I decided to go there and check. I hid behind the curtains, making sure that I was out of sight and-" his voice breaks off as a single tear slid down from his eye, "There was a girl, the same girl whom the Nazis took from our group the first day. She laid on the white hospital bed, tubes inserted into her veins. And in it was this dirty yellowish liquid which smelt strongly of acid. Next to her was another girl around the same age, there was an oxygen mask strapped around his face. I wasn't sure what was going on except that it wasn't oxygen they were pumping into her. Without knowing what I was doing, I hurried out, running down a random hallway where I can across a room labelled, Experiment #82- Trial 4: Seawater. That's it, nothing else, that's all it said, I risked a peek in and- and inside were people, actually people, their mouths were open but there's no sound coming out. Their mouths dry, most of them looking sickly. That when I realized, they were running experiments on them. And Jan, what will happen to him? Did I just lead him to his death? All those people, who were supposedly sent to the gas chambers suffered a worse fate than suffocating to death. What they were doing to them was barbaric, inhumane!"

"Just when I thought I can't hate them less," Reuven muttered darkly while I, on the other hand, stared at him, eyes wide and mouth gaped.

It took a moment for everything to sink in. The Nazis were experimenting on them, making them suffer for no reason at all. And that was just two rooms, who knows what's going on in the dozens of other rooms in that wing alone. I've always known that the Nazis are evil, insane even. But this? This is on a whole other level! It's heartless, do they not have any sympathy or even a sliver of regret?

"What?" my voice came out barely as a whisper, "Are you sure, no, it can't be. You're wrong!"

Anthony stared up at me, his eyes rueful, "I wish. But I don't think so."

"I can't believe it, all this time while we were eating or working, there were people not much farther from us, sometimes just a building over, who was being tortured! I can't stand it!"

"Me either," he said, then taking a deep breath as if readying himself for a grand reveal, "That's why I have to go."

"What!" Reuven and I cried out in perfect synchrony. Anthony attempted to shush us as we bombarded him with questions.

"What do you mean?" I asked,

"Where could you possibly even go?" Reuven said,

"How would you even get out!"

"How long have you been planning this!"

"Quiet both of you!" he hissed, "Do you want to be caught?"

"Not until you explain!" I said under my breath,

"Well if the two of you quiet down for one moment I will!" and to his surprise, we did. "Okay. So it was just an idea that I've been playing around with for a while actually. There is a hole in the fence behind one of the barracks. I don't think the Nazis know about it yet, I suspect that some wild animal's just been sneaking around the camp. It'd be a tight squeeze but I think we'd be able to fit through. It was all theoretical of course, that is, until yesterday and everything that happened in the infirmary when I really thought about it. Not as some fantasy but in reality. We could do it you know, make a run for it. Whatever's out there can't be worse than what's in here,"

"What about food?" Reuven asked skeptically, "And drinkable water,"

"Well, we'll need a supply of it before we leave,"

"What about winter, it's only four months away, what will we do then?"

"We'll have to find shelter by then," Anthony shrugged,

"But what about-" Reuven started but quickly got interrupted.

"I just can't stay here anymore!" Anthony exclaimed, I jumped from the surprise of his outburst. "I can't stay here and work for those monsters any longer! It's ripping me apart!"

"When the war ends-"

"If the war ends Reuven! If! Right now it seems like it's never going to end, and what if the Nazis win? Then everything will be a million times worse! I can't continue spending the rest of the days on ifs or maybes anymore. Either you two come with me or I'm going out there alone!" he stared at Reuven, his eyes red. Although he sounded angry, his eyes were pleading, pleading that we will join him on his escape.

Reuven stared at him for a long second and shook his head, "Sorry friend, I won't tell anyone of your plans and I'll try to help you guys as much as I can but I can't come with you, I just can't."

There was a pause, as if Anthony was thinking something over, then he nodded, "Okay," he said in a seemingly even tone, "I respect your decision."

Both of them turned to me, realizing that I've been silent during the whole exchange. My heart pounded from the decision I'm about to make which could alter the rest of my life. But one look at Anthony, into his kind blue eyes, I know my answer.

I sighed, "I'm coming. Besides, someone needs to keep an eye on him if a bear suddenly pounces on him," I teased, hoping to let out some of the tension. No such luck.

I turned to Reuven to see his reaction. Tears filled the brim of his eyes, he licked his lips nervously, "Alright."

"Alright?" Anthony asked,

"Alright." he repeated, "I'll cover for the two of you. I'll be one of the first they'd ask when they realize that you're both gone."

Anthony smiled, and when Reuven reached out to shake his hand, he surprised him with a hug instead, "Thank you," he murmured under his breath. They stay there, locked in each other's embrace for a moment more before they let go.

"We'll miss you," I whispered into his ear as I wrapped my arms around him tightly.

"Just do me a favour," Reuven said, "Tell me when you're going to run."

"Of course," I promised him.

"Well I'd better go and leave the two of you to discuss your, um, your next moves." and with that, he left. Slipping into the darkness as we listened for his soft footsteps leading back to his barracks.

"Are you sure, about coming with me I mean," Anthony asked, fidgeting with a loose piece of thread hanging down from his shirtsleeve.

"Of course, where you go I go," I said, taking a step towards him.

That's when it happened. He leaned in and gave me a little peck, right on the lips. It was a surprise, and before I could register what had happened, he already retreated backwards. But even as he leaned back, I can still feel the odd tingling sensation still on my lips. Weird, new, and unique. It felt good, but it shouldn't. He was my best friend, one of my only friends now. But before I could debate it anymore, he moved on acting as if nothing had happened and I did the same.

"I think we should go in six days' time, there'd be a full moon so we'd have the moonlight to lead us through the woods at night. At 1:55, the soldiers guarding the place near the breakage of the fence switches. There is a short five minutes where the fence is left unguarded, five minutes until the next guard takes his post. Five minutes for us to sneak out. At curfew, we go back to our barracks, once everyone is asleep, we come over here, where I'll keep a stash of supplies for our escape. Once the guards leave, we'll run like crazy towards the fence and into the nearby woods, hiding in the shadows."

I stared at him in disbelief as I took in how detailed his plan actually is. From knowing what times the guards switch to how long they'll be gone for.

"Come on, Mari," Anthony pleaded, "Come with me, please, I'd rather die than stay much longer in this camp. And- and I need you with me.

"I'm still coming," I said, and with my words, his shoulder relaxed,

"Really?" I nodded,

"Of course,"

The next couple of weeks consists of stowing away bits of food from each meal. A piece of bread here, a fruit there. We even snuck into the kitchen to get some of the better food reserved for the soldiers, little bits of course. Never enough to draw attention. Soon we had a little bird's nest in our pockets, added with some canned foods and water, and we were ready to go. We decided to leave in early September, the weather still warm but seemed to be cooling down. That night we met up late at night once again at the admissions office.

"You ready?" Anthony asked as I came into the room, he flung the bag of food and various other necessities onto his shoulders.

I smiled, "As ready as I'll ever be,"

Taking one last look at the camp we moved forwards towards the hole. Although I sure won't miss the place, I'll most definitely miss the people inside it. As we neared the fence, I got an uneasy feeling down in the pit of my stomach. I felt as if we're being watched, although we were trying to be silent, our footsteps echoed softly with every step. But surely it was just my nerves playing tricks on me. It wasn't until I began hearing more footsteps, footsteps not our own when I finally told him.

"Uh, Anthony," I whispered, "I think we're being followed,"

We both stopped, freezing on the spot for a moment, pausing to see if we could hear anything. After a few seconds, Anthony must've heard it, seeing that he began hurrying away, away from the hole in the fence and towards the building to our left. He pushed us both behind it, hiding. We stayed there, crouched near the ground for what seemed like hours, we were just about convinced that we mistook the sound when something happened.

A series of noises tipped us off. Beams of light scanned the area, loud footsteps afar.

Anthony turned to me, wide-eyed. "They found us." The Nazis found us. How, I do not know but they are getting closer by the second.

"Show yourself," a voice commanded us, "And the punishment will not be as severe!" Lies. All lies.

"Mari, calm down," I shifted my attention back on Anthony.

"What are we going to do!"

He shook his head, "Me, not we,"

"What-" he interrupted me.

"You stay here and hide, hide until the coast is clear," he said urgently, tearing up slightly, "And please, look away."

It clicked. Anthony was going to sacrifice himself for me. "No." I said as strongly as I can muster, fight back tears, "I won't let you do this. Please. Don't leave me."

He reached over and hugged me, it took less than a second for me to respond, clutching him so tight that I could've broken his rib. He pressed lips to my forehead then pulled away with a weird look on his face and pressed his lips into mine once more like the night all those weeks ago. It was soft and familiar much like before. Only this time, it had a different feeling to it, something final, as if a goodbye.

We pulled away, tears staining both of our eyes.

"Remember Mari," Anthony whispered to me, "That I love you forever and always."

With that, he ran out of hiding. All the flashlights seem to fixate onto him.

"Who are you!" a soldier shouted, pointing at him a gun.

"Anthony Shevchenko,"

"No, your number,"

"152362," Anthony said slowly and evenly,

"What are you doing out here at night?" there was a long pause and I was pleading, lie, please lie. But of course, he didn't.

"Trying to escape,"

The soldier cackled, "Hear that Schmidt? That one's trying to escape! As if he can! Not so bright eh, that one?"

The other soldier, the one I can only assume to be Schmidt said, "Who's with you? With an IQ like yours, you can't have planned this whole runaway himself. There's ought to be a brain of this operation."

"No," Anthony replied, his voice now shaky, "Only me."

"Well what do you suppose we do with this one?" asked the first soldier.

"Shoot him, he ain't no use anyway, we've got a new shipment of them coming from the east in a couple of days."

I squeezed my eyes shut as the sound of a rain of bullets came from where they stood. Anthony let out a groan, meaning that the bullets had hit and I felt my heart shatter to a thousand pieces.

"Come on, let's go get someone to get rid of him"

"No," said Schmidt, "Leave him here, as a warning to anyone else who wants to try and escape."

I sat there, trembling, waiting until the footsteps faded away into nothing, then got up and stumbled to where Anthony now lies. Bullet holes dotted his chest, blood seeping through the fabric, his eyes half-closed.

"Anthony!" I said in a hushed voice, careful not to draw back the soldiers. "Anthony, are you still there!" my heartbeat quicken. No, he can't be dead, how can he be dead!

"I-I'm still here," he murmured weakly, his voice strained.

"You're alive!" I nearly squealed, I started to drag him, "Come on, we have to go! The guards know who you are and they think that you are dead. You have to go- we have to go."

He touched my hand, clutching it tightly in his, "No." he said, "I won't make it, I know I won't make it,"

"But-" it seemed as if with the adrenaline pumping through my veins, I underestimated the seriousness of his wounds. Or perhaps I didn't want to believe, but now, with his voice as a soothing guide to me, realization hits me. He would never make it, the wounds were most likely fatal and if we tried to escape we wouldn't even make it to the fence.

"No, listen to me, stay here, stay safe. I don't know why I ever tried to convince you to do anything that was this dangerous with me. I'm so sorry,"

"Don't. I would've gone with you whether you asked or not."

"I should've never put you in danger," he said apologetically, "But promise me, you won't try this escape again, there's sure to be heavier security here now and they probably know about the hole. I won't forgive myself if you died following my plan."

"I-I can't," I stammered,

"Yes you can, just wait it out, wait out the war, it will end soon enough, I promise,"

"You can't promise that," I said quietly, wiping away my tears, "And you were the one who said that you can't live on ifs and maybes anymore,"

He chuckled slightly then grimaced, as if that drained all his energy, "God, I am such a hypocrite. But please promise me that you'll stay safe, that once this war is over and it is safe, you get out of here. Out of this camp, out of this country even. Live your life to the fullest as you deserve."

I cried, "What about you?"

"Don't worry about me, I'm as good as dead anyway," he said lightly, and I can start to feel him slipping away, "Please," he begged, "Promise me,"

I nodded, my hands shaking, "I promise."

"Sing,"

"What?" I said, for he had said it so quietly that I must have misheard him,

"Sing," he repeated, "I want to hear your singing again,"

I nodded, knowing that I can't refuse his last request, clearing my throat and wiping away my tears, I began to sing.

"Sweet as the rising sun,

Bright as the evening moon.

In the land of dreams,

Sleep can't seem to come soon.

So if you just close your eyes,

And think happy thoughts.

As you slip away,

Into the land of dreams,

It's now the end of the day,

The moon is up and the sun went down,

The stars twinkle out to say goodnight to yoooou.

As you slip away,

Into the land of dreams."

He smiled one last time then closed his eyes. "I'll never forget you," I whispered as a tear slid down from my eye onto his cheek, brushing it away I let out a sob.

I won't try to escape, I promised him that. For now I'd have to live for the both of us. Every choice I make, every experience I have, it would be like he is with me. And in a way he is. I would never forget him, Anthony Shevchenko, not even at the end.

The next morning when the rest of the camp woke up and saw Anthony's dead body, everyone was in a frenzy. And through all the mess, I saw Reuven give me a look and I nodded. Anthony was dead.

I lost track of time, whereas the first couple of months where everything went by like a blur, time seemed to slow down. Seconds seemed to turn into hours, hours into days, and days into months. I fell into a deep stage of depression, barely able to eat my food each meal, working slowly, my mind always replaying the spray of bullets and Anthony's groan. Having to rewatch his death hundreds upon hundreds of times. It wasn't until one night at dinner when that changed.

I was picking at my dinner, some kind of turnip soup and one slice of sawdust bread when Reuven finally had enough,

"You have to eat!" he said exasperated,

I shrugged, "I'm hungry,"

"You can't keep doing this, zoning everything out, I know what you've been through was horrible, but remember, Anthony was my friend too." he sighed, "You can't keep doing this,"

"I'm just a little distracted," I said,

"Well you can't afford to be distracted, the guards are noticing it, and unless you want to be sent to the infirmary to take part in their little experiments, you have to shake whatever it is you've got!" he hissed under his breath.

I felt my cheeks turn red and tears prickle in the corners of my eyes. Reuven must have noticed because then he said in a much gentler tone than before,

"I'm sorry, but you need to understand how much danger we're in right now. They know that we're friends with Anthony but they don't know that we know anything about his escape attempt. If we slip up now..." he didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to, we both know what's coming for us if we did. Death. Eventually, if we're lucky.

"I know," I said, "I'll try to act normal,"

Reuven smiled, "Remember, wars can't last forever, and Anthony would want you to be happy," then I smiled, the first time in months, the thought of Anthony warms me.

"I know."

As winter inched past, something miraculous happened. In late January, the camp was closed down. The American soldiers came and freed us. What's more unbelievable, is that, less than eight months after that, the war ended, the Allies have won. Everything felt like a dream, only, if it was a dream Anthony would be here.

Many have lost loved ones, families, and friends at this camp. As for me, I have lost both Anthony and my family, as after we were all rescued, I received a letter acknowledging my brother, Keith's death. I can only hope that it was a quick and painless one.

A couple of years later, Reuven was married and happy, Imogen got a new job as a seamstress and was content. It seemed like it was only me who wasn't moving on. I needed a new start, to push the past away, at least for now. So I immigrated to Canada, it took a lot of time and paperwork, in the end, I was there. Living near the ocean just like I was back in Ukraine. I eventually got a job at a bakery with enough income to live by. And although Anthony wasn't physically with me, he is in my memories, and in that way, he would never leave me.

And so here I was, staring at the series of numbers, the memory etched into my brain like the ink in my skin. I have lived a long and happy life. Filled with thrills and excitement, which was enough for me.

In an ideal universe, Anthony would still be alive. In an ideal universe, there wouldn't have been a war in the first place, but then I would have never met him. In some way, I was glad I met him, for I would rather have him than lose him than never having met him in the first place.

What took place that summer had created a giant hole in my chest, one that would take decades to heal only to leave a scar. A remembrance of what happened. Although the war is long over, it is still with me wherever I go.

I feel a heavy feeling settle in my chest, my heart ached as the memories surfaced. Both good and bad, happy and sad, light and painful. What became of the most important era of my life, demolished to dust. Like my memories, scattered across the four winds, blowing endlessly.