My Father's Blood

If walls could talk, would you really want to know what they had to say? I think in most cases, you'd jump at the opportunity, get the info on all the spilled tea, the gossip about who did what, who's having an affair, who got caught...but in my case, you probably couldn't handle it. Could you handle the grotesque details of death, blood, and deep rooted hatred? Could you really stomach the noise of my voice, telling you how many times I saw women and girls raped, their entire freedoms stolen in the blink of an eye, families separated, murdered in front of each other, tortured, and watching every detail of their being shattered like glass? Would you really want to know what I've seen?

It began in April of 1940, the year I was born and raised. I was so excited and ambitious to learn what my fate would be. However, I quickly found out that I was so naive to what destiny awaited me, and the hell and havoc it would reap for eternity on my soul. The photo you see above is me- of what is left of the horrific life I've lived, and the even more horrific things I've seen. This is my eternal destiny- a broken, lost shell of something that may otherwise have been so beautiful and full of happiness. I was created with a purpose, but why? Why did it have to be me? Why was I chosen and why must I be left with the remains of what once was?

My parents were long time lovers, but were only married the day before they both took their lives on April 30, 1945. I had just turned five years old, but I remember how the world shook and rumbled with celebration and freedom at the news of their deaths; especially my father's. I know it sounds terrible. Who could be happy at the news of death? And especially a mass celebration to be had around the world. But the story I am about to tell you will explain the reasoning behind it all, and you too will likely celebrate the happenings of April 30, 1945.

In 1933, my father, a very powerful man, was named Chancellor, and in 1934, quickly assumed his new title as Führer of Germany after the death of President Paul von Hindenburg. Over night, he went from a man of power to one of the most powerful and influential men in history. He took an entire nation and reformed it into a dictatorship and the Nazi Party became his play thing. By 1940, he convinced hundreds of thousands of people that one race was the root cause of all of the country's problems. Over the years, while building out his master plan, he thought of me-he dreamed of me-and he bore me to house the greatest of all his dreams-a complete genocide; What we now refer to as "The Holocaust".

“To conquer a nation, first disarm its citizens.” ― Adolf Hitler

It was then, on the day of my birth in 1940 that I would quickly be stunned and confused as masses of Jewish women and girls would be shoved into me, their heads shaved, dressed in rags. I can still hear their screams, their cries for help and mercy, for reasoning and understanding to what was happening. If they begged too much, their blood would be splattered upon me for eternity, covering my hands in the blood that should have been on my father’s. I would hear the shrieking cries of mothers who watched their daughters and friends be rapped by Nazi soldiers, and later, their whispered whimpers of prayers, begging for them not to be next. I watched first hand at the torture they endured, and I could do nothing. I was powerless. I wanted to scream! I wanted to break free! I wanted to crumble on top of the men who were responsible! I wanted to bury my father for the pointless pain he made us suffer. I was born to him, yet I was just as enslaved, and beaten and used as every woman inside of me. All I could do was house them, try to comfort them, to protect them from the elements. But my efforts- oh, my efforts... in any other circumstance, I may have been perceived to be a savior of sorts- but here, I was only a jailhouse and a mockery of what their lives once were.

We lived together this way, those women and I, until I was five years old. Until the day we were set free. The day was April 30, 1945. After nearly a decade of enslaving and slaughtering 11 million men, women, and children, with nearly 6 million of them being Jews, it all ended abruptly when my father, Adolf Hitler, and mother Eva Braun cowardly took their own lives. This is the day the world rejoiced in freedom from the monster that was my father, and once again, they began to rebuild and reconnect to those who were fortunate enough to make it through this nightmare. Everyone except me.

“If you win, you need not have to explain...If you lose, you should not be there to explain!”― Adolf Hitler

Each individual has their own stories, but this one- this one is mine. And I am forever haunted by the happenings within me. I was born innocent, with a pure heart, but was used, tormented, and left as nothing but an empty shell where from time to time, people come, take photos of my exposed soul, and have not forgiven me for what my father has done.

My name is Auschwitz.