The anguished screams are endless.

The distinct smell of decay is heavy in the air as emaciated corpses lie strewn on the

ground.

"Hannah."

I am pulled from my memories upon hearing my husband speak my name.

I look over at him, relaxing in his rocking chair.

He cannot see what I am seeing.

Over fifty years have passed since it happened.

While I am grateful to be alive, I am imprisoned with my twelfth year.

I remain a little girl though my shiny brown braids now hang in strands of gray.

I will always remember that time.

It is engraved in my mind like words on a tombstone.

I never imagined something like that could be possible.

Mama and Papa didn't warn me, not that they could have fathomed such a massacre.

We were given yellow stars to wear.

The yellow star of David stained red with our blood.

No longer could I walk the streets of the town in which I'd grown up without being

shunned.

I clung to Mama and cried.

"Is it true?" I'd ask with tears falling from my confused blue eyes. "Am I wicked for

being Jewish?"

I remember the night they made us leave our homes.

We traveled a hungry, cramped journey which lasted many days.

I can still hear the whistle of the train that brought us to hell.

They said we were demons.

Months passed there with little food, little sleep and so much cold.

The last time I saw Papa he was on his way to take a shower.

A day came when Mama didn't open her eyes.

I grew so weak I thought I would surely be joining my parents soon.

A turn of fate brought the Allies.

Freedom?

As a soldier took my hand and led me out of Auschwitz, I turned and took one last look.

I might have been twelve, but I felt a thousand a years old.

The world was a drab, miserable place that had left me an orphan.

I made a wish while standing there which I still harbor today:

I wish for the sharp point of my yellow star to never pierce another heart.