The Allies were advancing.
Behind us the sound of heavy gunfire was getting closer and closer.
Where were we going?
The exodus is long before liberation.
How many tens or hundreds of miles?
I measured the distance by the effort it took.
I dragged my footsteps, each of which was an effort in the fog and deprivation.
I marched
without seeing anything.
I tripped on stones
with one thought only:
do not fall.
I no longer had the strength to be scared nor to hope.
For several days we had been living on nothing
We had been sleeping outside in the sticky mud
Our convoy had grown thinner every hour.
All that was left were shadows spattered with grime and mud.
With great, dead eyes.
Owl faces.
I marched with my head down to focus my efforts.
I wanted to come back from this other world.
To stay standing.
My existence had no place in time.
It was out of my reach.
I marched.
Long after I came back, I studied people’s faces.
I would question their hearts.
I would weigh people by the measure of their kindness:
Who would have helped us to march?
Who would have shared their bread?
I was desperate to read kindness on the faces of the living.