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Dear Diary,
Finally, I can write. It took me forever to find my pencil. Oh, a kingdom for a pencil sharpener! Oh well. You're probably wondering what lightened my mood. Well, nothing, actually. I'm miserable! But, no matter what, I just can't force myself to be serious! Oh, I bet you're wondering what happened. Well, after the car stopped... It was a car, you see. they-... I'm sorry. I can't hide my depression anymore. It- it was horrible! They shoved both Tamra and me into this ghastly train car, like- like animals, cattle being taken to the butcher! Babies and little children were screaming, wailing. Women were weeping, the near-dead were moaning, the dead reeked. Oh, that smell! I can never get away from that horrible smell of death! The bullet wound in my leg swelled over the night and it was excruciating to move it at all. I knew the bullet had to be removed, so I slowly and carefully tried to pull it from my open wound with my own, bare, soiled hands. It was impossible. My nails couldn't pry it. I found a splinter of wood and with this I worked. Oh!! The pain!! I can't describe in words the immense pain I

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endured while prying the bloody bullet from my flesh.
With nowhere to wipe the blood, I had no choice but to let it dry on my hands, my clothes, my body.
Three days later, the train stopped. All of us perked up. We were certain they were finally going to let us out. The doors opened. I saw the sky. Though overcast, it was light outside. I took a deep breath of that fresh early-autumn air. Oh, it felt so good! Then those Nazi men came in and started picking up the bodies and throwing them out.
Just as I was about to step out, the doors slammed shut. I stood in front of that cold, cruel door, staring at my lost freedom. The train started to move again. No food? No water? Not even fresh air?
What did I do? Three more days of this. I endured a whole three more God-forsaken days of this treatment.
No food. No water. The stench of death.
Poor Tamra. Poor little Tamra. She's not doing very well. I wish I had some food for her, perhaps a little rainwater. I wish I had saved her doll for her. Then maybe I wouldn't have to see these tears, little tears that run down her soft little round face from those big, dark eyes.