Dear Margot,

I'm so scared. And thin. Every day people are called into a line, and the men take them away. They took mama. They never feed people freely, and since mama has left it's been harder to find anything edible. I'm afraid, and I shake every night. I need help, and this is the only way I can scape insanity, if I'm not to die. I know that if I'm to die, since it's inevitable that I will soon, I do not, will not starve. Writing to you is the only way I can escape torture, unsureness. I need it, because it's all I have left.
I miss you, and Mama and Papa. But I have found they are not coming back. I have also found that I can no longer run, I am too weak. I fear they will drag me into the line with everyone else. The stripes I wear are barely filling out my figure. I miss those days when that's all we would worry about. I hope they don't have you. I miss the days when happiness would come knocking on our doors. I am no longer happy. I no longer feel anything but shouts and the cold blow of its frostbitten breath on my fingers. There is no music here, which is what I miss the most. I cannot even remember the last time I saw the piano, or violin. They don't have that here, in hell.
Look for my letters. I have written many to you, but haven't found a way to send them to you yet. It's so lonely here, I can swear I hear papa's jokes echo off the walls. I wish I could say I hate every person here. I don't. I guess that is because I want to believe that everyone is still good at heart, and this will end. Maybe if more of us believed in that, it would end. I look around, and breath in the suffering of millions, because I know this is not the only camp in the world. And what I once thought was the city as now turned into a wild place where wolves howl to the night sky. But when I look up to the sky, I see a better place. We just have to figure out how to reach it. You and me, we can find a way.
I stare at my nails and realize they are bitten and yellowed. Grim sits snugly under the top of them. I haven't showered in the longest time. I can't remember the last time I could feel my ribs jut out of my chest. I feel like I have shrank instead of grown, and in a sense, I have. We don't see anyone come back. They are taken across the railroad most of the time. I have heard some older men talking, quietly, and they said the place I am is called Auschwitz. I believe it is still in Poland, but no one even knows their name anymore, let alone where we are. No one wants to know anything anymore. Especially where they are being taken.
I pray everyday that you are not here. I hope you are somewhere safe, with someone. Do you know what I never understand? How people can be the most dominate species on Earth, yet the most volatile. I have outsmarted the men here for weeks now, but I cannot do it much longer. I cannot sit here and waste while I watch everyone being pulled into line and mercilessly murdered by the hands of sick, twisted men. This shall be my last letter I write to you, even though you may never see them.I miss you and everyone so bad, tears come to my eyes, but living has it's prices, and I've dealt with almost all of them. Except Mengele. But if I shall ever run into him, I shall burn him to a stake, and spit on his face. He doesn't even deserve to rot in hell. I should know.
I have heard that there could only be one escape;Schindler's women are here. I should plan to join them, but guilt would fill my eyes if I did. Margot, by now, I think that's the only thing I could ever do. I'm sorry if I let you down, if I am too selfish anymore, but my sister, there's nothing left. I lurk in the shadows, thin as paper, wispy as the wind. This is all there is for me. I am finally getting out, and I shall take these letters with me, so I may forever remember what death is. It is hatred, and relief coated with candy and a knife sitting on top of it all. And I can't deserve relief yet. I am walking into the line. May God be with me.

Love forever,

Marianna