Chapter 1- Cracker Box

I'll never forget the day they took me. My mother was already dead, and we'd been sitting in that crawlspace for god knows how long, I was almost glad when they pulled the hatch up on the cellar. The smell of her corpse had burned through my nostrils, and the fresh air was probably the only thing that kept me standing as they yanked me into the street. I was extremely malnourished, my ribs already poked through the thin layers of clothes I'd managed to scrounge from my closet that night we escaped. For being God's chosen people, we certainly seemed to be what the world wiped their asses with. 

One look at my dark hair and blackened iris's and the soldiers showed no mercy. The next few days were blurs. Train rides, pickups, another train ride, more walking dead entered the train cars as we went from place to place. I wasn't stupid, I'd heard the stories. People who went to the "work camps" never came back. Throughout those stops and starts I cursed my God, something that would've made my sweet mother cringe, but I didn't care. I sat curled in a corner, the January air seethed through the cracks and crevices in the train car. A family sat close together near me, their two small children hugged taunt on their mother's neck. I heard her croon words of comfort to her babies, so soft and gentle I almost believed them myself. We came to a jerky stop once more, and another swarm of dammed Jews infested the car. We were packed like animals, far too many people for the rotting formations to support. With each  stop the frames of wood and wrought iron groaned under the weight.

The day it happened I was still tucked in my corner. I had no conception of the time, but it was dusk and the sun fell behind the mass of trees and snow that sprouted from the earth. We had just picked up more sad souls, and this was the most crammed our car had ever been. Maybe it was a miracle, maybe it was fate, either way, it saved me. We rounded a sharp curve, the train squealing against the tracks as the cargo violently followed its steely path. We were all slung into the side, like crackers in  a box. The immense pressure from the multitude of people was too much for the car to bear, and the wood gave. Cracking and splintering, the cracker-box car sucked the bodies from the gaping opening out into the world unseen by our cursed brown eyes for what seemed like years. The propulsion had already jerked half the passengers into the snowy ground that sped past us. Time stood still for me, I watched the family with the two small children fall lifeless like paper dolls, as if the wind caught them and carried them away. 

I wasn't even in control of my body, the insane desire to taste freedom again overtook my nerves and propelled me forward. I jumped. I felt like I was flying, the flecks of snow pelted my cheeks and blinded my eyes. I tasted it, the taste of another chance. It bursted with flavor, searing its presence in my mouth, my mind, in all my senses. It felt so vivid and crisp, and for that split second there was no other feeling in my being, that is until I hit the ground.

Reviews

[fireblossom]

Wow. Startling with my first coffee of the day. A great job of writing from the first person. Bitterness and kind observation together. That's real life. On the primal level humans packed into inhumane conditions headed for certain death, blunt emotion. The symbol of the family being released to death like dolls was powerful.

I do think your story could be edited a time or two more. There are some phrases that can be cleaned up. I suppose I should give an example.

"I wasn't even in control of my body, the insane desire to taste freedom again overtook my nerves"

I wasn't in control, the insane desire to taste freedom overtook my fear...
Propelled by the overwhelming desire for freedom I jumped...
The pull to freedom overtook my fear as I jumped from the car...

Whatever...read your piece as if you are reading someone else and demand perfection of each word and phrase.

Anyhow, it is a compelling story written by a real writer.

[C. Lee Battaglia]

This was a short but powerful chapter...
Most people wish for a second chance and most of the time they never get it, but when they do they either have the opportunity to do good or to re-try and fail.
It was a good intro into the book, it has me waiting for more and I see great potential in this book...
I think with more practice and more writing this story will turn out amazing!
Keep up the great work Zada!

C. Lee Battaglia

[Zada Robbins]

Thank you so much! I feel like when i write I've never been able to finish out books and they always turn into short stories. I'm still experimenting with chapter lengths, and I can't wait to see where this takes me!

[C. Lee Battaglia]

I personally feel the same way... I usually write short stories with a deep meaning...
(would you read my story The Blonde Girl? It's about my best friend who passed away from cancer... That would be great. And Also please leave your opinion about it if you read it.) Your Welcome!