41Ottokar Schuhmacher remembered the treatment from his peers back in grade school and cursed his younger self for believing nothing could be worse than the bullying he endured. For now he looked out at the dreary picture he had come to live with. Niederhagen, the prison and labor camp the former university student had been placed in, always seemed to be shrouded in a dreary gray cloud. He absentmindedly brought a hand to his upper torso and felt his rib through his prisoner uniform. He'd only recently arrived at the prison and labor camp and hunger had set in fast.
His hand then went to the pink triangle badge on his left breast that was turned upside down to mock him. He felt a surge of anger, but concealed it. He felt the chilling, familiar feeling of eyes on him. He began working on lifting box by box of heavy building supplies and stacking them into columns, but knew it was too late, as the sound of heavy boots were approaching.
"I should use a useless man like you for target practice," uttered the burly Gestapo standing in front of him. "What have I told you about slacking?"
The young man continued moving each heavy box, knowing better than to talk back to the wide-chinned, stoic guard that continued to question him. He remembered the first and only time he'd tried, and he still felt the large bruise on his hip throb at the slightest touch. He'd just walked past the cast-iron gates with the friend he had made in the box car, along a hundred other people of his 'kind.' A different guard had started to separate them. When Ottokar protested, he was met with the butt of the Gestapo's rifle to his already bony hip.
Ottokar, or Otto as he preferred, finished another column and turned to grab another, only to find the guard's large black boot sitting on the wooden box. He dared to glance up at the man as if to ask for him to step off the box.
"You have no place to ignore me," the man growled, teeth baring at Otto. He almost flinched at the guard's breath, which smelled of the cigar he'd been puffing on earlier as he watched over the prisoners.
Deep down, Otto felt frustration swelling inside of him, so his bit his lower lip to stifle the protest begging to be let out. If he talked back, he'd be beaten. If he didn't, he'd be beaten. If he looked at them, he'd be beaten. If he didn't, he'd be beaten. He just couldn't win.
He bowed his head in defeat and readied himself for the blow. And it came in the form of a foot to the stomach.
Later that night, Otto swallowed the last bits of meat from his soup. He slurped of the broth and desperately licked at the bowl. Around him sat three other men, who also wore the infamous upside down pink triangles on their chests. They stared into their empty white bowls, equally as disappointed.
"Better than nothing," mumbled Ludwig. He'd always been an energetic soul, trying every night when the work was finally done to boost the morale of the other prisoners like him. Even his spirits had dropped in the passed few months he'd been held there. "And I hear breakfast has bread! Maybe some toast."
His grin was weak. Deflated. It really didn't fool anyone.
"No, Ludwig. It probably is just some bread," Otto mumbled, standing up and staggering. He held his sore stomach and tossed his bowl into the tub set beside them. The guards hadn't bothered to empty it for a while, so it was starting to smell and flies had begun to gather around it. They simply stood at the entry way to the unsanitary excuse for a mess hall. A line of prisoners formed near them, ready to be escorted to the barracks.
Ottokar was in a large brick barrack with 500 other people. He shared a bunk with two other men, but they often made him sleep on the floor because of his status. Even they hated his kind.
Tonight was no different. He lay curled up on the mucky ground, hearing the squeaks of rats eyeing him from underneath the bunk beds. He shivered due to the cold and brought his knees to his chest. He was dirty; due to the shortage of water, he hadn't had the chance to bath yet again. The muddy floor only made it worse.
Every other prisoner was fast asleep. He took the time he had to himself to cry softly, but not loud enough for the guard at the end of the building to hear. He thought about how his life had been slowly getting better since he went off to college. He'd started to make something of himself and it was all just taken away when he was spotted outside one of the only surviving same-sex bars left in Germany after Hitler's ban had passed. The rumor of the college medical student's sexuality spread fast. He cursed his stupidity over and over every day since then.
The morning was the same as it always was. Otto often woke up to being kicked in the side by another prisoner or a guard, demanding him to get up for the morning line up and food rations.
He ate his toast ravenously. He'd been given two pieces of the dry, un-buttered bread and demolished them in seconds. He searched the ground, looking for a crumb some one could have possibly dropped, but the other prisoners carefully held on to the food they were given at all costs.
Afterwards, they were lined up and assigned their work for the next ten hours. Otto returned to the columns he'd stacked the day before and began to unpack them with the help of the other workers. That's when he first saw Arnfried Amsel.