Post by Valencia Donahue on Feb 4, 2007 18:55:19 GMT 1
Dear Diary,
It was a dreadfully confusing morning the moment I woke up to violent shaking and loud yelling. I was having a pleasant dream too, surprising as it was, about a feast I will probably never have due to the state of things. Anyways, I was shook awake by my husband, whom was in turn shook awake by other people first. To my horror, and chagrin, I learned that it was the NKVD who was kicking our bed, throwing off the covers, and being rowdy in dragging us from our slumber. Uniforms, red badges, and all, I could only presume that they were decked that way in the dark, early hours of the morning as I drowsily got out of bed. We were given half an hour to pack up, though it seemed much shorter than I expected, so I went to get my son ready and we got to packing our bags. In my bag were a few photos, heirlooms, and some of my warmest clothes as well as whatever food I could get my hands on and could fit. Like I said, my pleasant dream was about a feast I will probably never have and this was the next best thing as opposed to nothing.
Before we knew it, our family of three was waiting at the train station with the rest of our dazed, sleepy neighbors. However, my son finally came to the startling conclusion that we were going to a gulag. I only heard of a few stories of its notoriety, but those few stories are enough to make me cringe at the mere thought of what goes on at those camps. “Labor camp?” From what I thought Stalin referred to them as, they were to correct criminals! Murderers and thieves! What have we done? Did we ever slouch? Did we ever not do our work? The most I can say is that there was just one time, only one time when I pilfered an extra morsel of food to eat out of hunger… I was very, VERY careful and I made perfectly sure that no one was looking!
But now, after one horribly uncomfortable train ride through Siberia, I am starving. I am even hungrier than I have ever been and I don’t even have the strength to swing my hammer to get the food I want. It’s just stupid how this ration card system works. It makes sense that you earn what eat, you get what you work for, but what about those who can’t work? I starve to death because I worked hard enough to feed a few people, but not enough for myself? How much I am allowed to eat is a number or a stamp on my card? Truly ludicrous! All of this is balderdash and poppycock! I’d sooner eat my arm off if no one was looking, but I think if I keep working, they might let my family go home. Yes, that is the most I can hope for: That they realize that all this is a big mistake, we are good people who support Communism and Stalin, and they will set us free again. If “free” was the right word.
Signed,
Anouska
[Note: Creative Writing = Letter. Written last year for a Communist Russia project in school.]
It was a dreadfully confusing morning the moment I woke up to violent shaking and loud yelling. I was having a pleasant dream too, surprising as it was, about a feast I will probably never have due to the state of things. Anyways, I was shook awake by my husband, whom was in turn shook awake by other people first. To my horror, and chagrin, I learned that it was the NKVD who was kicking our bed, throwing off the covers, and being rowdy in dragging us from our slumber. Uniforms, red badges, and all, I could only presume that they were decked that way in the dark, early hours of the morning as I drowsily got out of bed. We were given half an hour to pack up, though it seemed much shorter than I expected, so I went to get my son ready and we got to packing our bags. In my bag were a few photos, heirlooms, and some of my warmest clothes as well as whatever food I could get my hands on and could fit. Like I said, my pleasant dream was about a feast I will probably never have and this was the next best thing as opposed to nothing.
Before we knew it, our family of three was waiting at the train station with the rest of our dazed, sleepy neighbors. However, my son finally came to the startling conclusion that we were going to a gulag. I only heard of a few stories of its notoriety, but those few stories are enough to make me cringe at the mere thought of what goes on at those camps. “Labor camp?” From what I thought Stalin referred to them as, they were to correct criminals! Murderers and thieves! What have we done? Did we ever slouch? Did we ever not do our work? The most I can say is that there was just one time, only one time when I pilfered an extra morsel of food to eat out of hunger… I was very, VERY careful and I made perfectly sure that no one was looking!
But now, after one horribly uncomfortable train ride through Siberia, I am starving. I am even hungrier than I have ever been and I don’t even have the strength to swing my hammer to get the food I want. It’s just stupid how this ration card system works. It makes sense that you earn what eat, you get what you work for, but what about those who can’t work? I starve to death because I worked hard enough to feed a few people, but not enough for myself? How much I am allowed to eat is a number or a stamp on my card? Truly ludicrous! All of this is balderdash and poppycock! I’d sooner eat my arm off if no one was looking, but I think if I keep working, they might let my family go home. Yes, that is the most I can hope for: That they realize that all this is a big mistake, we are good people who support Communism and Stalin, and they will set us free again. If “free” was the right word.
Signed,
Anouska
[Note: Creative Writing = Letter. Written last year for a Communist Russia project in school.]
