"They think we are animals, you know? Like beasts in a cage, to be watched and poked at. They come to gawk at our misery, these people, these Germans. They say they're trying to help, but their help feels like a chokehold. Every day is the same. Rinse and repeat, like a broken record.
They tell us we must work hard, to earn our keep. But what can we earn? What can be earned in this place? Nothing but their pity, their fleeting moments of disgust.
But they don't see us. Not really. They see numbers, classifications, a disease to be contained. They don't see the fear in my eyes, the hunger that gnaws at my stomach, the longing for a life beyond these walls.
They see Bruno, too. The little boy, with his innocent curiosity, his innocent questions. They see him as a child, a threat, a potential danger. But they don't see the kindness in his heart, the yearning for friendship, the desire to break free from the cage they have built around him.
He doesn't understand. He can't understand. He sees us as something different, something strange. But he doesn't see the terror, the despair, the pain that we carry within us. He sees us as friends, as equals, and that is a dangerous, beautiful thing.
Maybe one day he will understand. Maybe one day, he will see the world beyond the fence, the world where we all belong, where we are not defined by the stripes on our clothes, but by the beating of our hearts, by the dreams that fill our minds. But until that day comes, I can only hope that he stays safe, that he remains innocent, that he never truly understands the darkness that surrounds us."
(Pavel sighs, a deep, heavy sigh that echoes the weight of his despair. He finishes cleaning the spectacles, his fingers trembling slightly. He turns, his eyes empty, and walks away, leaving the room silent and the lamp flickering in the darkness.)