A taste of Message to New York.

I want to share a taste of Message to New York with my readers. This is something very close to my heart, and it means the world to me. Please enjoy this unedited prologue.

Prologue

“For the dead and the living, we must bear witness.”
Elie Wiesel


1943
London, England

She spent her nights concealed under cotton quilts, hiding from the devils in the corners of the room and begging the sun to rise and vanquish the evil from her memories. But it never left her thoughts; when the daylight was at its brightest, beaming through her windows, the panes of her soul were dark as night.

The silence was as bad as the dark, where every shifting shadow was a Gestapo officer ready to rip him from her dreams, the only place he stayed safe and warm and fed. They’d already stolen him from her once; why did they insist on returning night after night to do it all over again? She hadn’t been able to save him; no matter how much they fought fate, taking up arms against the gods of providence, it had taken him.

With the dawn, she’d awaken from restless sleep to an empty, cool pillow beside her, a reminder of both love and failure, and fall into the routine she knew. Dress, eat, work, eat, home, eat. The romance of life dashed away with the laborious tasks of typing and filing and filling coffee cups.

On and on, her days went as such, the habitual life of a heartsick woman. Until the day she found the thing she’d been seeking the past four years. Her eyes found his name, drawn to it like a compass needle is drawn north. She wasn’t meant to see it, wasn’t meant to find out.

She’d seen Dachau, witnessed the stench and the eery quiet of death and hopelessness. But he was alive. Alive! She pushed back from the desk, and the papers scattered in a tornado flurry of white and ivory as she rushed to the relay operator.

“I must get this message to New York right away.” Her voice shook with trepidation, and the typist watched with suspicious eyes, but did as requested. There was no time to spare. She’d received word that he was alive and being held in the camp, but each passing moment was another in which he could be destroyed.

-This work is owned by Madi Merek and will be published.

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