I will never see a beetle scuttle across the ground and curse myself that it can outrun me because otherwise it would have been a meal to outdo all others.

I will never see any of it again. And at this moment, that is my one joyful thought.

‘In there.’ A guard orders me through a gate.

Three guards are waiting inside the courtyard. Two of them have rifles over their shoulders. One is holding a pistol. I look down at the floor.

‘Stand over there,’ one of the guards says, pointing towards a wall at the far end of the courtyard. I have heard about this wall. I know what it is.

And the strange thing is that as I walk towards the wall, I no longer feel afraid. Greta promised we would escape today and she was right. I have always known there is only one way to leave Auschwitz.

‘Turn around,’ one of the guards shouts.

I turn to face them.

The guard nudges the one with the pistol. ‘Here you go,’ he says with a broad smile. ‘Birthday present. You get to shoot your first Jew.’

The other guard is looking down at his pistol. He seems uncertain, hesitant.

‘What are you waiting for?’ one of the other guards asks. ‘It’s only a Jew.’

His hesitation is making it worse. I want him to get it over and done with. Get this life over and done with.

I look up at him, ready to plead with him to finish me off if it will make it happen faster. But then I catch his eye.

And in that moment, everything falls away. The years. The camps, the deaths, the losses. All of it fades to nothing, leaving just one thing behind.

My voice is a dry husk. It takes every scrap of effort I can muster to squeeze the word out of me.

‘Max?’

MAX

This was it, the moment. The defining moment. Everything came to this. Years of training, hungering to be part of the Nazi regime. To take his place. This was the point it had always been leading to.

So why did he feel so nervous? Why was he standing here questioning whether he could do it?

Was it because it was his first time? Did everyone feel this way the first time? Did they all have to push hard against the instincts that tried to stop them, just that one time? Would it get easier?

Or was there more to it than that? Was the old Max still in there somewhere? He knew that if he did this, it would define him for ever. Was that what he wanted?

Underneath his soldier’s uniform and his bravado, there was still a boy calling out to be praised, to be loved, to be part of something bigger than himself. Was this really how he had wanted it to happen?