I miss you.

Mama, where are you?

I'm so glad that I learnt to write. I never liked school, but now I do. I'm writing this letter in the dust of our barracks, because I want you to know what's happening to me. I'm sure you're in somewhere lovely, as you're so nice and friendly and good. But I'm somewhere horrible, a place full of mean people in uniforms and sad people in blue and white striped clothes.

Every now and then, some people get taken away. I made a kind of friend once, and he was taken away by the mean people in uniforms and didn't come back. No one did. I don't think anyone comes back from being taken away, it's just I noticed him because we were friends.

And it's so uncomfortable. Did I spell that right? I hope I did. Anyway, the mattresses are made of straw and really not nice, and my wooden clogs are far too small for me. At first I tried to ask a man in a uniform why they were tiny, but he hit me. He actually hit me. It didn't hurt as much as some of the other things they do to us though.

We don't get out clothes washed, and it's so disgusting wearing something that hasn't been washed since I don't know when. Mama, you should come and be the wash lady like you used to be, then we would have clean clothes.

I miss you.

Oh no, I think a man in a uniform is outside. If he sees me or my writing, he'll be angry. I have to go.

See you soon. Maybe we're being taken to you.