1.

Mechelen, Belgium, 1943. Winter, snow falls.

A wooden train screeches along the tracks, slowly coming to a halt and allowing pieces of snowflakes to land gently upon the rusted roof, transforming it to a powdery white. The deafening roar of the train couldn't mask the screams and panic of the crowd.

A soldier raised his gun. Bang, Bang, Bang. Deadly silence.

“Get on the train!” he demanded, re-loading his gun, “Right now!”

The doors of the train opened. Lines of people of all ages, wearing old and ripped clothes, stepped on the train, trembling with fear. 

Different from the others, stood an elderly man, calm and quiet. Snow fell on his white hair as he looked at the train heading to their uncertain future. It was as if this was something he had long anticipated. The crowd pushed him, but he remained just as calm.

“Here I come,” he thought, “I have nothing to fear.”

He stepped on the train, smoothed a clutch of blue iris he had concealed in the pocket of his striped uniform, and smiled.

2.

As the train pushed forward, slicing through a city swallowed by the flames of war, panic and unease gripped the air inside. Among the shaking and mourning crowd, a boy, no older than seven or eight, weaved through the chaos. His small stature made him vulnerable to the relentless shuffle, and he found himself pushed to the ground. Undeterred, he patiently waited for the tumult to pass, then dusted off his legs with little pats.

With wide eyes that mirrored the innocence of his age, he murmured, “Mama, will this train take me to you?” His gaze darted through the disarray, attempting to find his mother, who left him a week ago, “I keep remembering the games we played, the bedtime stories we read, and the yummy food we made. We planted iris flowers together, and they bloomed for a long time. You told me it means hope. You said, ‘Never lose hope!’ I won’t, and I’m sure that I could see you again!” 

3.

The young boy caught sight of the old man leaning against the wall, clutching a small handful of blue flowers. 

"Excuse me, sir," called the boy as he approached with wide-eyed curiosity, "Are those blue irises?"

The old man lowered his head and gently smoothed the petals of the irises. His gaze softened as he nodded in confirmation.

"Irises are my favorite flower!" the boy exclaimed, his eyes brightening with enthusiasm. "I never thought I'd see one here! Mama told me they symbolize hope."

The old man's eyes flickered, a mixture of melancholy and resilience. "My wife left these for me. She hoped my son and I would find hope and survive,” he sighed, a weariness settling in. "But I lost them both and didn't have much else left to hold onto. I'm not even sure if I have hope anymore.”

The young boy patted the old man’s hands as a comfort. “You must not lose hope. Mama left me a week ago without saying anything. I went looking for her and was forced onto this train. But I’m not going to stop looking for Mama until I see her again!” the boy grinned, “You have blue irises! It reminded me of Mama telling me that it means hope, so I believe everything will get better!"

The old man listened and found himself touched by the boy's optimism. He delicately plucked an iris from his open palm and handed it to the boy.

"Things will get better!" the boy smiled purely, clenching the iris, "Hope is the only thing we have."

4.

Bang, Bang, Bang. 

Gunshots rang out once again, and the train started to slow its forward motion down the tracks. People were trying to break open the sliding door of the wagon.

With a sudden realization, the old man grabbed the young boy, shepherding him towards the doors as he talked quickly, “I don’t know what it means when we arrive at our destination, but I know that our existence represents a crime to them. You should seek chances to escape on our way there– the chances of survival are bigger. For me, my body won’t support me to escape.”

“Promise, you’ll live with hope on the train too,” the boy’s voice trembled but stared firmly at him.

The old man hesitated. He then felt a rush of cool air and realized the door of the wagon had been broken open. 

“I promise,” he finally replied.

The boy quickly stuffed the iris into his sock. The old man held his shoulders.

“Jump, and then run as fast as you can!” the old man said, eyes flickering with complicated emotions, “I’m letting go.”

“It was nice to meet you,” the boy shouted back at the man lastly, eyes watery. “Live with hope!”

The boy jumped, stumbling off the railroad. He rose back to his feet and, before brushing himself off, disappeared into the woods.

5.

The train pulled into Auschwitz, and the old man descended alongside the vast crowd. Coming to a stop, he carefully removed the clutch of iris from his vest, planting it gently in the snow by the roadside.

In the winter hush, the irises unfurled, their blue hues painting the snowy canvas beneath. As the crowd flowed past, the train rumbled on. Yet, the irises stayed.

Before entering the camp, the old man cast a backward glance. For the first time, a desire to live stirred within him. He yearned, for the first time, to walk out of Auschwitz alive. His gaze lingered on the distant cluster of blue.

Amidst the urgent commands of soldiers and the loading of bullets, "Hope to see you again," the old man thought, his eyes reflecting a calmness not of resignation but of hope.

The irises bloomed in the snow.