Everything feels like slow motion.
I am like wrapped in an invisible protective foil.
Impulses from the outside, I act on them mechanically.
Faceless guards guide me to a windowless room in the basement.
Three officers busy with paperwork, me on a wooden bench.
No words are exchanged, I’m numb with surprise.
I didn’t pay attention in the hallways whether there are more comrades taken today.
It is a Thursday and in the last weeks the Thursday transport schedule held firm.
Why are there no other prisoners down here or are we just shielded?
Will they take me to another prison for the remaining weeks and still release me home?
Or is this indeed the final processing to get me across the border to the West?
Were the lawyers and the West German government successful in the end?
One guard takes a large envelope, stuffs some documents in and heads out the door.
Another takes a file and points me to the door.
Out were are heading.