Of the tens of millions of people in fascist prisons and death camps, few survived. One of them turned out to be me. Once in the concentration camp for the first time, I took an oath to myself: survive! Survive to tell people about the monstrous atrocities of fascism. This book was born in agony, it was written in the blood of my heart. I looked for merciless, razor-sharp words and could not find them. He tore up what was written and started again. I wrote all night long, and in the morning, forgetting about breakfast, I ran to work. I hurried home from work, sat down at the table and wrote, wrote... It was my unpaid duty to the dead... There are no invented events or invented names in my narrative, although perhaps what I am talking about may seem incredible. But it was all there! The ashes of the tortured knock on my heart. This obliges to write the truth, and only the truth. I was shot on June 28, 1943, at one in the morning, in the basement of the Gestapo prison in Krakow. I take the floor after the execution...