Auschwitz

        The putrid stench of chlorine hit me harder then ever before. We are marching. We are marching through a hall, hardly wide enough to fit one person across, led by a man who parades us bearing a bright red swastika. The mark of evil. I run my hands down the rugged grey walls that keep us confined. The sharp edges of the wall claw at my weak and dehydrated hands. The cold forces its icy fingers through all the cracks and crevices of the wall and clings to our skin. Is this how it had been for the millions of others? I reach forward, grasping endlessly for just a breath of clean air yet I keep coming up empty handed. One final great stretch yields reward as we take a step into open air. The sun, despite the cold temperature, bounces blindingly off the fresh blanket of snow. It had been weeks since any of us had seen the sun so we stare, wide eyed at all the mystery around us. The walls of the building we are heading towards had once shone with hope, but now the walls are decrepit and decaying after months of neglect. My mouth is dry. For the past few weeks we have merely been rationed out drops of water each day. I lick my sandpaper mouth in search a just a morsel of secretion but to no avail. Nobody speaks, all that can be heard is the shuffle of bare feet on frigid snow. This is it. This is the end. My final words, "Mein kampf."