Another story chapter - feel free to skip it if you want to, but you may be a tiny bit confused for next week's update.
Try to recall one of humanity's worst moments in history. When thousands upon thousands of people died, all for no good reason. The Holocaust comes to mind. I suppose you knew that sooner or later it would come up, didn't you? With so many poor, helpless souls it was a very memorable time for me. The stench of death and bloodshed filled the air for over a decade. I was pushed to my limit as humanity turned on itself with hatred and violence. It was, in short, malicious.
The colours of the time were bleak. Grey and black. Ashy white, the colour of the persecuted people, and brown; the Nazi uniform. Red for the blood of the innocent and waving flags with swastikas.
I flew like a black cloud over Europe, visiting cities and towns and concentration camps. The camps were the worst. Every single person, who had once been full of life and vibrancy, was reduced to a colourless hollow shell. Starved. Tortured. Beaten and mocked for their religion, something you'd think didn't matter when I came to basic human rights. But it did, it mattered very much, to Hitler at least. His country was left in shambles from the previous world war, and he needed someone to blame. Blame the Jews, he thought. They can't do anything about it.
So blame the Jews he did, and he did it well. The entire country soon felt sure that these religious people were the root of all their troubles. But not just the Jews, there were many others who were persecuted. Autistic people, blind, deaf and disabled people, gays, gypsies, communists, socialists, Russians, Poles, Ukrainians... anyone who wasn't the 'ideal human'. Ideal according to Hitler, of course. They were all targeted, like the prey of a hunter, caught and shipped off to Nazi concentration camps.
The most infamous camp was Auschwitz. You were sent there, you didn't come back. I spent many a night at that horrible place, stretching my hands out to countless souls. The memories still haunt me, burned forever into my mind like a film on replay. There are a few that made the biggest impression; all of them being children.
One particular girl named Hana caught my interest. She was a golden-haired little girl, only thirteen years old. I found her only minutes after she arrived at Auschwitz. Worn thin, exhausted, too grief-stricken to even cry, not at all what a child should be. In her last moments she thought only of her older brother, whom she missed and was hoping to be reunited with. But it was not to be.
She was put in a line-up with nearly twenty other Jews and told that they were going to shower. They all seemed excited at the prospect, having not taken a proper bath in months. They followed the Nazi soldiers eagerly to a large, tile-lined room. The prisoners entered the room willingly. Like lambs to the slaughter. Only when the soldiers slammed the door shut and locked it did they realize something was wrong.
At once a wave of panic swept through them. What was happening? Why had they been lied to? And why, of all things, had they believed the soldiers would actually let them shower? It was wishful thinking, perhaps, compelling them to believe that they would be ok in the end. Wishful thinking proved to be very, very wrong.
I saw poor Hana's face, contorted with fear, as the seconds ticked by. A mother, crying for her child that the soldiers had taken away, sank to the floor. The men began to pound on the door, pleading for life, but none were there to help. And then a noise like a pipe bursting with steam filled the room. An invisible gas, deadly and silent, crept in through vents along the wall. A silence filled the room. They knew it was the end. In the final moments before her vision went black, I heard Hana whisper one word; George. The name of her dear, beloved brother.
Though poor little Hana died that day, George managed to escape death by working as a plumber. His skill allowed him to live, and he made it out in one piece when the war ended. He soon learned of his parent's death, and later on, his sister's.
Hana's story is heartbreaking, and she's just one person. One of millions. Six million, to be more precise. And I saw them all; men, women, children, old people. I took each and every last one of their souls away, all on my own. Something I certainly never dreamed I would be doing. I didn't think I could manage it, handle it all, and yet I did. I'm still surprised by it.
